Monday, December 31, 2012

Recipe from the Dome


For the cold days of winter
German Sauerkraut

Ingredients: 
one yellow onion
bacon fat or frying oil
one large jar sauerkraut
one small jar applesauce
one ham hock or block of salt pork
one Knor pork or beef bullion cube
a tablespoon caraway seed in cooking bag
one cup water
two tablespoons cornstarch (for thickening)

Pre-fry the chopped onion in a pan (using bacon fat adds flavor)
Put sauerkraut in a sieve and thoroughly rinse with water to take off the super sour taste
(reserve a half cup of the kraut to add sour later if you like)
Put sauerkraut, onions, half a jar of applesauce, and ham hock or salt pork in a crock pot
Add the bag of caraway, bouillon cube and the water
Cook all on high till all ingredients bubble
Turn to low slow cooking and cook all day or overnight

When ready to eat, the additional raw sauerkraut may be added for a sourer flavor
Use two tablespoons cornstarch to thicken if needed

Serve with kielbasa, smoked or any other flavored sausages (these can be warmed in the sauerkraut pot in last 20 minutes of cooking)

Sunday, December 30, 2012

The Adventure


“You’ll miss the adventure.” 
Haley rubbed the sandman out of her eyes, but faked sleep. It was too hard to wake up at 5:30 in the morning. Mom’s adventures meant getting up before the sun. They really were adventures, though. On one wake up call, Mom had taken her to the docks in New York Harbor. She didn’t know then that the big ferry boat with its giant paddle wheel was their destination. The Alexander Hamilton, as the boat was called, took her on a grand adventure up the Hudson River to West Point and back. On that lazy trip up the river, Haley watched the Palisades slip by and the green round hills replace them. One was called Bear Mountain, though it didn’t look like the huge mountains of her childhood.
“Zu Dir erwach ich liebster Gott” Mom began the Morning Prayer.
Haley found herself praying along, “Fuer mich steht's halten Dein Gebot." She pulled back the covers in mid prayer to ask, “Where are we going?” She knew Mom wouldn’t give away the secret. She never would. So Haley continued the prayer.
“It’s a surprise,” Mom said at the Amen. “Hurry, you won’t want to miss the bus.”
Haley wondered what bus would be running this early. She put on her warm sweater and the stretchy pants Mom bought her for Christmas. It was cold out, though the snow had already started to turn to slush on the street. When Haley left the apartment with her Mom it was still dark. Ten minutes later, they reached the Grand Concourse subway station at 188th Street. During the rumbling screeching ride into the city, Haley tried to guess where they might be going on such an icy morning. She pulled her shawl tighter around her neck as she followed Mom up the subway's exit stairs in downtown Manhattan.  A huge sign across the sidewalk read Greyhound. A loping dog was its logo, and buses were idling all along the parking area under the sign.
“What’s our bus number,” Haley asked full of anticipation, knowing these weren’t city bus.
“Ten,” said Mom. “Over there,” she pointed down the line of buses quickly filling up with other pre-dawn riders.
Haley wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell of the diesel fuel. Looking up she read the bus’s destination bar, “Bear Mountain.” Remembering her ferry ride up the Hudson, she wondered why Mom was taking her to a boring green hill. Of course it wouldn’t be green in the thick of winter, but she asked, “Are we going sledding in the snow?”  Haley couldn’t guess the real purpose of the trip, because buses had many stops on the way to their final stop.
Mom didn’t hear Haley’s query because she was studying the schedule. “We’ll get there by eight thirty,” she said boarding the bus with Haley in tow. “Catch some sleep,” she added as she put a blanket over Haley’s knees to keep her warm. Mom always brought along plenty of things to make an adventure comfortable. Besides the blanket, her bag was full of good things to eat and travel games to play.
Haley stomach growled in spite of the pungent smell of diesel fuel in the air. Her mother opened the big bag and pulled out a boiled egg and crackers. “This will hold you over until we get there.” She handed her pig-tailed child the thermos full of hot chocolate.
With her hunger gone, the rumble and swaying of the bus put Haley to sleep.(to be continued)

Saturday, December 22, 2012

The Pipe


Giro and Sanae reached the blank wall of rock above them and felt along it hoping to find the pipe that had brought them into this strange world. The rocky outcropping prevented them from seeing what was going on below them. Sanae looked toward the city and saw a spaceship enter it. When it disappeared she saw the bright star they’d seen earlier. It couldn’t be Venus, she realized. The sky was too alien. She didn’t want to stay in an alien world and tried to think back on what Reema had whispered. Her hand still gripped the twig Reema had handed her. “Giro, we’ve gone too far.”
Giro looked back down the trail along the wall of rock. “I don’t see the pipe,” he said.
“I think we have to use the twig from the black tree,” said Sanae. “Remma said it protects the portal. Maybe it’s a key.”
“The opening was in the rock wall above the tree,” said Giro. “Come on, we need to go back.”
“What about Trip?” Sanae knew he must still be looking for them.
“Don’t go weird on me, Sanae,” said Giro. “Here, I remember this bolder,” he said his voice rising with excitement. “It should be right here.” The rock wall was seamless.
Sanae heard someone climbing up the path. “It’s Trip,” she thought. She opened her palm and laid the black twig against the base of the wall. As she did, she fell through scraping against the rock as it gave way.
Giro followed her into the triangular opening. “The pipe!” He thought, and fell through. He found himself on the on the ground under a yellow sun. Sanae sat next to him on the familiar rock looking down at her watch. Below her was the parking lot and the bench by the tree.
“Only ten minutes have gone by,” said Sanae. “Were we dreaming?”
Giro’s thoughts returned to the purple world and the pushy cadet. “No, it wasn’t a dream. You’re shirt’s ripped.”
Sanae looked at her sleeve and saw the tear. “Mom will be so mad. She just bought me this blouse.”
“I’d be more worried about closing the portal?” he said. “Trip will follow if he sees it.”
 “But I don’t know how,” she said. 
(to be continued)


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Thursday, December 20, 2012

For the Children


Dear Family,
. . . yes, you are family. The same blood runs in our veins. Empathy strikes our mutual core (as in “Cor”, Latin for heart). While we watch the sparkle in children’s eyes as they gather around the Christmas tree let us put aside all selfish emotions and delight in their innocence. After all, regardless of their petty outbursts of anger, their “mommy I hate you’s”, their snitches or pocketing of friend’s things, they are innocent. It is innocence that Christmas celebrates. Christ came in innocence. Less than two years after his birth in a stable the death of twenty-eight Innocents cast a shadow on the event.  The Catholic Church proclaims them Saints to inform us that without having assented to a specific religion, without having been baptized into formal Christianity, without having contributed anything other than smiles and tears to the world family they are truly in that place that is Eternal Christmas.
Let us celebrate the children, yours, ours, everyone’s. Let us smile in spite of work, struggle, pain. We wish all of you the most joy filled holiday ever—no matter what . . .

                  

   

Saturday, December 15, 2012

Third Sunday of Advent


Don't Bully
Luke 3: 10-18 39-45

People from all occupations came to listen to the prophet by the river. Rich, poor, tax collectors, even soldiers. The prophet would tailor his words to meet their individual needs. And they were needy. No one had ever given them concrete words they could relate to. Temple leaders rehashed the stories of old and never connected them to daily life.
It wasn’t easy to meet the needs of men who worked jobs, women who cared for families and children who would grow up as warriors for the king; but John had answers. The rich, he said, should share with the poor. He laid his hand on the bony shoulder of a beggar sitting at his feet and said, “If you have two cloaks, why don’t you give one to somebody who has none?”
John wasn’t shy about pointing out people who needed to change. “You,” he jabbed his finger at a man from the tax office. “Stop collecting more than what’s required. Just do your job. Don’t rob the poor.”
A centurion, dark eyes visibly alert, stood back eying John. Haltingly he ventured, “What should I do?”
“First off, be happy with your wages,” said the prophet apparently aware that soldiers grumbled over pay. “Oh, and don’t bully anybody,” he looked up into the taller man’s face.
The centurion stared quizzically at John, not sure of what he meant.
“You know,” said John. “No extortion, no false accusations . . .”
The centurion squirmed under the words. The prophet had hit home. Pay wasn’t what it used to be.
A woman in the crowd called out, “You must be the Christ.” Others nodded agreement. A communal murmur echoed her words.
“No, no,” said John. “I just baptize with water.” He looked above the heads of  those crowding around him searching for the man whose herald he was. Though unsure who that might be, he knew that the Spirit would point him out.
In unison the people pressed on, “Who then?”
“The one who comes after me will baptize with fire,” he answered.