Don't worry, it's just me, swooning

Warning: This post contains an overabundance of superlatives.
Disclaimer: None of these photos are mine. 

I have been to a lot of concerts in my fifty-five years. Some of the artists were mega-rock stars, some just beginning their careers, and some had spent their lives being adored by a select few. On the way home from Leonard Cohen's concert last night, I couldn't help comparing it to some of the others I have attended.

Billy Joel, for example, was egotistical and profane, and the drums were so loud they overpowered the rest of the sound. Tickets were expensive, even for nosebleed seats, and we were disappointed.
Neil Diamond puts on a rollicking show and appreciates his audience, but you're sharing the amphitheatre with 20,000 other fans. At least the other fans are well-behaved and like-minded.
Jason Mraz is a pretty big name with the younger crowd, is a talented musician, and I love his music, but the crowd is younger and insists on standing for most of the concert. He is also a flaming liberal and flaunts it, which just made me feel distasteful towards him.

Now, I know that many of my readers are not Leonard Cohen fans.

I can kind of see it.

I mean, he is a scrawny old guy with a big nose and a gravelly voice that would shame a grizzly bear.

But let me tell you, that man can give a concert.

From the moment he walked on  stage at about 8:10 last night, until he skipped off at 11:40, he held every one of us (about five thousand people, I would say) in the palm of his hand.

Besides, he kinda had that Dustin Hoffmann thing going on when he was younger, and he hasn't lost one little bit of his charm.

My seat was in the tenth row. The ticket (or maybe it was the seat) was apparently gold-plated. But it was worth every penny. I was surrounded by the La-de-dah crowd from Portland proper. You know, the eco/intellectual/cultural elite types. Which was okay, they were well-behaved, if a little full of their own importance. The audience was enraptured for the whole three hours and forty minutes, minus the fifteen minute break. I generally have a hard time sitting for that long, because my right ankle and leg start hurting, but by the second half I was oblivious to anything but the music.

Leonard is a master wordsmith. 

He is, above all else, a poet. 

He spoke the words to A Thousand Kisses Deep and brought the house down. 

He introduced his drummer as a Sculptor of Time and a Connoisseur of Silence. While he did not coin those phrases, who else would have thought to apply them to a drummer? With every eloquent introduction of a band member, you could sense the deep esteem which he felt for each of them. 

His rendition of Hallelujah, which has been covered by almost 200 artists and in various languages, was mighty. I was reminded, yet again, why a live performance almost always beats the recorded version of a song. The recorded version might be more polished and perfected, but the live performance establishes an emotional connection with each audience member. Did you know that Leonard wrote over 80 verses to the song? I think that last night he sang a couple that I hadn't heard before.

Leonard is at times rowdy and raucous, then poignant and pensive. Many of his songs are reminiscent and melancholy and one gets the feeling that they are somewhat autobiographical in nature. Chelsea Hotel #2, for example, is about his affair with Janis Joplin. Some of my favourite lines from the song are these:

I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
you were famous, your heart was a legend.
You told me again you preferred handsome men
but for me you would make an exception.
And clenching your fist for the ones like us
who are oppressed by the figures of beauty,
you fixed yourself, you said, "Well never mind,
we are ugly but we have the music."

Only he changed the fourth line to a rare exception and got a good laugh from the crowd.

Few of his lyrics are easy to fathom, but it doesn't stop me from  singing along.

I particularly like this song. It is lyrical and beautiful. The lyrics are open to several interpretations, but I like to think of it as describing a submission to God's will. A state that I find very difficult to achieve, if you must know.

If it be your will 
That I speak no more 
And my voice be still 
As it was before 
I will speak no more 
I shall abide until 
I am spoken for 
If it be your will 

If it be your will 
That a voice be true 
From this broken hill 
I will sing to you 
From this broken hill 
All your praises they shall ring 
If it be your will 
To let me sing 

If it be your will 
If there is a choice 
Let the rivers fill 
Let the hills rejoice 
Let your mercy spill 
On all these burning hearts in hell 
If it be your will 
To make us well 

And draw us near 
And bind us tight 
All your children here 
In their rags of light 
In our rags of light 
All dressed to kill 
And end this night 
If it be your will 

Towards the end of the show, Leonard said they have been on tour for three years. Three years ago, he said, I was just a kid....with a crazy dream. The sad fact is, his long-time manager and supposed friend stole five million dollars from his retirement funds. Cleaned him out. So here he is, putting on the show of a lifetime, at the grand age of seventy-six.

It was the best concert I have ever attended.

Who knows if our paths will ever cross again? he said.

Well, if they ever do, I'm taking Jeff.

Would you please forget that I said that if it wasn't for Jeff and my missing uterus, and...well... a bunch of other things, I would offer to have his baby?

Sorry.

Just had to say it.

P.S. Did I mention the back-up band members?
       Awe. Some. Every one of them.

What are the odds?

My bloggy friend Mari is doing a giveaway. Her husband, Bob, makes sweet carved wooden figures of the type I adore, especially his Santas. So go here  if you want to enter.

There.
I'm not sure if I just reduced my chances of winning or not.
Because I really want that St. Nickolaus.

I did win a can of dried bell peppers once in a giveaway.
But St. Nick would be much more fun.

Speaking of fun, check out this photo of Daniel from a couple of weeks ago. He spent the night at our house and discovered his Mom's name in the front of one of the children's books on the bookshelf. He went through the whole lot and separated out all of Bethany's books.

And took them home with him.

The nerve, I say!

Canning butter

Warning: I am about to engage in a little blatant plagiarism. 

Last week I got several pounds of butter for less than $1 a pound. I have quite a surplus now, so I decided to preserve some, which I've been wanting to try for some time. 

It's quite a simple process and instructions abound on the internet. The funny thing is, they are all almost exactly the same, word for word. There is no way I can track the original writer, so I will do what every other blogger has done before me.

Copy and paste.

1.   Use any butter that is on sale. Lesser quality butter requires more shaking (see #5 below), but the results are the same as with the expensive brands.

2.   Heat pint jars in a 250 degree oven for 20 minutes, without rings or seals. One pound of butter slightly more than fills one pint jar, so if you melt 11 pounds of butter, heat 12 pint jars. A roasting pan works well for holding the pint jars while in the oven.

As you can see, I managed without the roasting pan.

3.  While the jars are heating, melt butter slowly until it comes to a slow boil. Using a large spatula, stir the bottom of the pot often to keep the butter from scorching.  Place the lids in a small pot and bring to a boil, leaving the lids in simmering water until needed.

Reduce heat and simmer for 5 minutes at least: a good simmer time will lessen the amount of shaking required (see #5 below).

For some reason, it was hard to know when the butter was simmering. But notice how much higher it had risen in the pan in this photo, so I figured it was simmering.

4.   Stirring the melted butter from the bottom to the top with a soup ladle or small pot with a handle, pour the melted butter carefully into heated jars through a canning jar funnel. Leave 3/4" of head space in the jar, which allows room for the shaking process.

5.   Carefully wipe off the top of the jars, then get a hot lid from the simmering water, add the lid and ring and tighten securely. Lids will seal as they cool. Once a few lids "ping," shake while the jars are still warm, but cool enough to handle easily, because the butter will separate and become foamy on top and white on the bottom. In a few minutes, shake again, and repeat until the butter retains the same consistency throughout the jar.

6.   At this point, while still slightly warm, put the jars into a refrigerator. While cooling and hardening, shake again, and the melted butter will then look like butter and become firm. This final shaking is very important. Check every 5 minutes and give the jars a little shake until they are hardened in the jar. Leave in the refrigerator for an hour.

7.   Canned butter should store for 3 years or longer on a cool, dark shelf. [It does last a long time. I have heard of people using it after 5 years.] Canned butter does not "melt" again when opened, so it does not need to be refrigerated upon opening, provided it is used within a reasonable length of time.

Behold, my lovely little jars of butter. 

People ask me, why can butter?

Well, because my freezer is full.

It doesn't need refrigeration.

And I think it is a useful skill.

Now, if I could just find some spare storage space to put all those jars of applesauce, chicken, and butter.

'Night 'night

Jeff had gum grafts today.

I was a bad wife and went to the Christmas Bazaar.

More on that later.

You can hardly wait, I know!

I got home to find him sitting carefully on  the couch.

In front of a cozy fire.

Bethany called as I was on my way home.

She asked, in a pitiful voice, if she and the kids could come and spend the night. 

Chris is off on a Boy Scout camp-out.

'Night 'night, Daniel.

Listening to Nana's (soon to be Daniel's) MP3 player.
I think that he has blueberry juice on his nose.

'Night 'night, Josh.

Looking for Waldo.

'Night 'night, Kenz.

Reading Junie B.

'Night 'night Natalie.

Mad about several things.

"Night all.

Jeff-approved turkey leftovers

It is a well-known fact that I could live on leftovers for six days a week.

Jeff, however, has a limited tolerance for the concept.

He doesn't complain until the third day and even then it usually manifests itself more as a lack of enthusiasm. 

Four days and I am in the doghouse.

For some reason, he is even less enamoured of turkey leftovers than anything else.

Why this is so, I do not know.

So, I was quite happy to see this idea on a friend's facebook post.

Turkey enchilada casserole.

Well, anything with the word "casserole" in the title turns me on, so I gave it a try.

Jeff was happy and had seconds.

I was happy because after I put the rest of it in his little dish for his lunch tomorrow...

...there was nothing left.

Jeff said hopefully, We could have that for dinner again tomorrow.

Turkey Enchilada Casserole

2 c chopped turkey

1 can cream of chicken soup

1/2 can milk

1 can chopped green chilis

2 c shredded cheese (half in, half on top)

8 to 10 corn tortillas

Half a sauteed sweet onion

Mix everything with half of the cheese. Put in a casserole dish. I used a large Corningware dish, but a 9x13 would work. Sprinkle remaining cheese on top and bake at 350 till bubbly and brown.

You could serve it with sour cream, salsa, lettuce and tomatoes.

Or eat it straight up, like we did!

Freebies rock

My friend Brenda suggested I check out HeyIt'sFree. 

I rapidly became converted.

I spend, maybe, three minutes a day, checking the website and applying for free stuff. The auto-fill option on your computer makes it really easy. Almost every day I get free stuff in my mailbox. Here's a photo of some of the goodies that have arrived lately. Hair care, skin care, ear plugs, cleaning supplies, toothpaste, deodorants (oops, I forget to put those in the picture) and medical supplies. 

That doesn't even include all of the sanitary supplies (some things just don't need to be photographed) and edibles that have already been edibled. 

There's a link to the site in my blog list if you, too, want to be a blessed recipient of all this bounty.

Some things to think about:

I never give them my real birth date.

I don't apply for things I won't use, or that someone I love won't use. I do send off for pet food items because I have several friends who use them.

I have a separate email account that I give to the suppliers so that my Juno account doesn't get clogged up with emails. Then, I will often unsubscribe if I don't want to continue getting mail from those companies.

Now, does anyone need small-sized bubble-wrap envelopes?

I have an abundance of them.

Deja vu

Yesterday afternoon, I took Kenzie to a performance of La Boutique Fantasque by The Portland Ballet. She will attain the grand age of ten next week, so this was her present.  We got all togged up and arrived in good time at the Newmark Theatre  in Portland. 

We had a grand conversation about the subconscious on the inbound journey. My darling Kenzie is more than a bit blonde and I'm still not sure that she understands the concept. I told her that the subconscious is the part of the brain that works on things when we're not really thinking about them. Like when we have a problem and the solution will suddenly come into our minds when we are doing something else. Or if we sleep on it and let our brain work on it overnight, sometimes we will get the answer the next day. 

Kenzie grabbed onto the "problem" aspect of the explanation and regaled me for the next few miles with tales of her friends and their little social dilemmas.

And so-and-so wanted to sit by me, and so did so-and-so, so I just ....(Nana tunes out and thinks about something else for a few miles, nodding and uh-huh-ing once in a while).....and then.....blah blah blah.....and to be honest, I have no idea how the story ended. 

Bad Nana.

A few minutes into the ballet, it seemed strangely familiar.

I realized that I had seen it before.

December, 2003.

Kenzie was barely three years old and it was her first ballet. 

She sat, enthralled, for the whole performance.

That show was at a community college and on a much smaller scale. I think we were the only attendees who weren't related to one of the dancers. 

It was oddly satisfying to watch the ballet again with an older, more mature, version of that little girl.

One who, during the performance, kept sneaking M&M's out of her pink, fuzzy purse.