Christmas Memories

     The bacon crackles it's beautiful song in the background as the aroma fills the air bringing your dog racing to the table, impatiently waiting for its scraps and the cat not be too far behind, sitting a few feet away quietly mocking the canine in its normal condescending fashion knowing just how short-lived the memory of your dog possesses, as it will be waiting for quite some time to receive anything if any scraps from the table leftover from the sweet and succulent gift directly from God to mankind...pig.

     You lean back in your chair of many years peering through the kitchen window to see snow fall dancing in the early winter breeze as a light haze begins to cover the ground and the birds make their annual journey south to escape the coming cold.  You day dream of one day following them down in your RV with the lovely wife and you unravel today's paper, smoothing the edges and crease in the center you reach for another sip of the peppermint mocha just overlooking your blueberry bagel.

     It then hits you like a storm.  The month no longer reads November, and she has already turned the page on the calendar.  Yup, it is now December.  "Where has the year gone?" You ask yourself.

     Brushing the dog's nose away, you think back to simpler times when politicians were noble, fuel was $.89 a gallon, and words were cheap.  Now-a-days it is as difficult to find an honest Abe as it is to get a gallon of milk for less than $3.  Words are cheaper than ever and often thrown around in such a careless fashion as to imply that not only is the person at whom you just blew up void of any real feelings, but what once was considered a vow in the presence of witnesses can now be quickly dissolved at the onset of discomfort with no more than a credit card and a Phone App.

     One thing hasn't changed, and that's the clock.  Time still flies by with little regard for age or occupation in its forgotten memory encapsulated with things to do and groups of people to casually text.  The days are long, but the years are oh so short.  May I encourage you then as we once again embark on this beautiful holiday season to be mindful of what little time you have left in this world, and to carefully spend it with those whom you love.  "Tomorrow is promised to no one" and "is uncertain as the wind".  You can always buy another basket of fruit or gold ring. These fine gifts are perhaps even things that the people for whom you are making this purchase can buy for themselves.  But, no matter how hard you try, you can not buy more time.  Sure, you can leverage your time by delegating or recruiting others to help in knocking things off your list of tasks, but you can not buy back that hour you just spent in front of the TV or Mac.  

     Think back to the Christmas of yesteryear.  We would all pile into the car, bundled up with Style and Then Some as if we were about to go for a stroll through Siberia...in the winter.  There was barely enough space to breathe let alone relax with all the gifts packed in the trunk, around us, and underneath us, but we were excited, for we were off to Grandma's house and for the next two hours I would envision the sweet, crunchy goodness of Grandma's frozen Ginger Crinkles.  I could almost taste the colored sugar as it sparkled in my mind atop the perfected balance in texture between moist and fresh juxtaposed the crisp of the cool freezer.  A tall glass of milk set beside me yearning to fulfill it's ultimate purpose in compliment to one of the greatest accomplishments and credits to Grandma's everywhere...the cookie.

     Time seemed as though it flew by as we passed semi trucks and homes with large colored lights glowing in the background of the falling snow.  Before I knew it, we were there!  The baggage and clothes, even Grandma would have to wait...the devilishly-good ginger crinkles screamed for my attention.  Of course she would keep a few extra in the cookie jar, but they paled in comparison to the flavor held within those circular beauties tucked away neatly in an orange, tupperware cylinder older than George Bailey.  Following in behind me would be my siblings frowning a face of disgust knowing that once again, I got the upperhand on the quasi-hidden treasure.  The folks slightly trailed behind bringing in the luggage and the cold night air along with them creating an interesting aroma blending turkey, stuffing and cookies with fresh driven snow and the remains of the family farm.  They had these 2 reclining rockers, barely cushioned with what seemed like a paper-thin cotton, but perhaps not as comfortable, and the greatest part about these chairs made in the time of the renaissance, were the colors - a vomit green and orange which perfectly contrasted the poopy-brown davenport setting just a few feet away.  It was a scene from Madmen.

     And what about yourself?  Do you recall your seasonal gatherings as a child?  Walking into the grandparents home about half-hour before dinner from the oven would be served?  You might find a swirl of smoke from Grandpa's tobacco pipe hanging in the air, a sweet aroma of musk and fireplace soot as the wood crackled against the red brick and every few moments the bloodhound would raise an ear or the entire head depending on how loud the foreign sound might have disturbed his winter slumber.  Grandma slowly rocked back and forth knitting another sweater and murmuring to herself under her breath the many complaints of the pipe.  There was no TV, or if they just so happened to have a console, it would be turned off with a clear vinyl cover over the freshly dusted wood as if to imply it was off-limits until Grandpa said otherwise.  The overhead light was off, and the only other lamp in the room was the tree cut down just a few days earlier providing a beautiful glow to the whole room with lights dancing almost in harmony to the retro sounds of Andy Williams spinning from the record player.

   Sure, it might be a tad Norman Rockwell and unrealistic, but the memories are certainly there.  Can I encourage you then, to visually paint for your family and friends the memories you might wish for them to have years later, and create a few memories this Christmas?

     Ne'r did one say on his death bed how he wished to have spent just a little more time at the office on paperwork or crossing things off the to-do list, and also did not regret the time invested in his family and with his friends, but...then again...that's just my humble opinion.

Bacon Will Save Us All

     The aroma still lingered in the air and wooshed at me like a hurricane in perfect form where just a few short hours before I had stood at our trusty stove with an iron skillet sautéing bell peppers and bacon in none other than...you guessed it, bacon grease.

     If you were ever to look into the hoarding business with interest, might I recommend hoarding bacon grease.  Some look at it and ask why, most dream about it and ask, "yes, please!"  This beautiful gift from our creator useable and fry-able in nearly everything to enhance flavor and bring about heaven on earth after a bad day...or perhaps to celebrate after a good day, or if you are so inclined...may in no uncertain terms choose to cook and ingest on any day happening to end in the letter "y".  From steak, to popcorn, to mushrooms, there seems to be no end to its use in cooking and with a dash of seasoned salt complimented by fresh ground pepper you could easily close your eyes, believe you are in a 5-star restaurant with bus boys in tuxedos preparing the table next to you for a celebrity couple as you slowly raise the knife from your bacon-wrapped fillet, topped with caramelized onions and shrooms sauteed in, yes, bacon grease.  You being a smart and well-versed newspaper subscriber can probably just imagine the aroma, yes?  I don't have to paint the picture of an antique silver fork piercing a perfectly-seared, 28 day aged, well-marbled ribeye lifting the succulent piece of tender beef off a dinner plate from Royal Copenhagen and slowly permitting your tastebuds to enter into a whole new dimension while you close your eyes savoring every moment and thus fully acknowledging from that in the famous words of Reverend Brown from Coming to America, "There's a Gaaawd, somewhere!"  And you ask yourself, "how did I win the lottery to be blessed with such a much sought-after commodity?"  In the future you may very well hear, "It's worth it's weight in bacon," because one can only eat so much gold, and after some time even Flaming Hot Cheetos may lose their freshness and accidentally go stale through some curse of the evil one, however when it comes to bacon one can never get too much of a good thing, but then again...that's just my humble opinion.