Was it you who spoke the words

Apparently, the way to get me off my ass is to give me a cold.

This morning, I got a wild idea: if citron in honey eventually makes a good goo for making tea (seriously: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yujacha), I bet those sour, tiny orange-looking fruits on the tree Mel's Dad gave me will do it, too! So I wandered out to visit Mr. Tree and see if he had anyone ready for the table. And lo! Three fruits were ready to come in! So at eight this morning, I was sterilising a jar and washing fruit for another citrus tea preserve.

Won't know for a while how it's going--got to give the little kumquat/orange/I honestly don't know bits time to gel--a couple days till it's Food; a couple months till it's Itself.

Still.
:)

I love the parties Mel throws. They're usually fairly subdued, unstructured affairs populated by all the people she loves, and if you're very very lucky, she'll cook.

The fun comes when you realise that "all the people she loves" means ALL the people--her parents, their kids, her friends from the SCA or highschool, their other halves if they have them, their kids, THEIR friends, her friends from other circles than previously noted, a few of THEIR friends, the lovely older couple from next door...I'm surprised we haven't taken a pizza guy or mailcarrier into the amoeba by accident, but I have faith that if we did, they'd fit in fine.

If I tried that trick, it'd go to cliqued hell.* But Mel? Mel is like water, bless her. We'd all dry up and blow away without her, and in her house, we melt or are shaken enough to mix well.

So.
Thanksgiving's coming (makes it sound like something dire out of George R. R. Martin... >.< ), and Mel's volunteered her home for Feasting Ground Zero. Listening to her plan a menu (my gods the food...), I asked whether I could bring anything more than an appetite. I do, after all, make a mean brew.**
And she smiles and writes "Apple Cider...thing" on the envelope she's using to plan.

"Spiked or un-spiked?" I asked, thinking of the honey brandy in my Fridge of Doom.

"Oh, unspiked, please. We have elderly folk coming."
"Being elderly doesn't automatically make you a teetotaller; there's this guy who frequents Chips who's got to be on the far side of 80, but..."
"BAPTIST elderly people. And kids."
"Point made, there, yes."
"... But if you want to bring the spikings in their own container..."
"Dig it. I've been wondering how the Brew would go with the meadjack."
"Mmm." and she smiles and picks up her phone to call her dad's wife, to make sure she will in fact bring some other dish.

"And Jess's going to bring an Apple Cider...Thing."
...
"No, there're elderly people on the guestlist."
...
"Well yes, I know you do, but these are BAPTIST elderly people."
...
"Exactly."

While she's doing this, Mark calls. We chat for a while and Mel wraps up her call, then asks to talk to Mark for a second. I hand the phone over, grinning while she notifies him that his house will be supplying the Apple Cider...Thing for Thanksgiving, Friday. A pause while Mark talks, then:

"No, there're elderly people coming."
...
"BAPTIST elderly people."
...
"Yes."

So naturally, when you've been told the one thing not to do three times, what's your first instinct?

Liz and Cae brought some apple wine from Courson's *** with them when they came guesting in October; I wonder whether we can get it brandied well in four days...











*- Example: my first wedding. But then, there's not a lot you can do when your guests are either within two years of your age and Pagan, or at least a decade your senior and Baptist. Or Church of Christ. ~headshake~

**- Although it still can't hold a candle to the Fire Cider for the purpose of kicking illnesses' collective ass.

***- Which reminds me: FINALLY! A BLOODY MAP THERE! Sweet. Now all we need is an excuse to go to the ass end of Georgia, now that we no longer have friends in Charleston. Have to see what sort of events the shire of Sol Haven has planned... :D God bless the SCA.

What kind of pirate am I? You decide!
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Brought to you by Rum and Monkey

I always intend to remember this holiday and never do until it's upon me. All for the best, I suppose, because at the moment I'm four books into Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey and Maturin series and when all is quiet in my mind, the only thing I see is a sneezy sloth tugging at Jack's sleeve eyeing him sweetly for more grog and cake. All I hear later is "JACK! You've debauched my sloth!"

Give me the opportunity and I can bluster like an overweight post-captain or enthuse like an underfed Irish/Catalan spy.

But I haven't yet found that verbal swagger particular to a pirate.

Maybe later in the series, when Jack goes privateer.
Ah well.
Here.

Have a personal-serving sized grog mix until then:
from Lissuns in the Galley's rum section. Lissuns in the Galley, for what it's worth, also seems to be maintained by folk with a soft spot in their hearts for yon post-captain and spy.

1 shot rum
1 teaspoon superfine sugar
Squeeze of lime juice
Cinnamon stick
Boiling water

Stir all ingredients, adding enough boiling water to fill mug or glass.

Kim's decided that if the scent of baking cookies sells a house faster, maybe the scent of spiced cider boiling on the stove will bring folk into the shop from the cold.

If nothing else, it will ensure that the ciderfiends who work here will be up on their Vitamin C doses.

I think it started out as a little jug of apple juice, another little jug of cherry juice, about five cinnamon sticks, maybe a clove or six, and unholy amounts of powdered strawberry lemonade mix.

She just got done selling $125 worth of gift certificates to one woman, twenty minutes before the Open sign is due to light. I'd say we're doin' alright.

(from the background: ~Kim giggles~ Well, we'll definately be hopped up on the sugar, anyway.)

So yeah. Between that and the Latino rap/hip-hop (woohoo, Ozomatli and XM radio!), I've got a peppy day ahead of me. Yesterday was booked to the gills; today will probably drag, but hey, I'll be back on Monday, so there's hope. Life is good.