Christmas Vodka

I don't drink that much.  Just on special occasions like weddings, birthdays, after successful minor surgical procedures and of course, Christmas. Until recently, I hadn't found a festive alcoholic drink that I truly loved. So imagine my excitement when, after months of research in the name of blogging, I have come up with a drink that is truly magical concoction that everyone (over the age of 18 of course) will love too. It is something to warm up these bitterly cold winter nights.

Once a day for a week now, I have been stirring a few secret ingredients around in a pot and watching them all develop into something ABSOLUTELY DELICIOUS. Without doubt, this is the best drink to share with friends this Christmas. The trials have been completed, I have people all over Kildare banging on the door for the recipe.  Finally, I am ready to share the secret recipe with the world.

It is vodka based and therefore very strong. It goes without saying that you won't need much. It is best served in very small amounts. Despite one person in the trial suggesting that we call it 'Annie's Secret Potion', I am calling it, 'The Spirit of Christmas'. You'll understand why when you see the ingredients. It takes 5 minutes to make. Decanted into little bottles, is the ideal gift to bring to friends and neighbours this year. It's flavour?  Christmas in a shot glass.

The Spirit of Christmas

Ingredients

250gms Muscavado sugar

half a teaspoon nutmeg

5 cloves

half a teaspoon of Vanilla extract or essence

3 drops Almond essence

half a teaspoon cinnamen

160gms Raisins

260gms Sultanas

the zest of 1 orange

1 tsp Mixed Spice

1 bottle of Vodka 

You will also need: 

a wooden spoon

a glass jar with a screw top lid

Method

1. Place all of the ingredients into a jar, twist on the lid and give it a good sir around. Put somewhere cool to sit (away from children and small animals)

2. Each day, give the jar a good shake, making sure that everything is mixing together nicely.

3. After a week, strain through a sieve into a bowl. 

4. Pour into bottles big and small and share with your friends and neighbours. 

And finally.....

You'll be left with a bowl filled with vodka infused fruits. I put mine into a cake, though I will not be leaving a slice out for Santa this year. If I did, he wouldn't be able to make it back up the chimney. Hic. 

A Very Cheesy Christmas

This morning my nine year old daughter suggested that we take photographs of the family and make them into our own personalised Christmas cards this year. This is not something that sits comfortably with me. I told her that I don't know anyone in Ireland who sends personalised Christmas cards and when you stop and think about it, there are only three groups of people in the whole world do think it is a good idea:

animal lovers,

.....Eurpoean royalty....

......and Americans.

"But wouldn't it be nice to be the first family in the Ireland to send our friends a family photo card?" she asked. Would it? I couldn't work it out. It was too early in the morning. I needed toast to help me focus. Perhaps a family christmas photo would be nice but only if we took the right kind of photo. Nothing too predictable or cheesy. There's nothing worse than a cheesy greeting card to put you off your mince pies. 

And we certainly wouldn't want one that involved nudity,

.....or highly inflammable costumes. 

Back to the kitchen, and my daughter who had found a camera. "Can't I take a nice photo of you and Dad?" Oh help. I knew exactly what she had in mind. A christmas couple shot, all woolly jumpers and white teeth. 

"No. No couple shots, it's too early". Then, "What about if I made a Christmas card with just you in it then?" she pointed the camera at me. I had just got out of bed. It was 7.30 am.  Before I knew it, the flash had gone off. I hadn't even had a cup of tea. I hadn't even thought about smiling. It was a Monday morning. "Oh, this is LOVELY" she said. I looked at the photo. I looked like an arsonist. It could ever be used as our family Christmas card. It would however, be ideal  if ever the Irish Prison Service decided to send put a Christmas photo card to ex-offenders. 

My husband walked through the kitchen on the way out to work. "I know, I'll take one Dad then". "NO! I'm not photogenic. I don't like having my photo ta...." was all he managed before the flash went off. Poor child.  Two horrific family portraits that if made into a Christmas card, would make any recipients vomit. 

Not put off,  she started clicking randomly, hoping that one of the images would be good enough to be made into a Christmas card. The first was of the kitchen sink,

the second, of the fishtank,

and finally, my broken toe (which, despite the bruising, looked much better than my face at 7.30am).

Even with a bit of glitter and spray snow, neither a kitchen sink, a fish tank or a toe makes for a good Christmas card.  She knew it, I knew it and christmas card manufacturers around the world know it too. She went outside in to the garden, out to the yard where our other pets live. Five minutes later she returned in a state of great excitement. "LOOK AT THIS!"

So I did. I looked at twenty photos of the pet rabbits. "Wouldn't they look lovely in a little Santa hat? OR what about if we dressed them up as REINDEERS or as snowmen?" Rabbits? That would put us into the 'animal lover' category of personalized Christmas card senders. Am I am ready for that? Reindeer Rabbits? What would the Rabbit Welfare League have to say? 

I have been working on the Christmas card all day. I have come up with two lovely photos that could work with just a few more editing tweaks (one needs a bit of tinsel and perhaps some baubles to make it a little more festive).

 I shall let the children decide which we one send out.

or

Jesus Christ!

What a weekend. It all started when on Friday, as I stood chatting with another mother at school, mid conversation, I got rather animated. With my arms and handbag swinging around there was a loud crashing sound and before I knew it, with one swoop, I had completely demolished the ‘Sacred Space’ outside the school secretary’s office.

The Virgin Mary fell flat on her face; the bible fell off the table and if it had not been for the screw top, my friend and I would have been splashing about in Holy Water as the plastic Holy Mary shaped container fell to the floor with a thud.

Worse still, the biggest feature of all, a wooden crucifix, fell over. I hurridly picked everything up and tried my best to make the display look, well, sacred again. As I lifted the crucifix up, to my horror, Jesus was no longer securely nailed to the cross. He was hanging on for dear life, with just one palm nailed firmly on.  

“Oh Jesus look what I’ve done” I whispered to my friend, holding the broken crucifix for her to see.  A voice piped up from inside the office, it was the deputy head teacher. She looked out from the office at the wrecked sacred space. “Yes indeed. That is Jesus Christ Annie. You have just knocked him off his cross”.

Doing my best to make good the Sacred Space, I put the bible back on the table and put the plastic Holy Mary Holy water container next to the other Holy Mary for company. Neither looked damaged. Unlike poor Jesus. I put him into my handbag and promised the school that I’d have him back on Monday morning.

Once home, I looked through the tool box and found a nail that was too big and a hammer. Then I looked at hole in the tiny palm on the tiny Jesus. I may not be the most religious person, but somehow, it felt totally wrong to put any nail into it, into that tiny golden palm.

Perhaps I'd get away with tying him back on with a ribbon. Or pegging him on. Even better, an elastic band might do the trick. Or Blu-Tac. Would Pritt-Stick be strong enough? Maybe I could try that flour and water paste that we used in the 80's in art class at school. But none of the above felt, well, very dignified. 

I sought advice from friends and family. When I sent a message requesting his assistance, my father replied “vatican crucifix helpline 003906246911-dad”. Was he serious? But what is the right thing to do with a broken crucifix? I turned to the internet and found the answer at 'Catholic Answers'. Their advice was simple.

“If you do not wish to repair the crucifix, or if it is unrepairable, the crucifix can be broken up so that it is not recognizable as a religious object and the fragments buried”. 

On closer inspection, I noticed that the school's crucifix did have rather a bad lean. The lean must have always been there, it wasn't my fault. Honest.  Still, it wasn't broken enough that it needed breaking up and burying in the school vegetable patch. 

My teenage daughter came home from school. “Look what I did,” I held up the crucifix in her face with two hands, like she was a werewolf. She instantly recognized it from her old primary school. “OH MY GOD! THAT IS SO DISRESPECTFUL!” she yelled, her face purple. “WHY DID YOU DO THAT? THAT’S VANDALISM” Despite my efforts to explain that it was an accident, that I hadn’t purposefully knocked him off in an act of rebellion, she ran to her room and slammed the door.

I tried to coax her out with comforting words like “Why are you so angry?". Silence. "You told us you were a Buddhist last month?". Silence. "Buddhists don’t get this angry do they? Look at the Dali Lama? Have you ever seen him this angry? No.” Silence.  

Next, old friend, Toby, sent me a suggestion.  “I'd leave it as it is - your Golden Jesus now looks like he's participating in some kind of extreme sport, swinging off the cross, making a dynamic move while rock climbing or perhaps taking a ride one handed down a zip wire. I'd explain to the priest this new action packed messiah will have a greater resonance with the young people at the school”.

I might pass that idea onto the Parish Priest. But I promised the school that I'd have him back, repaired, after the weekend. I couldn't leave Jesus him hanging there like Tarzan from a vine. Not being so close to the Holy Communions. The Sacred Space had been only recently laid out. People would notice. Word would spread that I, virtually the only non-Catholic in the school, was responsible. They'll think it was some kind of protest.  They'd all get upset, like my daughter had and I'd probably get banned from the Parents Association. 

I went back to the drawing board. Maybe I could Superglue him back on rather than having to go through the trauma of a modern day crucifiction. Or I could try that 'No More Nails' stuff. Another friend comforted me. "You can do this, just nail him on, stay strong and think....what would Jesus do?” That was the best advice of the day. What would Jesus have done?

Well, wasn’t he into helping others and being neighbourly? I phoned a friend in the neighbourhood. Her husband John, being an engineer, was a man who oversees bridge building projects around the world. He worked in an area that required precision and detail. I knew that John would never accidently hang little Jesus upside down or back to front. So kind John did the neighbourly thing and fixed him back on to the cross using a tiny nail. 

Today, when no-one was looking, I put the crucifix back on the Sacred Table. It may still be slightly lop sided but at least it is now centre stage, between the two Holy Mary's.....

..........Now all I have to do is mend my toe which broke when I was putting away the tool box this afternoon.  A ladder came crashing down from the attic and fell on it. I spent a total of two hours in hospital and came out with a splint, a crutch and a prescription for medication to ease the pain. 

Is this an example of divine retribution? If it is, I consider 'Himself' to be most ungrateful. If he falls off again, I'm going to use a stapler and gaffer tape to fix him back on. 

OUCH!

.

Stuck on You

The National Car Test centre in Naas turned out to be an interesting place last week. All manner of human life was there. Firstly the two men who checked out the cars looked like they were each attempting a world record. One was a ridiculously tall mechanic and the other, a ridiculously small mechanic and both modelling more piercings than anyone on Miami Ink.

I was bringing the old jalopy in for another check over after it failed the initial test miserably. After a few minutes, a woman I know from town, Lynda, came in and sat beside me looking very flustered. “Did your car fail?” I asked her. “No, I’m going through the menopause” she replied. Poor girl. She was hot and bothered before she had even got the results of the NCT.

“I’ve been so moody” she contuniued, looking left and right to make sure that the mechanics weren’t listening. “I was getting so hot and sweaty at night too” she continued, “and I had no sex drive at all” she finished up. The NCT waiting room was freezing cold. I could have done with a hot flush there and then to see me through the next half an hour. I opened a packet of digestive biscuits that I happened to have in my bag and offered her one. She shook her head. “No thanks. I have been putting on weight too which doesn’t help matters”. I nodded sympathetically; I ate far too many digestive biscuits this year.

“Guess what I've done?” she went on as I ate my digestive wishing that I had a cup of tea to go with it. “I went into the health food shop and found an amazing thing". She looked left and right. “I got a magnet,” she pointed downward. “I’m wearing a magnet in my knickers. What do you think of that?” I choked on my second biscuit. 

“In your knickers? Are you sure that is where it is supposed to go?” I asked, worried that she may not have read the small print right in her hormonal state. “Yes. Right here, in the front of my knickers. You wouldn’t not know it was there at all would you? I can’t even feel it. It just sits there all day.” The very tall mechanic with a huge metal hoop hanging out of his nose walked by. To add to my stress, he was  carrying a bag of spanners. Lynda quickly put her handbag on her lap. I winched and shut my eyes. 

"Guess what?" she continued when he was out of earshot.  "IT WORKS. I am now sleeping at night. I’m still getting the night sweats but they are not half as bad. And I am losing a bit of weight too which is a bonus.”  "How big is it?" Lynda looked at my digestive biscuits. "The size of a jammy dodger" she said, adding, "It has changed my life. They use them on hormonal horses too"

Was she MAD? What about the potential hazards of wearing a magnet in your knickers? Had Lynda thought his through? Wouldn't it set off the alarm at the airport? Wouldn't it show up on the high tech body scanner machines that they have? Surely you would be taken aside and searched? Might they mistake the magnet as being a component of a bomb? Might you be accused of being a terrorist? Worst of all, what if it fell out at mass - how would she explain that to the priest?

The tall mechanic with piercings came and told me, in his heavy Russian accent, that my car had passed the National Car Test.  Hooray! What a great feeling. Better than childbirth. The 'Stressmobile' would be on the road for another year. 

I left Lynda with the handbag on her lap and decided that I would invite her round for tea the following week to discuss the subject of menopause even further. It's all ahead of me after all, so I might as well be prepared. 

I sent her a text a week later. “Would you like to come round for some tea and sympathy?”  Lynda replied “Yes”. I sent another text, “Should I hide the cutlery? LOL! Wouldn’t want to trigger off  your magnet.” She replied swiftly,

“Don’t joke, I was just hanging some washing over the metal airer in the kitchen and my magnet got stuck to it. Whole thing fell on me. Injured. OUCH” 

I knew it. She was an accident waiting to happen. I suggest that anyone wearing such a menopausal magnet in their knickers should treat themselves to a wooden airer. It might be safer all round.