Paper plates and hockey skates

I actually did stuff yesterday! My weeks of lethargy were getting pointless, so I finally got it up to call Loaves and Fishes and signed myself up for a few shifts.

Yesterday was my first day back. In high school, I would swing by Loaves and Fishes when I had a snow day. The weather would leave them short-staffed and welcoming extra help. As it happened, yesterday held up that tradition. There wasn't a ton of snow, but there was enough to make navigating the roads dicey.

The nasty weather meant that there weren't as many people coming by for lunch. When it's sunny and clear, there are up to 108 people, but yesterday, I think there were 70 or 80. It was a very sociable group; we joked around and had a pretty good time. The lunch was extremely unhealthy; sloppy joes (and when we ran out of that, corned beef hash), fries (and when we ran out, various kinds of chips), grab bags of candy, a cake or cookie or something for dessert. It's really for the best that there weren't many people eating such an unhealthy lunch. At least they got a hot meal and some coffee.

I like to feed people. I keep meaning to do more work with Manna in Northampton, but I went there only once, when the power went out in October. Manna serves far fewer people (as far as I could tell; it was a snowy day, so they probably have more most of the time), and as far as I could tell, Loaves and Fishes' guests are far more charming. There was a guy who told all of us really cheesy jokes, they all thank the volunteers, and some of them help clean up. The patrons are overwhelmingly male, of approximately the same age, but a wide spectrum of race and cultural backgrounds. Loaves and Fishes makes a point of serving everyone of every race, creed, sexual orientation, you name it, which is really commendable. That's why my cause is feeding people: people have varying opinions about a lot of issues, but everyone knows that everyone must eat.

Later that day, my dad and I went to a Sabres game. It was Buffalo versus Toronto, so the stadium was completely packed, and we were right in the middle of a whole bunch of Leafs fans. There was a Sabres fan from Lockport sitting right behind my dad who was very vocal, and he and I took it upon ourselves to drown out the Canadians. I haven't screamed that much since Convocation. Honestly, I'm surprised I wasn't hoarse this morning.

It was a great game. The Sabres scored twice in the first period, and just as we all thought it would be an easy win, the Leafs scored twice as well. (One was a fluke, though. Easily could have been prevented.) Also in the first period, a rogue puck hit two spectators in the head. I felt terrible for them (even though they were Leafs fans) as I saw them leave the arena, clutching towels to their profusely bleeding faces. Spend a hundred bucks on ringside tickets and get taken out first period? That really sucks.

The rogue puck made up the requisite violence for the game, I guess. I was disappointed that the gloves didn't drop, but that aside, the game was fantastic. Sabres won, 3 to 2, and on the sardine tin that was the Buffalo train back home, spirits were very high. The Sabres fans were being pretty obnoxious (they were drunk, but they probs would have been the same way sober) on the train, doing things like refusing Leafs fans entry and chanting a few off-color remarks in regards to the losing team. It was awesome, and I'm glad I got to share that experience with my dad.

If only Smith had a hockey team...

Goals

Grades were posted today, and mine were a decent pushing-off point, but I can do better. Next semester, Dean's List! Here we go!

Back to reality

My agenda for tomorrow:

1. Volunteer at Loaves and Fishes
2. Post something insightful about poverty and soup kitchens
3. Make another stuffed creature (I made a swan today that was going to be a present but instead I'm just keeping it, so tomorrow's probs going to be another fox day) while listening to This American Life
4. Finish The Hobbit
5. Make baked lentils and cheese for dinner.

My vacation has been uneventful so far. I'm not working, just lazing around, making cute little creatures out of fabric scraps, and working on my sock loom. Today I found a kickass recipe for browned butter brownies that completely rocked my world. I wanted to eat them for dinner, they smelled so intoxicating, but my mother insisted on eating a real dinner (pfffft, what's that about?), so we made pierogi. Pierogi and applesauce, with super-rich brownies for dessert. I swear to God I literally felt weighed down after that meal.

All of the relatives are gone, so the holidays are really over. My mother said I should use this time to rejuvenate and prepare for the spring semester. I really need some direction, so tomorrow, I'll write up a list of the things I plan to accomplish from now till the 20th.

Christmas in the Heart, Part II

It's the most frustrating thing, but kvetching about being treated like a baby just makes you feel (and appear) more and more like one. There's nothing for it. I'll just have to deal with being left out forever, but I can't talk about it or I'll be right back where I started.

On a less melodramatic, tantrum-y note, I've now had two requests that I explain Wigilia, so here we go. Wigilia is a Polish tradition. We have a big feast on Christmas Eve of traditional Polish dishes to celebrate something or other. I don't really know. All I know is that we have a big ol' traditional meal that's not traditional at all because my grandma changed a lot of the dishes because she doesn't like most of them.

According to Wikipedia, the traditional Wigilia menu includes:

Wafers

Fried carp and borscht

Boiled potatoes

Pickled herring

Pierogi

Assorted fruits, dried and regular.

But our family has:

Wafers (which you break before the meal, wishing each other happiness and good fortune. They're inadvertently delicious, maybe because at that point in the evening, we've all been to Mass and are ravenous. Wafers taste like delicious, delicious cardboard.)

Beef and barley soup (which is a major change because you're not supposed to eat red meat at Wigilia)

Cheese and sauerkraut pierogi (the cheese are much better but there are never enough. We also serve pierogi with melted butter and bread crumbs. As far as I'm concerned, that's the only way to do it. None of your "sour cream and applesauce" bullshit.)

Pickled herring (I give that a whirl once every two or three years to see if my tastes have changed. So far, they haven't. Pickled herring is nasty.)

Roast pork, asparagus and carrots, mashed potatoes

And for dessert, anise cookies. The best was the year when my Aunt Grace used aniseed extract and underestimated its power, so the cookies pretty much knocked you out with the anise flavor. It was intense. This year, the cookies were pretty mild but there was also cassata cake, which is one of the best kinds of cake in the world and also an example of the "hands across borders" deal that is my grandparents' marriage. Cassata cake is Sicilian (like my grandfather). It's basically sponge cake with liqueur and riccota cheese between the layers, with sliced toasted almonds on top. So incredibly delicious.

Around the pickled herring course, it's traditional for the younger generation to slip off and start watching "A Muppet Christmas Carol." This is a ritual in and of itself. We sing along (changing our voices when different Muppets sing), we do the Awkward Scrooge Dance, we make fun of this one really long scene that's a breakup song. It's great. I look forward to that all year.

Then, after the Muppets, my grandparents give us our Christmas presents and we have a wrapping paper war. This year's war featured my cousin Alex fashioning himself a makeshift visor out of a Watson's chocolates box and Emily and I squaring off in the center of the ring, each with equally bad aim. It gets...very heated.

The final part of the evening is one of my favorite Christmas traditions. The whole family settles down to watch "White Christmas." However, since that movie is like four hours long and it's usually pretty late by the time we even start, we only watch up till the "Snow" number. I've seen the beginning eighteen times, but I've seen the end only twice (it was on TV) and I have no idea what happens in the middle. They're in Vermont, right? There's sexual tension, right? They're doing a show or something, right?

I won't be posting about Christmas Day. The buildup is the best part, in my humble opinion.

Christmas In the Heart, Part I

Today is Christmas Eve, and my family has a time-honored tradition for the day. We always listen to David Sedaris' Santaland Diaries on the radio (which is proving more complicated this year, but I'm just playing it on my computer), go to Christmas Eve mass, and then to my maternal grandparents' house for Wigilia. I'll explain that in a bit, but first, we need to talk about Christmas Eve mass.

My family has a lot of feelings about Christmas Eve mass. When I'm in Buffalo, I go to St. Joseph's on a regular basis, because the priests support the LGBT community and make jokes in the sermons sometimes, but that church is unacceptable for Christmas Eve because every Catholic in North Buffalo, Amherst, and those even vaguely affiliated with the university crowds inside. One year we were stuck sitting in the foyer, accompanied by a bitter wind that blew in every time the door opened. As if that weren't enough of a problem, it's a children's mass that showcases the talents of every. last. child. We're talking screechy violins, high-pitched, off-key singing, you name it.

Then, for the past two years, we've gone to a different university parish. It's in a basement, and they attach the wrong melody to "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel." Enough said.

But this year, we're going to Blessed Sacrament. When I was little, that was the church where we always went, and the only really bad thing about it was that in lieu of an organ, they had a woman playing the guitar and singing along to the hymns. Something about her voice just grated on everybody's nerves, but we pretty much had to grit our teeth and endure it.

One Christmas Eve (around the time when I seriously wanted to be an actress when I grew up), Emily commanded me to sing as loudly as I possibly could, to drown out the guitar lady's singing. Being a sixth-grade mini starlet, I took her at her word and belted "O Come, All Ye Faithful" with weighty force. Mid-way through the first verse, Caroline hit me in the arm and whispered angrily, "This is not your debut on Broadway!" I'm convinced that this incident caused my perpetual struggle with volume throughout my singing career.

Tune in for Part II. It's Sedaris time right now.

Taking a break from my Rites of Passage work by doing my other Rites of Passage work. Two days, two days.

Thank you note

Dear French professor,

I don't understand why you insist that our essay introduction be a laborious, lengthy process that maps out the essay paragraph by paragraph, but I'm glad you do. One page down and that was just the introduction. HEY-OHHH!

Sincerely,

Lily