New Year Traditions

Since I was little, we have always had the same breakfast on New Year's Day.  Hoppin John and cornbread.  My mother told us we'd have a day of good luck for every black eyed pea we ate. 

I am, however, picky about my cornbread, and for ages, I had a worn computer print out with my perfect recipe - no corn kernels, no sugar, just pure southern goodness made from corn meal and buttermilk.

In the move, like many other things, the recipe has gone missing.  I have been trawling through recipe sites and wishing I made cornbread more often, so I would just remember the quantities.  I can make a loaf of wheat/spelt bread with my eyes closed, but here I'm stymied.  All the recipes that call themselves "the best" have added nonsense.  Bacon.  Jalapenos.  And sugar.  Buckets and buckets of sugar.  It's not a health thing, I just want nice, savoury bread.

Finally, after a long, long time searching (yes, since you are asking, the search was longer as I had to stop Itsyboo eating chalk, convince Miss A that we don't run around with only our pyjama top on and make snacks - which meant I totally lost my train of thought), I came across this website, which has some pretty good-looking cornbread recipes.  The first one in the comments section looks particularly authentic.  I've got American-style measuring cups, and can convert Fahrenheit to Celsius.  And the website seems to have some other pretty nifty bread recipes for when my family gets tired of the spelt and flour loaf from the River Cottage Baby and Toddler Cookbook.

Do you have any New Year traditions other than popping corks at midnight?  What are your childhood memories or favourite New Year foods?  Do you have any strong feelings about cornbread?

Burning down the house

So I came closer to reducing the new house to a pile of ashes and rubble today than I'd really like to think about.  No permanent damage done, apart from my saucepan, but it was certainly an unforgettable lunch.

We have been in the house for one month as of today.  We are still slowly unpacking, have been using the hot tub and still haven't totally figured out recycling.  We've been having a lovely long holiday as C has two weeks off work.  We have baked, made ornaments, gone to soft play, and enjoyed long country walks out the back of the house (one of the contributors to our near-disaster today).

We have done a bit of entertaining, and today had our lovely friends Monisha and Deba down from London.  We went for what was supposed to be a quick walk, forgetting the maths of toddler legs.  I left a pot gently (I thought) simmering on the stove.  The walk extended, the pot boiled dry, and, while the stove top survived unscathed, the slow-roast shoulder of lamb did not get its sticky pomegranate glaze.

I fear I must accept that I am not a domestic goddess.  Nigella would never fill her house with smoke from a carbonised pot of "meaty pomegranate juice."  Martha would have got the evidence out without alerting the guests - I had rushed home to check on lunch while they lingered in the garden but they caught me opening all the doors and windows to let the smoke escape.  C rushed to the rescue but I had to let him down that the danger was past, the saucepan was no longer heating and that we just needed to get a wind tunnel going.

Lunch was uneventful after - clearly there is no way to top billowing plumes of smoke issuing from our facade.  How on earth will I keep our next guests entertained?

Normality (almost)

The decorators have cleared out, we are attempting to put the house back together and put Christmas decorations up while preventing the children from opening the presents.  Miss A, because she wants presents, Itsyboo because it's paper that he can EAT.

Watching Strictly Come Dancing while drinking G&T.  Must confess that I am ABD on this...

Mwah to you all.

Odegra

Emboldened by two successful trips to London last week and driven slightly mad by the continuing state of my house, I decided to hotfoot it in to town for the Fuzzy and Friends Christmas party.  We left early so we could do a little park playing and a little shopping before boogieing down.  I dressed Miss A in a Santa suit and Istyboo in an elf suit to ensure appropriate levels of festivity.

I will tell you now that I spent nearly five hours in the car today doing the round trip 60 miles.  Who doesn't love driving in the UK?  I was well and truly M25'd (thank you Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for enlightening me why).

As I had plenty of time for thinking, it made me realise that my new year's resolution for 2013 has got to be to meet local mums.  It's really hard to leave a fantastic network like the one I had in SE22, but I need to build a new one here unless I buy enough BP shares to offset my petrol expenditure!

One and a half days until the decorators go for Christmas.  They still have another week of work to do, but we have mutually agreed that it will take place when we are away for a week.  Repeating my mantra - "it will all be beautiful... it will all be beautiful... it will all be beautiful..."

28th candle

Jeff Thompson was not the kind of guy you could forget about once you met him.  "Mayhem" to his friends, he was over seven feet tall with shoulders nearly that wide, long curly hair and an impressive beard.  But although his physical presence was striking, it was his kindness and gentleness that made the real lasting impression.

I had the privilege of working with Mayhem at Scarborough Renaissance Festival in 1994.  I played a member of the Scottish court, while he was the king of the Scottish games over which I presided each day of the festival.  Watching him toss the caber, launch stones and throw hammers, his physical strength was impressive.  He often put that strength to use giving the biggest hugs of my life, lifting my feet off the ground in dizzying greetings.

Those hugs are my main memory of Mayhem, as well as one night while we sat around a fire in the Faire campsite, his arm around my shoulders, content in the presence of good friends, singing songs and enjoying the company.  Jeff was a real gentleman and I always felt safe when he was around.  Most of us did.

In the autumn of 1994, I went away to university and in ten years of travels from Austin to Boston to London, I rarely saw Mayhem any more.  So I was stunned when, ten years later in December 2004, while reading the news during my lunch break, I clicked an article about a shooting at a Damageplan gig in Ohio and read that their head of security, Jeff "Mayhem" Thompson, was among the four dead.

I didn't have to read any of the subsequent articles to know how Mayhem died.  He was the guy who, if his friends were in danger, would do anything he could to protect them.  I knew before it was confirmed in the press that Mayhem had rushed the gunman.  But even 7'1" of strength and heart can be felled by a tiny bullet.

I do not believe that the killer's motives were ever established.  I do know that he was mentally ill, and that he had a gun.  That gun allowed him to take my friend away from me.  I will never have another hug like that.

Gun violence touches all of us, from those of us who feel empathy and pain with victims' families to those of us who have lost loved ones to senseless acts.  The answer is not more guns but fewer.  The answer is treatment of mental illness rather than stigmatisation.  Gun control laws won't bring Mayhem back, but they will make America safer for my family, my friends, my loved ones.

Don't have to live like a refugee

I have occasionally wondered if I were the type of person who could live off the grid, eschewing material possessions, squatting with like minded people and leading a more simplified existence.

I tell you now that I could not. After living through one of three weeks of the epic decorating project, I can't find anything. Boxes are getting shifted from room to room willy-nilly and even things I've unpacked are never to hand when I'd like them. I can only find two pairs of trousers, I have limited access to my washing machine and I am distressed, I tell you.

The rooms that the decorators have finished are miraculously transformed. The house will be gorgeous when it is done. But oh how I wish that I could escape to St Tropez or on Safari until it is all done.

Newtown

I don't think any parent could hear dreadful news like that coming out of Newtown, CT without briefly imagining themselves in the same situation. I have been fixated on my stash of Christmas presents, carefully chosen over several weeks, hidden from view until they can be wrapped and nestled under the decorated tree. I turn them over in my hands wondering what I would do if my children were no longer here to receive them. Would I get them away from me as quickly as I could? Or would I keep each item, cherished carefully as a memory of the holiday I had planned rather than the grim reality?

My daughter starts school nursery on 8 January. I am so grateful that is in a country where personal handguns and assault weapons are banned. There are people who I love and respect who will disagree vehemently with me, but I cannot understand how 20 dead kindergarten pupils can be acceptable collateral damage against an individual's presumed right to own whatever weapons they like.

Guns are tools for killing. They do not make society politer; they foster fear and mistrust. They allow bad situations to escalate into awful messes. They turn accidents into tragedies. If you are a hunter or a sportsman, fine, keep a rifle or a shotgun for your leisure pursuits, but handguns and assault weapons have no place in civilised communities.

I pray for the victims of the shootings. I pray for the survivors who have witnessed horrors. And I pray for the families of those impacted by the shooting. And I pray for courage and wisdom for our leaders to make difficult choices to help prevent any other parents having to experience the unthinkable.

Are we there yet?

We are now in the new house. Move day was cold and clear and everything seems to have survived, including us.
We still feel as though we're staying in a holiday home. We've only unpacked a bit more than the basics as our epic decorating project encompassing pretty much every flat surface in the house kicks off Monday. It does prolong the painful bit of settling in, but the house will be properly ours when it when it is done.
Logistically, we're slowly getting in to village life. Miss A had her first playgroup today and will start nursery two mornings a week in January. Itsyboo is recovering from various plagues and is still a happy boy.
Still feeling like we're waiting for things to start "for real" - I really hope that properly settling in post decoration does the trick.