Christmas Party on, Then Off and Back on Again

My Gathering Girls group planned a Christmas party that got canceled, not because of the winter weather but because the woman hosting the party ended up with a cement truck and its crew in front of her condo the day before and they created a huge mess. They were there to fix a couple of steps and, she said, they left so much cement dust that her daughter got it all over her pants, her boots, her car and inside the condo, even tracked it back to her own house. They tried to sweep it up but thought they’d need to rent a power washer to get rid of the dust but the temperatures were so low they were concerned they’d turn the area into an icy mess instead of just a dusty mess. 

A week later---after the mess was cleaned up---and on the spur of the moment we threw another party together. Or I should say the hostess did. This time she didn’t want any of us to bring a dish to pass like we originally planned. Secretly I think she prefers doing all the food herself. When I offered to bring a cheese ball and crackers to the first party to snack on before our dinner she said cheese cubes on toothpicks would be better. When someone else volunteered to bring an avocado dip our hostess said she thought hummus would go better with the “flavor profile” of the entrée she was making. I appreciate why any hostess likes to control the full menu. Her house, her rules rule. She eats healthy but I’d starve to death at her house because I don’t. I like meat. I like carbs and ‘sugar’ is my middle name. Thinking about flavor profiles of dishes blending at a potluck isn’t even on my radar. But I've often marveled over the fact that potlucks never end up with twenty crocks of baked beans and nothing else.

The day of the second party came and I woke up 5:30, my alarm was set for 7:45 but couldn’t go back to sleep. So I got up, put on the coffee and had two of the cranberry, golden raisins and pecans mini scones I’d made the day before. My first batch ever and they turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. After the last of them were cooled and in the freezer I remembered that I should have taken pictures of my baking experience for my blog. Oh well, next time I’ll set the camera on the counter with the flour to remind me. I experimented with putting sparkling sugar on half the batch before baking them and I discovered I’m in love with sparkling sugar. I wish I’d known about it back when I was baking breads. Not that many artisan breads would taste right with polished crystals of cane sugar embedded in the top but I can think of a few with the right flavor profile. There’s that phrase again. It's like chewing gum in a kid's mouth. I'm going to keep using it until the novelty/flavor wears out.

The party was fun. The hostess called on Chef Trader Joe’s to furnish a chicken pasta salad, a quinoa cranberry salad and an assortment of the most amazing crackers served with hummus. I will never again bad mouth hummus. It just needs the right crackers to make it stand up and be noticed in my world. And I’ll never again poke fun of anyone who worries about flavor profiles blending in. Yes, the sound you hear is me eating my words on that one. Her luncheon was yummy, even if we weren't tearing roasted meat off bones with our bare teeth.

I came home from the party to find Levi’s favorite monkey with a severed paw. Since all the windows and the doors were still locked there was only one suspect for crime. Levi the Mighty Schnauzer. He hasn't chewed anything since he was a pup but if he's going to start in again, better the monkey than the sofa cushions. I’m guessing the monkey made a rude gesture that Levi couldn’t let slide. The next day after finding the monkey I picked it up, intending to mend the animal when I discovered the squeaker that had been inside its paw was missing. I couldn’t find it anywhere which only meant one thing. Yes, I had to go outside and poke around in Levi’s poop. Not easy to do when it’s frozen. 

I didn’t find the squeaker and now I’m on Levi watch, looking for signs that’s he’s either passed it or he's in digestive stress. (If it was summer I’d sit outside while he’s pooping to listen for squeaker sounds as he does his business.) In the meantime I’m feeding him lots of thickly buttered bread. We once had a puppy who ate all kinds of stuff, even managed to get his own flea collar off and ate all but the bucket. It got to the point where I could call the vet---no charge---and he’d tell me whether or not to go get his stomach pumped or try the buttered bread trick to help him pass the object. And so for the second time in less than a week this fur baby mamma finds herself quoting Rosanne Roseannadanna, “It’s always something.”  ©