Writing, waiting, giving, and butterscotch

My book is sitting at a certain publisher, and though it hasn't been rejected, it hasn't been accepted. More than likely it has yet to be reviewed at all. Good thing I don't plan to quit my day job! ;)

But where I do have the privilege of writing on a regular basis is at the wonderful blog community for women serving overseas called Velvet Ashes. Whether you are a woman serving overseas or not, do give it a look. I think any and all can find some serious encouragement there. And right now, VA is running a very cool Eggs & Tires giving project to benefit children and families in Haiti. Check it out!

Meanwhile we are preparing for Christmas over here, along with most of the rest of the world. We dug up our Christmas tree from two years ago, which has been growing happily on our roof beside my sage garden (it was supposed to be an herb garden but only the sage took). We plunked the poor tree in a pot in our bay window and trimmed it. Post kids-in-bed, Daddy chillaxed with a mug of hot homemade eggnog and the last wedge of butterscotch pie.

The paper chain from six years ago is fading badly but we can't part with it.
It goes around and around our meager tree every year.

I have posted my eggnog recipe several times, but the butterscotch pie, a conglomeration of several recipes I've recently clipped, is a new and dazzling addition to my dessert repertoire. Enjoy!

BUTTERSCOTCH PIE

• Baked pie shell
• 1 1/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
• 1/4 cup butter
• 1/3 cup flour
• 1 t. cornstarch
• 2 cups whipping cream
• 3 egg yolks/4 egg whites
• 1 t. vanilla
• 1/2 cup sugar
• pinch salt
• pinch cream of tartar

• Directions

  • 1
    In a medium saucepan, combine 1/2 cup brown sugar and 1/4 cup butter; cook and stir over low heat until butter melts and mixture is smooth. Remove from heat.
  • 2
    In a small bowl, combine the remaining 3/4 cup brown sugar, flour, and cornstarch. Add to butter mixture and stir until combined.
  • 3
    Gradually stir in whipping cream. Return to heat and cook and stir over medium heat until thickened and bubbly; reduce heat and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes. Remove from heat.
  • 4
    In a small bowl, lightly beat egg yolks. Gradually stir about 1 cup of the hot filling into the yolks. Add yolk mixture back into the pan and bring to a gentle boil over medium heat, stirring. Reduce heat and and cook and stir 2 minutes. Remove from heat. Stir in vanilla and pour into pie shell. Set aside.
  • 5
    To make the meringue, beat the 4 egg whites until soft peaks form. Add the 1/2 cup sugar, pinch of salt, and pinch of cream of tartar; beat until glossy and thick (peaks will fall over). Spread over the pie sealing to the edges and bake pie in a 350° oven 15 minutes or until meringue is golden brown. Set out to cool completely and then refrigerate for at least 2 hours. Serve.
  • p.s. You can serve the pie at room temperature, if you prefer your pudding pies warm.

Young turkeys

The annual Turkey Bowl was yesterday, and once again Daniel, John, and Matt played football with, and against, guys up to 13 years younger than them. Daniel ripped the skin from his knee and the bottom half of Gabe's shirt from his body, but he succeeded in taking three flags throughout the course of the game. Mighty Matt ran the ball Barry Sanders fashion, straight up the field, spinning like a washing machine through countless arms and legs, and delivering that pig skin into the end zone. Our team procured the trophy in the end, and then Matt passed out pain killers to all the old guys.

We wives manned the children, wiping noses and passing out snacks, while cheering for our men from our camp chairs in the cold.

And we didn't pass up the chance to mingle with precious women 13 years younger than us, who always lift our hearts and hold our kids, and keep us young by introducing us to Longchamp bags and rubber-soled leather boots (both of which are now on my wish list).

I love what we do! It never gets old. Here's hoping we never will, either.

Fry Daddies

This year, Daniel and John decided to fry the turkeys.

On our roof.

Beneath our grape arbor.

And it was the best turkey any of us have ever tasted.

Here you see a broom handle hanging from the arbor, and stainless steel paper towel holders in place below it. Turkeys went on those holders and were lowered into the pot of bubbling oil. Also visible is a fire extinguisher, which may or may not have been used.

Oh. My. Goodness.

The kids dressed up for the reading of the first Thanksgiving, brought to them this year by the Awesome Addison. All kids love Addison.

Here you see Zion in roller blades and a headdress, pouring the popcorn on the deck. Did you know the Native Americans introduced the pilgrims to popcorn at the first Thanksgiving? 

And then, as if hours of manning a turkey fryer weren't enough, Daniel built a fire in our giant wok and we roasted marshmallows after dark.

It was a Thanksgiving to fry for!

red door portraits

Through her eyes

Sometimes I wonder what she thinks. A level and lovely Chinese child with politely reserved eyes and a penchant for stir fry, being raised by a blond and blotchy mother with direct hazel eyes, dry white hands, and buttery food.

And then, I take her to class with me on a drizzly day in November because her dad is out of town and her brothers want to watch Star Wars (and she would rather ride with me through the city on my moped than watch Han Solo flirt with princess Leia one more time), and she takes a picture of me that sort of stops me in my tracks.

When I got home from class that day and looked at this picture she had taken unbeknownst to me, I wondered if perhaps she likes me, really likes me, after all. Maybe she is proud of me for trying to learn the language of her people. Maybe she wants to be like me. Maybe she is glad that I am her mother.

Or maybe she was just fooling with the camera setting on the iPad because she got tired of playing with the Fancy Nancy app.

Either way, I will always treasure this little photo. It is a picture of me through the eyes of my daughter, and I like what she sees.

How grocery shopping in East Asia is like natural childbirth

You move slowly and deliberately, taking care to breathe evenly and stay relaxed. The experience is crushing you, twisting you, threatening to break you in half, but the second you give in to it, you know you will lose it completely. You try to ignore the urges, however strong they might be, to throw back your head and scream like a wild animal. You soldier through, strongly and calmly, heroically even, until finally you are headed home with your baby in your arms - or your bags of groceries, whichever the case may be.

These are frozen beef steaks. As you can see, steak is strongly associated with the United States. A complimentary piece of Western cutlery is included in your purchase, because steak is difficult to eat with chopsticks;)

But enough about labor pains and grocery shopping. How about Brave learning to ride a two-wheel bike! I don't think I'm going to allow Jubi to learn. I can't have ALL my babies growing up on me.

Zion fell from the bunk bed and suffered a studly shiner. We're just so thankful his glasses didn't shatter into his eye!

Zion also celebrated his half birthday. We Rupps are always on the lookout for a reason to bake (and eat) cake.

And Gene has started looking older in the face. I am getting glimpses of what he will look like as a man and it makes me smile.

Instant messages of love

I'm not usually a fan of technology. In fact, I often idealize the times when neighbors caught up at the mailbox, friends caught up in church foyers, and acquaintances exchanged pleasantries while waiting in line at the checkout. When telephones rang only when there was something to say. When letters came handwritten, blotted in places with liquid whiteout, tri-folded and slid into envelopes with human saliva in their seals and real stamps on their lapels boasting images of wild flowers, lighthouses, and poets.

But this week I've appreciated technology, particularly instant message. That little blip sound signaling a message from someone back home; a message of sorrow, a message of peace, or a detail about the visitation, the service, the burial. More messages than I deserve have come through expressing love and encouragement for me, simply because I can't be there. Words from my brothers like, "hang in there," "wish you could be here," "thoughts of you," and "love you so much." And my words to them, "I just woke up. Are you at the visitation?" "I miss you all so much," "I just talked to Mom," "Gosh I love you guys."

Cousin love, taken at Marcy and Jerry's in 2002: Diana, Denny, Marcy, Randy, and Sandy