I refuse to start Christmas until the day after Thanksgiving, regardless of how many decorations merchants put up or how early they start piping in Christmas music. But now it’s time. So below is my eggnog recipe, plus my recipe for post-Thanksgiving leftovers shepherd’s pie, a tradition at my house. And, why not, I’ll throw in my family’s traditional recipe for Tom & Jerry batter.

Over the river and up the freeway, #1 Son and I traveled to B’s & K’s house. Thanksgiving was great fun. B & K put together an awesome evening. It was a smallish, rather quiet group this year. But the company was pleasant, as always, and the food was yummy, as always. K was very brave this year and used paper plates and plastic ware. You GO K! I think that was one of the best ideas I’ve seen for a long time. Who wants to hand-wash all that china and stuff, not to mention ironing all the linen?

Well… OK, some people do. I like to drag my “good” stuff out every now and then, because I don’t get to very often any more. All the same, I thought there was nothing wrong with paper plates. They had turkeys on them, fergodsake, so they were very seasonal. 😆

#1 Son always feels as though it’s not a successful large gathering unless there is at least one crisis. Last year the boyfriend of the younger B & K daughter was supposed to bring the rolls. He found them in the trunk of his car after the meal was over. But we all gave him credit for trying.

This year the rolls were in attendence, but needed warming. So B placed them in a paper bag and popped them in the oven — the time-tested, traditional method of warming rolls.

But the bag accidentally touched the burner and caught fire.

So there was a bit of excitement for a few minutes while B threw the bags in the sink and eldest B & K daughter attempted to douse the still-burning bag, part of it in the sink and part fallen to the floor. For some reason she grabbed salt instead of soda to smother the fire. Salt doesn’t really work the same way… But eventually the fire was extinguised. Most of the rolls made it through the ordeal unscathed (and unheated).

#1 Son missed the whole thing. “There hasn’t been a crisis,” he said, disappointed, during dinner. He was even more disappointed when we told him about The Incident Of The Burning Bag. But he agreed that the evening was, therefore, a rousing success.

But when the evening was complete and left-overs were being divvied up, a new small crisis presented itself. “Where’s the paper bag I brought the sweet potato casserole dish in?” I asked B, while searching vainly through the kitchen. “I want to pack my loot in it.”

His reply: “It’s the one that burned.”

Oh. Oops! But another bag was found, and, loot in hand, #1 Son and I traveled back down the freeway and across the river and home. This year I will be the only one indulging in post-Thanksgiving shepherd’s pie, being the only two-legged household carnivore (the cats do not get my turkey!). So it will be a small batch, but one greatly enjoyed!

Click the link below for the recipes.

The Persistent Illusion household heads north for turkey day. The last several year’s we’ve gone to B’s house. B is an old friend of mine who I’ve known for many years and worked with a couple of times at different employers. We’ve been invited to their house for Thanksgiving for the last several years.

This year I wasn’t sure that B was having Thanksgiving until I received an e-mail that said, “Will you be coming with your sweet potatoes?”

Now, I wasn’t really sure when reading this sentence if I was really invited, or if he just wanted the sweet potatoes shipped up to Vancouver via FedEx. But I assumed the former and replied that, yes, #1 Son and I would be coming along with the potatoes.

My recipe for candied sweet potatoes (that should probably really be called “carmelled sweet potatoes”) has been passed down through the women of my family for generations. I know it goes back over 100 years — back to the days when nothing was canned (unless you preserved it yourself) and all fresh ingredients were used. It’s very specific about its ingredients, and does not include marshmallows, nuts, or other icky things. It’s a very plain, unassuming recipe. People that claim to hate sweet potatoes love these. I only make them a couple of times a year, but I really like them. So if we are invited someplace during the holidays, I always offer to bring sweet potatoes. That way I know I’ll get to eat them. I’ll put the recipe below.

B and his wife K take in strays during the holidays, so there’s always an interesting and eclectic group there for dinner. It’s a lot of fun because I never know who I’m going to meet.

One year there was a woman who was a proponent of medical marijuana, apparently on a frequent basis. She kept something like 50 or 60 cats and didn’t understand why her neighbors complained. She spent a lot of the visit talking about how wonderful pot was, which pissed me off a little since #1 Son was younger then. But she also complained about having no short term memory. Go figure. She actually turned out to be a walking anti-drug-abuse poster, so I forgave her excentricities.

For several years a couple who made the most wonderful wine came. But I don’t believe they will be there this year since they have moved out of state. It’s a pity, because this year I’m actually not taking any medication that would preclude imbibing. Last year I only got sips.

Whoever is there, it’s bound to be fun and interesting. #1 Son, of course, is now vegetarian. So that means I get to eat his turkey and stuffing!

And I wish everyone a safe and happy Thanksgiving.

Click the link below for the “Candied Sweet Potatoes” recipe.

I usually don’t comment on sports, because I’m not much of a sports fan. The sporting events I like are ones that aren’t usually shown on national TV.

OK. That came out wrong…

The sporting events I like to watch are ones like curling and 3-day eventing (that’s equestrian) that have a limited viewership and are, therefore, usually not broadcast nationally. Of the “big three” American games — baseball, basketball and football — I prefer the first two because they are non-contact sports. Watching two lines of burly men attempt to inflict the maximum amount of damage on each other while moving a pigskin-covered, squashed-out-of-shape “ball” for 10 yards at a whack during “minutes” that last for hours just doesn’t turn me on.

After this weekend, it appears I’m down to baseball.

It’s true that I did not watch Friday’s Indiana/Detroit game. But I’ve watched the end of it several times. You can see it yourself here. The “interesting” part of the game started when Ron Artest fouled Ben Wallace hard from behind. Wallace then shoved Artest. This was followed by what is being called a “typical team fracas,” with the players of both teams shoving and throwing punches while officials tried to restore order. Artest stayed out of most of it, choosing instead to lie on the scorer’s table. (Is this usual behavior? Why didn’t he go to the now-empty bench if he wanted to lie down? Regular viewers will have to answer that question for me.) [ed. 11/22/04 2:50 pm My friends who are regular basketball watchers, when asked why Artest found it necessary to recline on the scorer’s table, replied, “To show how much of an asshole he is.” Uh… OK. I guess that’s why the cup-throwing fan was pissed.]

A fan tossed a cup (variously described as containing ice and/or beverage – it looked to me like beer) at Artest, hitting him in the chest. Artest responded by storming into the stands, leaping over the seats, cold-cocking fans as he went. The fans responded by throwing punches themselves. Other players joined the melee in the stands, some hitting fans and some trying to break the fight up. Security personnel and ushers managed to get the players back on the court. Some of the fans followed them down. A man shouted at Artest, and Artest slugged him. When the man got back up, former Blazer Jermaine O’Neal knocked him down again. Another former Blazer bad-boy, Detroit player Rasheed Wallace, actually tried to break up the fights.

Both teams finally left the court, under a hail of beverages, popcorn, cups, clothing and even a chair. Players were injured. Fans were injured. Children were in tears. The game was called. Oh, yeah… it was real exciting! NOT

What has amazed me is where many of the sports reporters I have heard and read since place the blame. Ben Wallace is blamed for starting the first go-round. He “overreacted” to what is described as “not an excessive” foul. Artest cannot be held accountable for his actions. He never would have come unglued if that fan hadn’t thrown a cup at him. So the fans are to blame for the whole business.

What unmitigated bullshit.

In a non-contact sport, any deliberate foul is excessive. I saw Artest foul Wallace. It wasn’t a tap on the shoulder. Should Artest have fouled Wallace? No. That’s not OK in basketball. Should Wallace have reacted? No. He should have left it up to the officials. Should the player have left their benches to shove each other around the court? No. They should have allowed the game to continue. Should Artest have laid down on the scorer’s table? I’m saying no. That seems weird to me. Should the fan have thrown a cup at Artest? No. What ever happened to common courtesy? Fans should not be out of control any more than players should. Should Artest have left the court and jumped into the stands to whack a fan or two? No. Jumping into the stand is a no-no. Whacking fans is battery and is against the law. Should fans have thrown popcorn and beer on the retreating players? No. It’s a waste of possibly good popcorn and probably bad beer (I’m a microbrew fan), and see the above note regarding common courtesy.

The NBA Commissioner has suspended Artest for the rest of the season. Stephen Jackson has been suspended for 30 games and Jermaine O’Neal for 25. Ben Wallace drew a 6-game suspension and Anthony Jackson got 5 games. Reggie Miller, Chauncey Billups, Elden Campbell and Derrick Coleman will be out one game apiece. All suspensions are without pay.

The players union claims that the penalties are “unduly harsh” and has vowed to appeal (and will probably get reduced suspensions for most players). O’Neal’s agent claims that the league singled him out for punishment without taking into consideration the fear he was feeling for his own safety. (Yeah… right…) Artest has released a contrite little statement that also questions the length of his suspension. (Guess he’ll have time now for his rap music, though.)

Mama always told me that two wrongs don’t make a right, but might make you left. And if that applies to two, then surly a dozen wrongs don’t add up to OK. Mama also told me that you have to take responsibility for your actions and be prepared to suffer the consequences if you choose to act badly. Considering their suspensions will cost Artest about $5 million and O’Neal some $3.7 million, this is a fairly expensive lesson. Judging from the reaction, it is one that neither the players nor the league seem inclined to learn.

Do I think the penalties are unduly harsh? No way. I think all of them, players and fans alike, should be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. I think that any player who threw a punch, either at a fan or at another player, should be fired. Season ticket holders who threw objects of any kind at the players should lose their season tickets forever. But I also think that trying to place “blame” on any one group is both moot and an exercise in futility. The root causes are much more complex than that.

I think it’s time to clean house and make basketball safe family entertainment again.

National Treasure starts out with a vast implausibility: A sailing ship frozen in arctic ice for 200 years, with no explanation of how it could survive intact the griding and crushing of moving ice that have left better vessels crushed into oblivion.

Nicholas Cage plays Ben Gates, the latest scion of a family cursed since the Revolution with the knowledge that somewhere in the US the founding fathers have hidden a treasure amassed (or stolen) by the Knights Templar. The Gates men have been searching for the treasure ever since, and Ben has discovered that a clue is in the boat.

What follows is a delightful romp through improbability after improbability. Ben is forced to steal the Declaration of Independence in order to keep it from being stolen by his former partner turned badguy Ian Howe, played by Sean Bean. Helping Ben is Justin Bartha as computer wiz and comic-relief sidekick Riley and Diane Kruger as National Archive Conservator Abagail Chase. After the theaft of the Declaration, Harvey Keitel joins the action in a too-small role as FBI Special Agent Sadusky, and Jon Voight comes on board as Ben’s father, who believes that the treasure is a fake.

Ian and Sadusky both chase Ben & company through various car chases, Independence Hall, Trinity Church and catecombs beneath Wall Street, while Ben chases clues that come from objects ranging from a Meershaum pipe and special glasses constructed by Ben Franklin to a $100 bill. The characters are, of course able to determine the true meaning of extremely obtuse clues without even breaking into a sweat.

Improbable, yes, but prepare to suspend your disbelief. Although instantly forgettable, National Treasure makes a pleasant holiday-season (almost) diversion.

Mom’s take:

The neo-con right is correct about one thing: This election was about values. These are some of mine:

Currently something like 50% of marriages end in divorce, often leaving in their wake embittered spouses and lost children. As a society, we should be doing everything we possibly can to foster loving, stable families, even if those families might be considered “non-traditional.”

People have the right to decide, along with their doctors, what the best treatment options are. If a doctor does not believe a treatment is ethical or appropriate, he or she need not perform it. If a patient doesn’t want a particular treatment, there’s no law forcing it. Medical ethics should not be legislated by the federal government.

“Freedom of religion” also means “freedom from religion.” And this means not only worshipping, or not, as one chooses, it also means freedom from legislation that pushes someone else’s religious beliefs down my throat.

Hard science trumps pseudo-science, religion, “gut feelings,” “I only want my beliefs taught in public school,” and “that would be bad for business” every time. Get over it.

Abortion should be legal, safe and rare. Because the drive to reproduce is stronger even than hunger, and because most human beings have hormones that work, providing abstinence as the only option serves only to create unintended and unplanned parents. People (including teenagers) who do not believe having sex is the right thing for them to do, will not suddenly change their minds because there’s a condom machine in the restroom. People who do want to have sex will, whether the condoms are there or not. Disallowing both birth control and abortion is social stupidity of the worst sort. Foisting that view off on developing countries by refusing funding to groups that teach and provide family planning is morally reprehensible.

We live on a small planet that’s growing smaller every day. We must learn to get along. We must come to the playground willingly and with an open mind. We can neither be the bully nor take our ball and go home when the other countries disagree. Neither will foster the sort of respect and tolerance that is needed. We must follow the golden rule. We must share our toys. We must play by the rules agreed to. We must let others have a turn.

Individual rights are the oldest of American values. The Bill of Rights was written specifically to contain the power of the government and protect individual liberty. No matter what the circumstances, attempts by any US official or body to limit the inalienable rights of any human being should be ruthlessly stamped out.

These are some of my values.

This is why I voted for John Kerry.

This is a rather strange story that reminded me a lot of high school and why I never want to go back there.

Iran has banned soccer players from sporting ponytails and sculpted beards as part of a campaign to prevent the spread of Western culture in the Islamic state, a soccer federation official said on Thursday.

The federation said those who defied the order ran the risk of being banned from the game.

[…]The ban does not apply to long hair.

“The Prophet Mohammad had long hair. We have no problem with it,” Majd said.

I hate to admit how long ago I was in high school. Let’s just say that the memory this brought back was circa late 60’s, and leave it at that. There were three high schools in my small town. They followed to varying degrees the ultra-conservative directives given by the unofficial town religion (that my family did not belong to). Unlike the Iranian officials, whether Mohammad, or Jesus for that matter, had long hair was irrelevant. No boy was going to graduate from high school if he looked like a hippy. There was at least one boy I knew who was forced to repeat his senior year because he refused to cut his hair. The fact that his grades were good meant nothing. Everything focused on whether his hair hit his collar or not.

Stupid.

But maybe we just need to wait another 30 or 40 years and the Iranian culture will begin to ease off a bit? Maybe if we passed out love beads and flowers to them? Sure. Why not?

Iranian soccer officials, I’m thinking, need to talk to our own Blazer’s officials regarding what happens when a team alienates its fan base:

A crowd of 110,000 watched a match between Iran and Germany in Tehran earlier this month. Iranian women were not allowed to see the match after the football federation upheld a ban on them entering stadiums even though women are the Islamic country’s most passionate fans.

That doesn’t seem like an extremely intelligent move to me. But maybe that’s why I’m not in marketing.