Sunday, January 30, 2011

Why We Have Children

In one of the finest arguments against the aborting of your off-spring comes this moving and poetic indictment from Timothy Dalrymple:


Why do we have children? The question lies beneath social and political issues we confront today, from abortion and adoption to declining fertility rates in developed nations and the relative virtues of "eastern" and "western" forms of parenting. In 2010 a whole host of articles and commentaries debated the finding that parenthood does not make us happier. So what is the point? Why do we make all the extraordinary sacrifices that parenthood requires?
There was no part of me, as we rushed to the emergency room that night, that wished my daughter gone and my freedom restored. Not the slightest part of me thought I should be happier without her. Instead, I knew with terrible certainty that if this small, fragile, quivering creature against my chest were to leave me, she would take all my joy with her. And no part of me would have preferred that she had never come to be, if she could only be for thirteen months and then be no more. Her thirteen months had made my life worth living.
I had felt a twinge of disappointment when the doctor informed us that we were having a girl. Connecting with boys had always come easily; a little wrestling, a little flying around the room, a few uncivilized sound effects, and we were buds. Yet when I went home from the ultrasound, and sat down alone to write, I dissolved into a spectacular emotional wreck. At the thought of fathering a daughter, waves of joy rolled through me. I loved my little girl long before I met her. I read her stories in the womb, sang to her, prayed for her. It wouldn't matter what she looked like or what her personality was. She was mine—mine to nurture and protect, mine to train and guide, and mine to love with all my might.
We have children because love overflows. I believe as a Christian that I am created in the image of a God who is Love, a God whose love so desired an object that it brought us into being. Although the wisdom and power of love within us is clouded and twisted by sin, still the image of Love is there. We have children because love is essentially creative, and because our souls long for other souls we can love lavishly and forever.
Love precedes the beloved. That is why it is unconditional. In bearing children we participate in God's continuing creative act, and in sustaining and guiding and sacrificing for our children we reflect God's redemptive act. Theologically, then, we have children because we are made after the image of a God who had children, a God who is irreducibly relational and endlessly creative.
Read it all.

In the comment thread at Hot Air I posted this:

Children are hardly accessories, except for possibly the Famous Beautiful People who buy them on the cheap in Southeast Asia or Africa.
Our children were all accidents. Our first two, twins, were really accidental. We were told after two miscarriages, not to get pregnant. I thought I couldn't get pregnant again, at least so quickly, but were we ever wrong. 
In well-spaced succession we had a third daughter who vexed us most sorely nearly her whole life, until she got married and had a baby of her own and now understands the joys and sorrows of parenting.
Our fourth came as a surprise but rewarded my nine months of pre-partum depression with 14 years...so far...of joy and wonder.
My husband is exactly like Mr. Dalrymple in his reaction to having a daughter. Best accidents, ever.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Down With the Dumps!

You cannot possibly remain in the Slough of Despond after watching these two videos.


It wouldn't surprise me to know that he is one of the best auto mechanics around.

And in a heartbeat...hire this guy to give your kid high diving lessons.


After watching these guys, I feel less inclined to complain. About anything.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Beyoncé Gets a Web Redemption

From Rachel Lucas:



What mad genius mashed Barney and Beyoncé, I can't say, but it works. Like Bacon on Cake, it works!

Tasty Infidelicacies Search Request of the Day

Today's interesting search engine request comes from Puyallup, Washington (ahhh, lovely memories I have of the fair and strawberry festival, but I digress.)

Puyallup, Washington arrived from ask.com on "Tasty Infidelicacies: If it moves, Grill it!" by searching for Is the Pepperidge Farm Layer Cake in Islam Is It Haram or Halal?



I never thought about it, before. I shall ponder and get back to the seeker. In the meantime, I'm pretty sure that THIS is, indeed haram, and therefore worthy of a haramfest:


Yep, Bacon Cake. Brought to you via the good folks at American Madness.

Search engine request runner-up:

Singapore arrived from bing.com on "Tasty Infidelicacies: April 2008" by searching for sour worm in australia.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Mad World

Hat tip to iOwntheworld:


Nice Deb has a good round-up of articles on Gosnell, and Ace of Spades mocks the "It's not about abortion, but criminality" meme.

This story just gets uglier and uglier, especially when we find out how the Pennsylvania Department of Health purposefully ignored complaint after complaint after complaint. Why would they do that, we wonder.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

They Promised...

This is not for the faint of heart. Via The Anchoress

At least the press is covering this fairly and accurately....not.

They promised us a generation ago, that abortion wasn't about the murder of babies in the womb.
They assured us that the baby was just tissue. Non sentient, unfeeling tissue. A fetus, a clump of cells.
They promised it wouldn't hurt us, that it is a woman's body, a woman's choice, that it is safe, that it is 'health care', that it would be rare.

They promised that the back alley abortionist would go away, that the cure for an unwanted baby would be handled with sanitized instruments of death and there would be no lasting pain or suffering.

They lied.

By design.

There's a day of reckoning. And not just for the ghouls, but for those who look away and pretend 'it's all good.'

The Mind is A Terrible Thing to Baste

Sippican has some very interesting things to say about the Voldemorticians of Hire Education. And this is my presponse:


(First published 2000)


Like a frog relaxing comfortably in slowly heating water, I forgot to pay attention to certain things around me, and now that I feel the heat, it isn’t so comfortable, anymore. I keep looking for an escape, but there’s none to be found. So, I’ll just rant awhile.

The clue that the water might be getting a tad bit too warm, was stepping on one of my children’s books - the sort of book a teacher gives a student who finally gets 6 out of 10 words correct on a spelling test.

I promise you, I didn’t buy this book. I swear an oath to gouge my eyes out that I certainly didn’t write this book, either. Okay, enough suspense. Here is the title, and try not to vomit while reading it.

I would hate for that to happen:


I LIKE ME! By Nancy Carlson, published by PUFFIN books.
Copyright 1988, 1990. ISBN: 0-14-050819-8.

Just try to guess what this novella is all about. Yep, you got it. ME! The most holy person of the modern secularist’s Trinity: ME, MYSELF and I. No, it isn’t about MOI, the columnist, but the general, all-purpose ME, to the exclusion of everyone else.

Now that I know what it takes to be published as a children’s writer, I know I will never get published as a children’s writer, so I will devote myself to being a critic of modern children’s writing. At least I will prevent the build-up of spleen, and thus, save my organs for some more vital use.

In this issue of LET’S DAMAGE THE SELF-ESTEEM OF DIMWITTED DINGBAT WRITER NANCY CARLSON, we have to wonder what the party was like when this piece of shit came out in print. Her story is about a little girl-piggy, who loves herself and her image in the mirror, and how she believes herself to be special, though very much like everyone else. I imagine that her piggy parents have a bumper sticker on their piggy mini-van that says, "My child is a NICE student at P.S. 118, even though she’s a pig."

Miss Piggy-Thang goes on and on throughout the story talking about herself and how she is okay, and you can almost hear Saturday Night Live character Stuart Smalley’s effeminate voice reading this dullerie.

Actually, as my husband was accidentally reading this story to the three-year-old, (he had no idea what he was getting into) his voice began to drip with schmaltz, and before the last page, we were all laughing hysterically, especially the tyke. But there is an undertone of something sinister going on here, and it galls me.
It isn’t just this particular badly written child’s book. It is the entirety of mass-produced children’s culture, which has effectively supplanted parents, altogether. Modern kiddie-lit has become so unimaginative, so therapeutic and fluffy, that one need never wonder again why Johnny can’t read or write: Books ‘R’ Lousy! If you channel surf over to channels 12 or 13, you are likely to find your superdull PBS station. Just look at this federally financed marketing scheme that passes for educational TV, and what you find is sickening sweetness in overdoses. It is Prozac TV. Barney, Teletubbies and all the other suckworthies merely still the infant, while Sesame Street insures that they will be forever illiterate, and by the time the youngsters drag themselves to school, they will be sedated even more with Ritalin. No wonder kids are shooting up the place. THEY ARE BORED!

Gone are the days of Harold and his purple crayon, and Maurice Sendak’s voyage to where the wild things are. You remember these stories, don’t you? Harold and his purple crayon create a whole reality, cities, traintracks and the moon, Alice, the moon! In Where the Wild Things Are, the story starts out with Max being sent to his room for being naughty. I recall reading something many years ago about how this particular story caused such a brouhaha among the child psychologists of the day. They all worried that this story might actually DAMAGE, no, I believe the vogue word is TRAUMATIZE the little child who reads it, possibly for life!

My youth was filled with stories that would move me to anger, laughter, sorrow and every other deep emotion good writers have the power to evoke. I was lucky to have parents and grandparents who told me stories out of books, as well as regaling me with stories from their lives. Perhaps the family is so undermined these days by the relentless culture that imposes itself on every free moment of the day, into every aspect of life, that it is basically fighting a losing war.

Books are fraught with therapy and psychobabble, and television shows are preachy and simplistic. Every good thing has been stripped from storytelling that once engaged the mind and soul, and the only things left to appeal to are the emptiness and guilt that are associated with mind-manipulation.
My children are now old enough to revel in the writing of C. S. Lewis and Roald Dahl. I can’t wait until they desire greater intellectual challenges.

I am thankful that I had a father who made me listen to classical music and jazz. These are the gifts I have passed on to my own children, and while my kids stand out as archaic throwbacks among their classmates, they are the richer and wiser ones…not those kids whose parents indulge their every cultural whim and then shut the door, leaving the rest of us to clean up the mess. Geez, it’s getting hot in here, now. I’m done stewing.

UPDATE: The brilliant writer who brought us Pigs With Self-Esteem, has written another book worth avoiding called: I DON'T LIKE TO READ! Maybe Nance will get around to writing a book called: I CAN'T WRITE, BUT I GET PAID WADS OF FILTHY LUCRE TO PRETEND THAT I DO!

We've reached hypocritical mass


Hat Tip to Tanis, who saw it and posted it on facebook. Pass it around.
Thanks, Gerard!

Eating Babies: Updated for Tanis!

Facebook is ingenious for connecting people of like minds and wits. This is how I met MizzE, also known as Tanis. I love this lady, though we've never met, and primarily because we have the same wicked sense of humor. So I dug this one out of the archives for her, just because she posted this on facebook:


From August 20th, 2008.

Aaaah! The things you can make from marzipan!

It almost seems a crime to eat them.

You understand, don't you, that when Jonathan Swift said, "A young healthy child well nursed, is, at a year old, a most delicious nourishing and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee, or a ragout.", he was only kidding.

Just so we're on the same page, here. These babies are too startlingly realistic. Why, The Very Idea of popping one of the little candy tots into my mouth and letting it slowly melt on my tongue while my eyes roll dreamily in their sockets and.....

I just love babies!
(and marzipan, too.)

UPDATE: These younglings are NOT made of Marzipan, after all. They're made of *gulp* CLAY.

On The Massacre of Christians

I downloaded Oscar Wilde's Ballad of Reading Gaol to my Kindle. Along with the ballad is a collection of his finest poetry, and this sonnet leapt off the electronic page:



Christ, dost Thou live indeed? or are Thy bones
Still straitened in their rock-hewn sepulchre?
And was Thy rising only dreamed by Her
Whose love of Thee for all her sin atones?
For here the air is horrid with men's groans,
The priests who call upon Thy name are slain,
Dost Thou not hear the bitter wail of pain
From those whose children lie upon the stones?
Come down, O Son of God! incestuous gloom
Curtains the land, and through the starless night
Over Thy Cross, a crescent moon I see!
If Thou in very truth didst burst the tomb
Come down, O Son of Man! and show Thy might,
Lest Mahomet be crowned instead of Thee!

Antoni Piotrowski: The massacre of Batak.
National Gallery for Foreign Art in Sofia, Bulgaria.

Revelation 6:7-11

7. And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see.

8. And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

9. And when he had opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held:

10. And they cried with a loud voice, saying, How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth?

11. And white robes were given unto every one of them; and it was said unto them, that they should rest yet for a little season, until their fellowservants also and their brethren, that should be killed as they were, should be fulfilled.
--------------------------------------------------------------
I had an interesting conversation with an earnest young man, a devout follower of Christ and eagerly awaiting His return. We talked about the Great Tribulation and the different philosophies about the return of Christ and the Rapture of the Church. He is in the pre-millenial camp. I am not sure what I believe. It is a sore spot with many Christians, and it is exacerbated by rigid denominational views which keep the brethren fractious toward one another.

Many Christians in America believe that Christ will come before the Great Tribulation described in the Book of Revelation and in parts of the Gospels. That they shall not drink the cup so many Christians elsewhere are now tasting. Our relatively persecution-free lives are small comfort for the Bride suffering in in the rest of the world where she hounded, slaughtered, jailed, whose children are murdered or stolen from Her and converted against their wills. It isn't happening here, unless you call the hyperpanicked, anti-Christian whinging from the psychotic left in this country persecution. Consider it a foretaste, a free sample in the grocery store of what's to come.

We have yet to be truly persecuted in this country. Real suffering for the faith? It isn't happening. Yet.
We will be baptized into His death and resurrection the way the Christians have in the past and are in the present. That is a promise from Christ, Himself. With His words in blood red. And then we will understand what it is to truly suffer for the sake of Christ in America, land of the free, home of the brave.

We should not continue to turn away from the plight of our sisters and brothers.  The Bridegroom's return may be imminent, but should He tarry, we ought to redeem the time, seeing that the days are evil.

Further excellent coverage concerning the plight of Christians around the globe, but especially in Africa, can be found at Lee Jay Walker's site.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Late Shift Musings

Many years ago, I worked the late shift at a newspaper. I started off working in the mail room and worked my way out of that dirty and muscular job into the composing room, where I made color overlays, pasted news type to grid sheets, made ads and composed the classified section of the newspaper. It was a fast-paced job that was constantly integrating new technologies.

First came half page pagination, where the ads could be composed on a computer and printed out, ready to be pasted onto a grid sheet. Then came the pagination of newspages, and classified pages. Ultimately, the compositor went the way of the typesetter.

The newspaper wasn't willing to fire good workers who weren't of retirement age, I was sent off to the corner to be a proof reader,  And then the software to do that made me once again, obsolete. So they sent me to work in the morgue, or, in less morbid terms, the library.

For a while I wasn't obsolete. I researched information for the general public and for reporters in need of a quick fact check. I stored images and typed all the news stories into a computerized database. And in my spare time, I read the New York Times and the New Yorker, feeling smug and satisfied in my new digs.
Until I once again became obsolete. Software and the internet made that job evaporate.

And then I came to work in a bakery. In our bakery, the recipes are all quite old, more than eighty years old, in fact, for a good number of them. Our pies are made from recipes, our dough isn't made in some other bakery, frozen, and then shipped out from Jersey. We make it ourselves. All the rolls, buns, sticky buns and artisan breads are made from scratch. It's labor-intensive, muscular work. And just plain old-fashioned.

And last week, we hired a new baker. She used to work for a large printing company. Until she became obsolete! Now she's baking with us!


Best job, ever!

Stark contrasts


How many variations on a theme of evil are there? One more unraveling of the world. This is Islam, where girls are unwanted trash. Women who survive girlhood are virtual prisoners. Bartering chips. In Pakistan, as in Bangladesh and Afghanistan, women are victims of acid attacks, too. Beautiful women disfigured for any and all reasons and for no reason other than they are women. That is the hatred for women that is woven throughout the binding chains of Islam.

From faithfreedom.org


Infanticide on the Rise in Pakistan

The Edhi Foundation, a charity group reported that more than 1000 infants were abandoned or killed in Pakistan last year. The group counted the number of incidents that happened only in the cities and it is unknown how many infants were abandoned in the rural areas. In December alone, they found 40 dead babies left in garbage dumps and sewers.
Although Islam discourages infanticide, the birth of children outside of marriage is unacceptable and adultery is punishable by death. The fear of death compels a mother to abandon her baby. Abdul Sattar Edhi, the founder of the charity said, “People leave these children mostly because they think they are illegitimate, but they are as innocent and loveable as all human beings.”
The charity has posted a sign outside its office, “Do not murder, lay them here” and left cradles to receive unwanted babies.
In another incident, a baby was left outside of a mosque and the Imam of the mosque ordered to stone the baby to death.

I am the mother of four lovely daughters. Each is a joy to me. Each is an individual, with her own dreams and aspirations. I am fortunate to have  daughters. I am most fortunate to live in a country where daughters may dream and hope for themselves big dreams. Where the burden of shame is not placed upon them. And we don't kill our daughters in the name of family honor.

Mother Mary and the Baby James


Once more, my life is filled with baby. Baby noises, baby smells, baby needs. It's hard having to share the little guy with so many other people. He's a lucky so 'n' so, that's for sure.

Friday, January 14, 2011

An Added Touch of Crass

I didn't watch Obama's Tucson Memorial speech, for the sole reason I don't watch any of his speeches: He's a liar. Period. No other reason but that he is a liar. I have had it up to my eyeballs with liars. Many people noted what a great speech it was, but I couldn't get past these images:





Hardly the kind of thing you should see at a memorial service for the dead, now, is it? 

Cilla answers the question of where the shirts might have their origin. But just in case the site goes into the memory crapper, here it is in full:

Together We Thrive
By John Berry IV - Feb 11, 2008 12:49:37 AM ET
For too long Americans have been set one against the other, it is a side affect of a free market society. How can profits be maximized, how can I get the work done for the lowest possible costs. This continually sets one group against the other, especially in the blue collar sectors of America. It has become a part of the American Business model, whether it was indentured servants, slaves picking cotton, sharecroppers, the industrious people that built the railroads or todays migrant workers. As long as we remain divided, fighting for the scraps that America has to offer it will be one group against the other.

What I see in Obama is a chance for a revolution. A chance for every group to participate and be heard; A chance to live the American dream that has been denied to so many. Together we can and will change the world and return America to the shining beacon of Hope and Prosperity that we were and that we can be again. Only when we work together do we accomplish feats that rival any ever accomplished in the history of mankind. Diversity is our strength, that is what this campaign brings us a promise of. For many this is a scary prospect and thought, getting to know someone different from myself. We all want the same basic things for example a safe place to live, health and a quality education for our kids.

In a previous career, I was the global leader of Diversity for a global fortune 500 corporation, I have studied the affects of diverse groups working together and the results can not be denied. Together we Thrive!!!!!!!!!!!

In the words of Ralphie, upon decoding the super secret message from his Little Orphan Annie Decoder Ring:


A crummy commercial? Sonofabitch, indeed. Are we surprised, yet?

Adds Rick: "Together We Thrive" is a singularly inappropriate slogan for a memorial service, since, after all, six people are not thriving.
But of course, it was not a memorial service. It was the kickoff event for Obama's 2012 re-election campaign.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Dear Albanian, What did you think you would find?

Apparently, the Tasty Infidelicacies Franchise is number one on the Google Search Engine request: hezbian porno star video porno.com, beating out Greg Gutfeld for the honor. At least, according to the Feedjit visitor trackerdownerthingy on the right side of this blog. Yay, I think.

Now this is what happens when I use words like Chopin Erotica and Food Porn Hotline in my blog post headlines. I guess I have it coming.

I only hope the Albanian finds what he was looking for, and that it gives him long lasting joy and happiness.....heh.

Hey Keeds, there's a SCORPION in EVERY Bite!

A lovely, belated Christmas gift from a...friend, I guess.


The ingredients on the label are Corn syrup and Scorpion and natural flavoring, which, from looking at the sucker, is or isn't Emily, but strawberry. Mmmmm. You try it. First.


Brought to you for no apparent reason by Hotlix.

It's Official: I have way too much time on my hands

Someone was thinking about me when he created this intertoy.






Once upon a time, when I worked for a newspaper in a far, far away state full of mountains and cows and sheep, a terrible and hideous, gruesome crime was committed by a man whose motives at the time he did it were unknown.

Armed with a sawed-off shot gun, he knocked on the door of the motel room next to his and ordered the family of four inside to tie one another up with the telephone cord he'd brought with him. When he finished tying up the youngest, a boy of 9 years, he then forced them to drink some sort of potion that rendered them unconscious. He suffocated each one until they died. But they didn't all die. One of the children survived, and he allowed her to live. She was barely thirteen years old and he forced her to come with him as he went on a drug buying spree. If he'd raped her, we never found out, because she was so traumatized that she was mute after the murders of her parents and brother, a fact only discovered at the trial of the murderer.

Of course, almost immediately after the crime became a news story, the reporters and editors of  the newspaper speculated wildly, about why the girl was allowed to live. The consensus in the newsroom was that she must have known him, and perhaps had been having an affair with an older man and he killed her parents at her bidding so that they could be together.

What was their evidence? There was none, of course. But that was the first thing their minds created as a possible motive.

I thought to myself as I pondered this character assassination, that these people do not remember what it was like to be a thirteen year old girl.  I did remember. Clearly. I wasn't more than 22 at the time of the crime. Being thirteen was a fresh and unhappy memory for me, as I am sure that it is for many awkward thirteen year old girls, even now. There was no way the girl was having sex with this lunatic, and she was a victim of his horrible crime. Had they published their speculations, it would have been a double crime against her. 
Fortunately, they had the good sense not to publish their opinions about her, and with time and information, they realized how horribly brutalized she was. They did their job as reporters and editors well and the story that the newspaper printed was accurate, dispassionate and sensitive to the victims.

As it turned out, she was allowed to live because the man that killed her family didn't remember doing it, being high and crazy on angel dust. When he came off his high, he realized the girl was still alive and  allowed her to live out of remorse. Two days later, when relatives notified the police of their missing family members, the police came to the motel where they found the family under sheets, and the girl in the man's room, he tearfully gave himself up. Drug induced insanity was the motive for his evil crime spree. Nothing so pornographic and interesting as the scenario invented in the fevered imaginations of the reporters and editors - though they were absolutely sure they were right at the time.

Epilogue: My sister declined to rent a room in the apartment house where he was living. He gave her the creeps when she saw him. As she told me: the hairs stood up on the back of her neck.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Tragic Irony

From KVOA via Jawa Report

9-year-old victim of deadly rampage identified


TUCSON - The identity of the 9-year-old tragically killed in this morning's deadly rampage is Christina Taylor Greene.

Family says she was vibrant, excited about life, and she was the "best daughter in the world."

Born on September 11, 2001, Greene was excited about the political process, was on the student government, and went to the Giffords event today to learn more about the political process, family members say.

Greene attended Mesa Verde Elementary School. She was the only girl on the CDO baseball team - she loved the sport, as well as horseback riding and swimming.
More sickening than the wanton slaughter is the slobbering press falling all over themselves to assign blame to:

Go ahead.  Guess. Yeah, we didn't see that coming, did we. Hypocrites.

Shades of 1995. Only today, we have the internet. And his own damning words. The boy is a psycho. Sooner or later we are going to have to just get rid of the whole Right Wing and Left Wing categorizations and go for the truth, whatever it is. We can't blame Muslims for Islamic terror, and we can't blame leftist psychopaths for theirs, either. We don't need no stinking analysis from the empty talking heads of Media Wonderland. Turn 'em off. I haven't watched in a long time.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

It's much better to be a Grandma than a Ma


Aaah, the days of young motherhood. Sleeping on the floor in a pile of laundry. I don't miss it one bit. So very thankful that my children haven't yet discovered the awkward family photos with me being mostly awkward. This is really what it was like having twins. You have no idea what you are in for, Mary. Heheheheeheh.

And  look at this truly awkward family photo. I should hope some one in this picture is traumatized for life. Just because.


This is what you call a pricless Kodak moment.

Merry Orthodox Christmas!



The carol is Serbian Orthodox. Given the savagery being doled out to them as the world ignores the latest travesty coming out of Kosovo, the song is nevertheless a joyous reminder of Christ's birth.

Many thanks to those brave Muslims who stood with their fellow Egyptians in the face of cowardly terrorists. 

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Leftovers: A lame explanation with sausage, beans and polenta

The simple is always the most delicious. Jill, at Simple Daily Recipes invites all food bloggers to join the blogroll of culinary simplicity and all we have to do is ping her back with a post about a simple and delicious meal preparation. My submission is Sausage with Beans over Polenta. Very, very simple and oh so very comforting. But first, a word of explanation.

As many of you know, I have been blogging for several years. When I first started, I fancied myself a witty political writer and commentator. A satirist. All fine and good, but politics wore me out. Everything is absurd, and there are betterthings to write about. Family, hobbies, culture - in addition to the daily screed about outrageous things in high office.

I am not one of those histrionic types who suffers from Bush Derangement Syndrome, and I didn't invest much of my emotional stock in the Clintonista scandals when they were in office. Politics doesn't determine my fate so much anymore. That isn't to say it won't in the future, but at this time, not like it did when I was a passionate Republican years and years ago. No longer chained to the Republican Party, thanks in large part to the prevailing corruption and stupidity and spinelessness of that party, I now find all politicians and parties worthy of ridicule.


Yesterday, the British, once my favorite kind of Europeans, again preemptively surrendered a useful weapon in the ongoing asymetrical war on Western Civilization. Read about it in the post below. The absurdity of catering to terrorists' whims and taboos is silly to say the least, and stupidly dangerous, besides. Why even care? So I let both barrels go without so much as a care for what people reading it may think, and I am not sorry I said and wrote the things I wrote. Indeed, they were crass, and funny, and absurd. Which is the point. Rush Limbaugh set the precedent for conservatives in demonstrating absurdity by being absurd.
He never apologizes, unless he is wrong, and neither will I. Just an explanation, is all.

Now, for the Simple and Delicious part of the post.

Like you, I shop for bargains. One of the best ways I save money when grocery shopping, is to by from damaged goods stores and discount stores. Amelia's Outlets and Aldi come to mind. I spent the following on ingredients for last night's dinner. Next to what I spent at Amelia's is what I would have spent at Giant.

Canned Great Northern Beans 3/.99 (2.98)
1 large can Progresso diced Tomatoes .79 (1.89)
1 box Quaker Corn Meal 1.00 (2.59)
1 large box Chicken broth - Organic .99 (2.99)
2 pks Italian Sweet Sausage Links 12 links 1.98 (7.00+)
1 lg. pk frozen creamed corn .99 (1.99)
1 quart container of cheddar cheese shreds 2.99 (4.00+)
1 jar roasted red peppers .99 (2.59)

That is quite a whopping savings, wouldn't you agree? At Amelia's or Aldi, I can spend 40 bucks and get at least 3 dinners.

Preparation. Brown sausages in a casserole dish in a 350 degree oven for 15 minutes, just until lightly browned, but not cooked through. Drain fat from casserole and return sausages, and add sliced onions, roasted peppers, large can of diced tomatoes, and the three cans of white beans. Season with Italian herbs or pizza seasoning, cover casserole and lower the temperature of the oven to 275. Bake for two hours. Go do something with your family.

In the last 20 minutes of preparation, measure 1 cup of thawed cream corn into a sauce pot, along with 1 cup of chicken stock. Add 2 tbspns of butter or olive oil and bring to a gentle boil. If your liquid is boiling rapidly, reduce heat to the lowest setting and cover the pot with a lid. Slowly add 2/3 cup of corn meal while stirring constantly with a wooden spoon. Add 1/2 cup - heaping, of shredded sharp cheddar cheese. Season with chopped chives, salt and pepper, and if you find your mixture too thick, add a good dollop of half and half or milk. Cover and turn off heat. The residual heat will finish the polenta, and the result is a very silky, flavor packed corn mash with bits of corn and chive to punctuate the goodness. This is comfort food at its best, and very good on rainy days.

Serve in bowls and ladle the sausages and beans over the polenta. My eldest child was skeptical about polenta, but she ended up loving it.

And now some dreamy Madeleine Peyroux for a night cap: