BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

No, not your head. And, noooooo, not that satellite/cable TV network for kids either…

Nog… Milk, Egg Yolks, Sugar, Vanilla, and some Nutmeg. Egg Nog. The elixir of the holidays. The “dairy that marries” so well with good Kentucky/Tennessee Bourbon. The very reason for making it to and through the bah-humbug season of the year.

Know what I’m talking about now? Yeah, thought so.

I’ve spoken highly of nog before. In fact, I suspect I’ve even posted a Nog Blog in the past, I’m sure. But, I’m old and I have CRS* so I don’t always remember. Anyway, as you may recall, the appearance of nog in the refrigerated section of the supermarket is how I know it is time to “be of good cheer”. And, as stated above, it is the reason I am of good cheer during the “holler days”. (Well, it and the bourbon…A whole lotta bourbon…)

There I go digressing again… It’s the bourbon talking, I’m sure of that. Maybe i should have some more… Anywho, obviously I am now in possession of sour mash-laced, sweetened and thickened dairy products of the supermarket ilk (because I simply don’t have enough hours in the day to make boiled custard – as we call it back where I come from. I’m sure I have regaled you with stories of watching my mom, my grandmother, and/or my grandfather Elvis standing at the stove, carefully and constantly stirring a pot of the concoction. If I haven’t, then perhaps I need to get nostalgic and post a Double Nog Blog this year. So, anyway, I am also in possession of the supermarket style nog because my gut  doesn’t require any more than I obtain from the store…you see, if I made it myself I’d make a lot… I mean A LOT! My gut is big enough as it is.)

So, as I sit here working in my office – well, at my dining room table actually since I felt like a change of venue today – I am having a bourboned up nog and watching my squirrels beat on the picture window because they are out of animal crackers (seriously… I just put corn out today and no animal crackers, so the little tree rats are pitching a fit… I should really take pictures.) But, back to the nog… As I sit here having my nog I am reminded of a story. If I’ve told it before, just throw me a bone – read it again and pretend like you’ve never heard it before…

Many, many, maaaaannnnnnyyy years ago, when I was but a wee author (I used crayons for my stories)… seriously, I was like 7 or 8… we (my sister and I) had this babysitter. Hannah. I wonder whatever happened to Hannah. I had a major “8 year old” crush on her… and, what with her being an older woman… ya’know, like 15 and all… Well, either way, I digress yet again… Bourbon, nostalgia, and hormones… weird combination 🙂

So, back to the “story”… You see, we had some nog in the fridge because it was around the holidays. Mom had told Hannah that she was welcome to have nog, and that so could my sister and I. And, we did… In fact, we drank better than a half gallon between the three of us as I recall.

When my parents came home that afternoon, instead of finding two kids bouncing off the walls and a frazzled babysitter, they found two sleeping kids and a snoozing babysitter.

You see, my mom had mixed up the labeling on the containers. It seems that we had, without our knowledge or any malice aforethought, consumed the bourbon laced nog instead of the “family friendly nog”.

All we knew is that it tasted a bit different, but it still tasted really good… And, of course, it made us feel all warm and tingly. Back then, we attributed it to holiday cheer.

Now that I am older, I understand that holiday cheer comes in a bottle. Now, excuse me while I head back to the kitchen for a refill.

More to come…

Murv

* Can’t Remember Shit syndrome

(Oh, and yeah, I stole your footnote idea there, Anastasia ;p )

This blog is really about nothing. This is not to say that any of my previous blogs have been about something, however, this particular running off at the keys is pretty much about more nothing than any of the previous nothings… Or somethings… Or nothi-somethings… Well, you get the idea.

As the title suggests, it is about the ever important PB&J. Yes. The iconic peanut butter and jelly sammich.

Now, as sammiches go, the PB&J is just about the closest you can get to the land of childhood comfort foods. At least, for my generation it is.

You see, while we tail-end baby boomers (Yeah, I was born in the last year of what qualifies as the baby-boomer generation) never dealt with anything quite like the depression, we DID see a horrendous recession. We remember only being able to buy gas on Sundays. We remember hamburger being a luxury, and steak a far out dream affordable only to the elite… And, yeah, we even remember when the expression “Far Out” was cool… Along with other hallmarks of the era such as “cool”, “keep on truckin'”, and “lid” (not that I was ever…ahem…intimately associated with what a “lid” actually was… ummm… ahem… that’s my story and I’m sticking to it…) Of course, there I go digressing again…

My point is, back then, money was tight. When the company for which my father worked at the time went on an extended strike (read several months) money got even tighter. Dad was against the strike, but he walked the line for strike pay, and picked up other work where he could so that food stayed on the table and bills got paid. Mom worked too. It was the beginning of a different era – two parents, both with jobs. Life was changing drastically.

So, with money tight – and at times non-existent – even the truly wonderful childhood memory of the fried bologna sammich was relegated to specific occasions. Yes, SPAM/Treet, and fried bologna were more often than not a staple on the supper table. Don’t get me wrong. Mom and Dad made sure we ate, and ate as healthy as we possibly could. We kept a garden and had fresh vegetables. But, it wasn’t at all unusual for the aforementioned processed animal parts to be the center of our entree on the supper table. And, to set the record straight, let’s remember that I happen to like SPAM/Treet and Bologna, so I wasn’t complaining. Still, I also like turkey, steak, fish, etc…

But, back to the PB&J. That particular sammich became the common lunch. Not just because it was something kids would gladly eat – well, most kids anyway – but because it was cheap and relatively nourishing. You could get a large jar of Peanut Butter (actually a legume, not a nut, for those keeping score), a loaf of bread, and jar of jelly for next to nothing. Even better for us was the fact that we had fruit trees and grape vines in our back yard, so Mom made jelly and put it up, further reducing the overall cost.

There you had it – Cheap, full of protein, and even a handful of vitamins. Yes, a dab of sugar too, but hey, we were kids…

So…why all this sudden nostalgia? Simple. I just had myself a PB&J while standing over the sink and thinking about where my current manuscript is heading plotwise. Unfortunately, Mom and Dad are both gone, and I have no homemade jelly or preserves, but I made do with the storebought kind.

Of course, being an old guy who tries to be health conscious, the jelly was low sugar and the bread was whole grain instead of the “too soft” white bread with a bunny on the package that had been the staple in my youth… But, it still had the same effect, and it transported me back to my childhood.

As I stood there eating it, however, one other thing came to mind… The fact that our economy is crashing like a 1 year old who is just learning to walk, and now in my late forties I am witnessing the same things I saw when I was in my single and early double digits. Maybe even worse…

Up to, and including a PB&J for lunch…

I guess my daughter will get to tell this same story years from now… For my money, that’s a damn shame.

More to come…

Murv