We hardly ever go on family outings to restaurants, movies, plays, or parties, so an evening at the theater was a honkin’ huge deal. It would be the first time my two littlest ones had been to the Blackfriars and anticipation ran high.

Town clothes (we are so Laura Ingalls) were brought downstairs and stacked on the table. Baths were taken. The house was (kind of) straightened. Sandwiches were made. Water bottles were filled. Coats were put on. The wood stove was filled up and banked. Once everyone was loaded into the car, I handed out the bologna sandwiches (a favorite treat) and off we went, munching happily and listening as Tim Curry recounted A Series of Unfortunate Events though the car speakers.

We thought we were arriving in plenty of time to get good seats. Since it was a pay what you will night, being at the head of the line was of utmost importance. But alas, twenty minutes before the doors opened, there was already a bubbling crowd milling around in the cold, so we joined the line (that wasn’t visible to everyone, boo) and huddled close. When the doors finally opened we pressed forward as politely as possible and jostled our way through the lobby to the next door where we had to wait for another half hour. We weren’t at the head of the line, but I was close enough to overhear the usher telling some people that most of the downstairs seats were reserved. The stools on the stage weren’t taken, nor were the three rows at the back, but the balcony was up for grabs. I started to feel discouraged. We’d get bad seats and all the hype would be for nothing, bah humbug. Oh well, we’d do the best we could. I whispered instructions to my husband to go left and save us six seats—I would scurry to the front to see if I could find anything better.

Then the doors opened and everyone made a mad rush for the seats at the back while I walked straight on to the stage and claimed six stools! (Well, five—another kid slipped in with us and snagged a stool before the kids could plunk their butts down, so I had to hold my baby who is not a baby on my lap.) The place was packed—standing room only and people got turned away at the door—and there we were on the stage. All my bent-up tension and anxiety melted away as I absorbed my good fortune and settled in for the show. (Confession: a girl, probably a college student, tried to snag on of our stools as I was in the process of claiming them but I said, “I’m sorry, there’s six of us.” Her shoulder slumped as she turned away, defeated. I still feel kind of bad about it.) (But not bad enough to give up my seat.) (So much for a generous Christmas spirit.)

I had been carrying a large canvas tote with our blankets (for in the car) and my knitting (for the long wait, but that I couldn’t do because there was no space) and some games that we were going to play while we waited (again, didn’t happen), and we soon realized that it made a perfect little seat for Nickel when it was plopped on the floor between our seats and piled high with our coats.Which was a relief since that boy is no lightweight.

The play was fabulous. Bob Cratchit plunked his top hat on Nickel’s head and asked me to hold his scarf. The narrator pulled candy canes out of his hat and gave them to the kids while singing Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire. The Ghost of Christmas Past, a sprightly, giggling actress all done up in white and glitter, asked Sweetsie to hold her wand. Sweetsie smiled shyly and took it, her eyes a-sparkle. Pure magic, it was! (Later my oldest daughter recounted the moment. “She was so close, I could smell her!” “Did she stink?” I asked, thinking of unwashed costumes and all the dancing. “No!” she sighed dreamily. “She smelled so good!”)

But Marley, oh Marley! He scared my girls to pieces, jumping up at the window like that, his black face painted white, his eyes popping out of his head. And when he came up through the hole in the floor, chains a-rattling, drums banging, roaring and hollering and wailing, and then lunged at Scrooge (who was standing right beside us so it felt like he was coming straight at us), screaming, eyes rolling, the chains snapping him back, oh my. The three youngest kids were definitely not prepared. They sat there, shoulders hunched and fingers in their ears, completely horrified, terrified, petrified, and unable to move. It was spectacular.

After that, my oldest daughter begged to sit between me and my husband. I told her she could sit in her papa’s lap if she got scared again. “Really? In the middle of the play?” she asked, alarmed about breaching theater etiquette. So when the shrouded Ghost of Christmas Future floated out, I tapped her on the shoulder and she zipped over to his lap while Sweetsie ducked under my arm and covered her face with her hands, and my husband and I laughed.

My husband and I weren’t the only ones finding the children’s terror delightfully hilarious—I could see other people pointing at the girls and laughing. And when I got home, I found an email (from a friend I didn’t know was there) that said: It’s fun to watch your kids react to the show. Don’t drop that wand!

Nickel did pretty good for his first theater production, especially considering that the majority of the event took place long after his bedtime. He got bored (seriously?) and kept saying he was hungry and thirsty. But he (mostly, sorta) whispered his complaints into my ear, and we never had to take him out, hallelujah.

I had packed a special bedtime snack for the ride home—donuts and little bottles of chocolate milk. (When Sweetsie discovered them in the fridge the morning after my late-night shopping trip, she yipped for joy and hollered to her siblings, “Hey guys! Mama bought cold hot chocolate!”) Huddled in the car, the hot air blasting out the vents, the kids slurped down the milk and then fell asleep before finishing their donuts. So this morning we slept in and had leftover donuts and shots of cold hot chocolate (my lactose-intolerant husband didn’t drink his allotted bottle) with our breakfast oatmeal.

I asked Sweetsie if she’d like to go see the play again. She thought for a minute and then said, “I don’t know, maybe. I might get used to it the second time.” When I asked my other girl the same question, her reply was an emphatic, “No way!” My son, on the other hand, is very happy that we are scheduled to usher for the play next week.

Me, too. I’m excited already.

This same time, years previous: zippy me, peanut butter cookies, Ree’s monkey bread, butter cookies

Land sake’s alive, we are having one heck of a rainy day!

It brings back memories of when we lived in Nicaragua and Hurricane Mitch came along and dumped water on us for three solid days. (Or was it five?) We’re not having any hurricane, though, and tomorrow is supposed to be sunny, I do believe. Plus, I haven’t heard of bridges being washed out between our house and civilization (like they did in Mitch), so I’m not too troubled.

Also, knowing that I have my belly dance class this afternoon helps to keep my mood up. I won’t be trapped in the house the whole live-long wet day.

Plus, I made myself a kick-butt lunch, just for the heck of it. Quinoa, spinach, chicken, feta, yeehaw! I’m feeling all sorts of bolstered.

Rain-schplain, do your thang,
you ain’t gonna flush my fine mood down the drain.

I couldn’t decide if this salad is Greek or Mediterranean, and then I realized that Greece in ON the Mediterranean so it’s both. (At this point my husband cocks his eyebrow at me and says, “And you are homeschooling our children?”) But I don’t generally think of tabbouleh and tahini as Greek food, like feta and black olives are. So I’m still mildly confused and therefore do not know what to call the salad. Possible names include the following:

Greek Quinoa Salad
Near East Quinoa Salad
Mediterranean Quinoa Salad
Quinoa Salad with Yogurt and Tahini Dressing
Quinoa Salad with Feta, Black Olives, and Roasted Tomatoes
Quinoa Salad with Chicken and Spinach
Quinoa Spinach Salad
Winter Quinoa Salad
Flexible Quinoa Salad
Swoon Salad

Because it’s December, and because I omitted all things fresh (like green onions, mint, parsley, tomatoes), I’m going with:

Winter Quinoa Salad
Inspired by a recipe in Cooking Light Magazine, but I changed it beyond recognition so I’m not going to credit them. (Except for the idea. Thanks for the idea, Cooking Light!)

1 cup raw quinoa, cooked (see below)
1 cup roasted tomatoes, diced
1-2 cups chopped, cooked chicken
4-8 cups fresh spinach (or 1-2 cups cooked), lightly sauteed in a bit of olive oil
1/4 – ½ cup minced onion
1 clove garlic, minced
a couple handfuls of black olives, torn into bits
½ – 1 cup feta cheese, crumbled

for the dressing:
1/4 cup tahini
1/4 cup plain yogurt
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon black pepper

Toss the salad ingredients together in a large bowl. Combine the dressing ingredients in a small bowl and stir into the salad.

Serve the salad warm, room temperature, or chilled.

How to Cook Quinoa
According to my friend, The Quinoa Queen. (In fact, she should be called The Quinoaeen.)

for 1 cup quinoa:
Put the quinoa in a bowl and cover with hot (but not boiling) water. Let sit for five minutes. Drain.

Rinse and drain the quinoa with cold water—about four or five times. Drain thoroughly.

Put the quinoa in a medium-sized saucepan and add 1 ½ cups water (maybe a little less). Bring to a boil, uncovered. Stir once or twice. Reduce the heat to low and simmer, covered, for 15 minutes. Fluff with a fork and serve. If you want a warm salad, mix immediately. If a cold salad is the goal, dump the quinoa into a large pan and spread it out to cool (and so it doesn’t clump).

This same time, years previous: baked corn, company tizz

I’m not fully in the Christmas spirit yet, but I’m trying. (As my father would say, “Yes, you’re very trying, indeed.”)

We had our family meeting to discuss what Christmasy things we oughtn’t miss, two of the kids made their choice of Christmas cookies (neither of which are Actual Christmas Cookies), and we listened to a bit of Christmas music, but that’s about it.

Perhaps the most Christmasy thing we’ve done is read Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. (Boy, there’s a lot of “Christmas” in these first paragraph. Just writing this might launch me into the spirit, fingertips first.) We finished the story last night and are going to see the play later this week. I’d love to listen to the radio version as well. I have fond memories of lounging on the brown shag living room rug when I was a kid, listening to Marley’s clanking chains through the radio speakers.

Maybe I’d feel more ready if we got the tree.

I need to focus on a bunch of Christmas baking before other stuff creeps up on me, though making lots of pretty cookies doesn’t excite me much. Probably because it takes so much time and my time is already packed with other stuff (and I don’t want to give up writing). Also, I have to make the same old same old—butter cookies, gingerbread, raisin-filled—and it’s the new and shiny that draws me in. But, sigh, Christmas is all about tradition. I mustn’t knock it.

I did make a pan of this gingery shortbread the other day. My husband and I had just had a crash-bang fight and he was tearing around the house cleaning things while I was tearing around the kitchen baking things. We weren’t talking, so we got a lot done. And then we made up.

In some ways, this shortbread remind me of peppernuts, but more high-end and without the labor-intensive cutting. The texture couldn’t be better: the shortbread is crunchy buttery, while the icing is soft and cool and almost chewy in a caramel-toffee sort of way. That, plus the biting ginger, and these little treats are mouth fireworks just begging to dazzle. They certainly were the ideal thing for a sulking woman who is not in the Christmas spirit and doesn’t have much drive to bake.

Iced Ginger Shortbread
Adapted from Dinner with Julie

I tried sprinkling some minced candied ginger into the still-wet icing, and while I liked the flavor, it wasn’t the prettiest. The second time around, I left the ginger out all together, though I bet it would be good mixed into the shortbread bottom.

This recipe is open to interpretation. What about brown sugar instead of white, or molasses or maple syrup instead of golden syrup? And how about stirring some walnuts or pecans into the bubbling frosting? And maybe swapping cinnamon for the ginger?

Whatever you do, don’t stick the spoon you were using to spread the hot icing on the shortbread into your mouth. That’s just plain stupid (yesI’madork).

Shortbread:
1 1/4 cups flour
3 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 stick butter, cut in chunks

Icing:
1/3 cup butter
1 tablespoon golden syrup (I used King’s)
1 cup confectioner’s sugar
½ teaspoon ground ginger
½ teaspoon vanilla

Put the flour, sugar, baking powder, ginger, and salt in the bowl of a food processor and pulse once or twice to combine. Add the butter and pulse until completely incorporated and the mixture looks like fine sand. (Alternately, just use your fingers to rub the butter into the dry ingredients.) Dump the mixture into a greased 9×13 pan, and firmly pat it down to make a bottom crust. Bake the shortbread at 350 degrees for 20-25 minutes.

When the shortbread is nearly done baking, make the icing. Melt the butter in a saucepan and add the remaining ingredients. Simmer for about 30 seconds, stirring constantly (the mixture will look greasy and lumpy at first, but it will quickly become smooth and satiny). Pour the icing over the hot shortbread, tilting the pan to cover it evenly.

Cutting the shortbread can be a little tricky since it wants to shatter every which way. To get even little squares, cut while it’s still quite warm. Or you can cool the shortbread in the pan and then cut it into artful shards with a knife. Either way it will still taste fantastic.

Display the shortbread in a pretty jar on the counter, or package well (in plastic or glass, as it’s bound to break if bumped around) and freeze for later use.

Yield: about 1 pound

This same time, years previous: my kids are weird