In Which I Share the Family Eggog Recipe

So, last week I was mourning not getting the job I was perfect for. Perfect. Except they decided they wanted someone with hacking skills. For a writing position. Yes, I try really hard not to whine about the search for a day job, and all the people who do not think I’m perfect (really?), but this one hit hard.

I’ve been looking for a new day job for Seven. Months. Almost eight.

OK, anyway. I was waiting to hear about the job I didn’t get because everyone needs a hacker for an online writing position (no kidding, they said “what we really need is a hacker” and I burst out laughing because even if they did need someone with those skills, which they don’t, that person isn’t interested in a day job because, duh, he’s out hacking something) and I decided to deal with the last two boxes of my mom’s stuff.

photo of woods
About 1.3 seconds after I took this shot from my living room/office the leaves finished turning and are now falling at an alarming rate in the yard. Just something to do now that I’ve gone through the last two boxes of mom’s stuff.

I’ve been moving these two boxes around in my house for four years. God forbid I dive in and deal with it. But at the end of last week I was a little insane and looked at the boxes one night and thought, nope, those Have. To. Go.

I’d been avoiding them because I knew what was in them. You see, we had no fewer than 203 copies of some relative’s application to the DAR. Now, normal people would be able to throw out 202 copies, but some of those copies were thicker than others, so dealing with this mess of paper meant going one page at a time through everything making sure I have everything I need when I apply for the DAR. Or something.

Anyway, tons of family history sitting there, with some odd stuff mixed in. There was a statement from one of mom’s retirement funds, and being four years since I’d managed the estate HAHAHAHAHA! I had to call the company and make sure I still had to keep looking for work. The secretary actually remembered mom and I found myself offering condolences for her loss.

But, mixed in all that stuff, was the family Eggnog recipe. I’ve never had it, but reading it just cracked me up. I always wondered why nobody got salmonella poisoning from all the raw eggs, but then I read how much alcohol was in it, and I’m no longer surprised.

So, here you go, an early gift for your holiday enjoyment!

Eggnog In Quantity (yes, it really says that!)

photo of handwritten eggnog recipe
I blame the condition of the recipe card on the 4-6 cups of alcohol the recipe calls for.

1. Beat till light: 12 egg yolks
2. Beat in gradually 1 pound powdered sugar
3. Add very slowly, beating constantly: 2 cups booze of choice (I use brandy and rum)
4. Let mixture stand covered for 1 hour to dispel “eggy” taste.
5. Add, beating constantly:

2-4 cups more booze

2 quarts heavy whipping cream

6. Refrigerate, covered, 3 hours.
7. Beat till stiff, but not dry: 8-12 egg whites
8. Fold into other ingredients and serve via punch bowl.


How can you not enjoy a pound of powdered sugar, half a cow’s worth of cream, 24 eggs and, you know, 6 cups of alcohol? A lot of my holiday memories were explained when I read this recipe.

Which I may need to whip up if I don’t find work soon because I am really tired of spending all my free time looking for work, when I could be writing romance novels. Which I am off to do. As soon as I apply for yet another day job.


Snake in the Kitchen

Today’s post was supposed to be all about Snarky Daughter’s first pie. A fabulous pie. The best pie I’ve ever had. And subsequently dropped on the floor. Instead, we’re going to talk about the Snake in the Kitchen.

Having just gone through a week of prep work followed by a two-hour job interview (no idea how it went, don’t ask), I came home with grandiose plans to tackle all the stuff that had been put on hold for the past week. You know, 3 months of filing that had fallen over in my closet/office, going through the last two boxes of my mom’s paperwork that have been sitting in my living room for a couple of years, and taking care of all the PTSO stuff I haven’t done for several weeks because I went into denial that I was president.

I was really enjoying denial. I was also really enjoying talking to a friend I live too far away from about kids, spouses, lack of spouses and writing. All while sorting receipts and filing insurance paperwork. Yes, I keep that stuff. So I’m steadfastly ignoring my family, when I hear a scream.

Being a good parent, I try to climb up off the floor, but hello, I’ve got the body of a 73 year-old so it takes some time. And by the time I get up, I haven’t heard anything else, so I assume this is a simple “Ack, spider, I need the vacuum cleaner” moment.

About then, there’s a knock on my bedroom door. Hey, with Marking Kitten, all bedrooms are closed all the time.

Snarky Daughter: Mom, Sarcastic Housemate found a snake in the kitchen, and um, I can’t remember what we do.

Me: You don’t remember what to do? Wait, Sarcastic Housemate is home?

Me, thinking: Finally, off to trivia night and a glass of wine, because today has beaten me senseless. After I deal with the snake.

Scout Son: …

Who are we kidding? The last time he saw a snake, he screamed more than me and the damned thing was climbing my leg at the time. He was nowhere to be seen.

Me: Snake? Really?

Sarcastic Housemate: Yeah. I thought it was a stick or something because it’s kinda dark in here. I just assumed one of the dogs brought something in. Then it raised up to get me.

I’m now fighting the kitchen light switch. Have I mentioned the ballast is going bad on the light? On. Off. On. Off. On. Wiggle, wiggle. Let there be light!

Yep, that’s a snake. About as thick as my ring finger and maybe 18 inches long. And moving. Into. Snarky. Daughter’s. Bedroom.

Some of you snake lovers are saying, What kind of snake was it? Answer: Suicidal Snake. Dark and light pattern.

Did it have a diamond shaped head? Answer: How the hell would I know? It’s head is the size of a pencil eraser. It’s kind of hard to tell. Especially since I have now grabbed the only thing nearby — the WetJet — to try and pin it while Scout Son gets a shovel.

Yes, snake lovers. A shovel. Outside, he can do what he wants. Inside, and not sure of what kind he is, sorry, he’s done. But to make you feel slightly better, here are some identifications:

He did not look like this, the gift the dogs brought me this morning.

photo of mole my dogs brought home
Princess Cassie’s request for dinner. Request denied.

It looked amazingly like this, but you know, with a head.

photo of rat snake
With photography forethought, Princess Cassie retrieved the snake for identification this morning.

Having now done much snake research, it was a juvenile rat snake. Sorry. Enter my kid’s bedroom and I consider it an act of war.

Special thanks to Princess Cassie for realizing that I would need a photo and digging the snake out from under the deck (where it slipped while I was beating the heck out of it last night), and breaking it into several pieces and drying it on the deck so we could have snake jerky. Or so I could have to go get the shovel again and toss the bits into the woods on the other side of the electric fence for a proper burial. You know. Whichever. (Yes, she is now pacing from window to window trying to figure out how to get back to her tasties.)

So, kill the snake, go and have a glass of wine. Tune in Friday and see the Perfect Pie. That I destroyed. Because that’s the kind of mom I am. Snake and Pie Destroyer. I’ll just add that to my resume.



I’m back!

Hey, welcome back.

Actually, you should probably be saying that to me.

Like the new colors? It’s quirky. They’re not quite right, but they’re better than the previous version. They’ll probably change again in the next few weeks, but not until I’m sure I’ve nailed it. I’ve been spending a lot of time learning about color and design.

And why, you ask, does a writer care about color and design? Well, let’s review the past few months for me:

In April, I smashed and sprained my thumb.

In May, I fell and screwed up my back… and re-sprained my thumb.

In May, I also was crazy enough to bring two kittens into the house.

photo of kittens playing
That’s Marking Kitten (4 lbs) taking on Laid-Back Kitten (7 lbs).

In June, I re-sprained my thumb.

In July, I finally went to a specialist who told me I had sprained the worst part of my thumb and that it would take forever to heal, but I could type as long as it didn’t hurt.

Guess what? It hurt. No writing for me. I also put Cranky Cat on Prozac. A miracle drug.

In August, I sent Snarky Daughter back to high school. She’s now a sophomore. I also took her to get her learner’s permit . Awesome! The curves may kill us – feel free to light a candle.

In September, I sent Scout Son to 8th grade. He also earned his Life Scout rank in Boy Scouts. Awesome! We also put Marking Kitten on Prozac. Fingers are crossed.

Now every time I think it’s getting better, I do something small like breathe on it and the whole mess swells and I’m back to playing with my website colors instead of writing.

In other news, my new book, The Billionaire Bachelor’s Revenge comes out this month! And I was asked to take part in a holiday anthology, so mistletoe moments are headed everyone’s way!

And now, somehow, it’s October. And I’m writing. Blogs and books.

I’d promise there won’t be any more lapses in content, but then I’ll tweak my thumb and be down for the count again. Of course, one more time and I think I’ll have to invest in some of that Dragon stuff.

Because speaking my blogs to the cats isn’t nearly as interesting as sharing them with you. But the cats think you missed some quality stuff there. Of course, they think I’m a goddess as long as I have one functional thumb.