December » 2009 » Notes From the Cookie Jar

Butter Tart

Absolutely THE favorite Christmas goodie in my house.  With a sweet sugary filling and buttery pastry, they are often the first thing to go off the tray of Christmas goodies.  I like them right from the freezer, nice and cold.

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Once long ago, when I was in my 20s and we lived in the city, I worked at a tiny school out in the middle of the blueberry fields. There were about 50 children attending from kindergarten to grade 7.

The class that I worked in was filled with kids in grades 5-7 and on my first day, the teacher pulled me aside and gave me a quick run down on the kids.

“That one,” he pointed to a sandy blond boy in torn, scruffy jeans and a t-shirt, about 12 years old. “is a brat. Don’t bother. He’ll just give you a hard time.”

I stood there, studying him as he joked with his friends, then reached over and shoved a smaller student with a sneer. He looked up at me and for a split second across the room, our eyes met.

His were filled with suspicion and anger.

I’ve never believed that there are just “bad” kids. After having worked and lived with some of the most difficult teenagers that the city has to offer, I have learned that they are kids who have survived bad circumstances. They have taken on behavior that might be needed to survive and what they don’t realize is, in some circumstances they don’t need that behavior. Then we just need to work on changing it.

I think Jason hated me at first. Every interaction was laced with sarcasm, and he would never do what I asked him to do. Ever. Until one day after school, I decided to start leaving the kids little “love notes” in their desks. I praised how they handled things at lunch with their friends. I told the girls how valued they were. They were just little scraps of paper with kind words on them, but the effect was magical.

I told Jason that he brightened my day with his smile. He did! I didn’t see it often, but when I did, it was like catching him unaware.

The next day he went to get his math book out of his desk and the note fell in his lap. As I watched from across the room, he carefully unfolded it. Our eyes met across the room and slowly, self conciously, he smiled slightly. The next day, he helped me carry some books. After school, he stopped at my desk to chat. The next week, he sternly told some rowdy kids to settle down for the substitute teacher. We worked hard on his math to bring his grades up, and celebrated with high fives. That anger he had seemed to just melt away when he walked in through the doors.

“You are here to work with these kids, not be their friend!” the teacher sternly chided me after school one day. What he didn’t understand was that in order to work with these kids, you had to be their friend. They wouldn’t open up unless they trusted you first.

Christmas came that year, and unfortunately so did an end to my time at the school. The kids showered me with gifts and cards throughout the day, but Jason held back. When finally everyone else had left, he approached my desk; his blue eyes filled with tears, his sandy hair rumpled.

“I didn’t have anything else. It’s not a Hallmark card,” he thrust a piece of lined paper at me.

On a folded piece of paper from his notebook, he had carefully drawn a beautiful winter scene, and on the inside had written,

“You are the best teacher I’ve ever had. I’ll miss you. Merry Christmas.”

Tears welled up in my eyes and began to drip down my cheeks.

“It’s not a Hallmark card, ” Jason apologized and looked at his shoes. “It’s not a nice one like..” he gestured towards the stack of expensive, glittery cards and boxes of chocolates on my desk.

Our eyes met once more. This time, his were uncertain and a bit sad.

“No Jason, it’s not, ” I smiled through my tears, “THIS kind of card is a million times better.”

It’s been fifteen years, three districts, about 100 schools since that Christmas. Jason is probably about 27 years old now, and has kids of his own. The glittery, expensive cards have long since been recycled and the chocolates were eaten.

I still have the card that he made me, all those years ago.

Photo credit: Keep Waddling1

rum balls

So Christmas is over and now we’re on our way to New Years, but now you might have some time to whip up some last minute nibblies.  Or at the very least, scope out some tasty things to serve for New Years.  These were my first rum ball attempt, and oh my…not only are they super easy and require no cooking, but they taste delish.

The recipe….

So I did the lazy edition a few weeks ago and directed you to these really yummy looking squares, right? I eventually made them.

You likely know that and have heard me rant on twitter about how yummy they were.

Let me just say that they are the most delectable morsels of peanut buttery chocolate goodness in the universe. Not just that, but the recipe can be halved and so you can make a small pan if you want, even.

They would be really good with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and a cup of coffee.

Keep reading for the recipe…

PS…Recipe Tuesdays has been moved to Thursdays, because it just fits my schedule better. You’re still going to get recipes! Just on Thursdays instead.

I think I’ve talked about my commute to work before. The narrow, winding highway is so curvy that if you are prone to car sickness, you’ll be turning green at the half way point. Logging trucks bounce along (I always have visions of them losing their load and crushing me like a bug), and crazy people in a hurry have no problem passing you on a double solid.

It’s an interesting drive, which is why I always give myself a ton of time to get to work, just in case. Well. That depends on if my teenager, who is exceedingly hard to get out of bed, will be ready on time. I have resorted to threats of keeping a squirt gun in the fridge, loaded and ready to go just in case he’s extra lazy.

Last week he was.

“Jake, get UP!” I bounced on his bed for good measure. He yawned and mumbled something before pulling his covers over his head. “UP! UP! NOOWWWW!”

This slothfulness was getting out of hand. I would need to really buy that squirt gun and actually use it. After nagging and threatening to make him walk, I finally got him to school and was feeling the pressure to get moving. Burning down the highway at 80 km/hr, I took the opportunity in a slight straight part to adjust the stereo before I rounded a curve.

As a looked back at the road, out of the corner of my eye, something moved up on the hill to my right. Was that…? What on Earth was a tire doing over there?

A tire, complete with a hub cap, was bounding down the hill to my right, poising to land smack in front of the car.

It happened so fast; I had barely enough time to avoid the tire, but then I noticed what had happened. A jeep coming in the opposite direction was missing it’s driver’s side front tire.
That tire? It had literally flown off, across the highway, hit a tree on the opposite side of the road, and rolled down the hill.

If I had been any faster that morning, I would have been closer to that oncoming jeep. That tire just might have hit ME instead of the tree.

Suddenly, Jake’s slowness in the morning didn’t really look like such a bad thing. His slothfulness just might have saved my life.

Christmas music was blaring over the loudspeakers at the store as I searched for odds and ends that Hubs had asked me to pick up.  Not really in a hurry but not wanting to waste too much time, I was moving with purpose.

I sort of expected the guy standing in the middle of the aisle, looking right at me, to move over.  He didn’t.  He stood there, looking me up and down, so that I cold barely get by.

“Um, excuse me.”

I waited.  He moved slightly, and gave me a grin.

Usually I don’t even notice when men check me out.   Do they?  Hubs says they do.  He says I’m charmingly oblivious to the whole thing, but this time I noticed and this time, it completely creeped me out.  It wasn’t like the guy was just a friendly, “hey you look kinda cute,” sort.   I can’t put my finger on it, but this one gave me the eebie jeebies.  Big time.  Like, crazy stalker better run for the car kinda creepy.

Once my shopping was finished, I stood in line to pay and out of nowhere, creepy guy is suddenly right behind me.

Oh my god, I need to move.  This guy is going to mug me in the parking lot. Or ask for my number.  At the very least, he’s standing really close and I’m not okay with this.

Thankfully another cashier appeared and said she could help the next person in line, who happened to be me.

“Oh, go ahead,” creepy guy grins at me again.  He motions for me to go to the other cash register.

There’s one thing about this store-they only sell cigarettes at particular cash registers, and Hubs had asked me to pick some up for him.  So I couldn’t move to the no-tobacco products line because arriving at home without Hubs sticks o’ cancer would not go over well in the least.

“No that’s okay, I need to get cigarettes.   You go ahead,” Suddenly, his face changed from creepy grin to absolute disgust.  Obviously by that one statement, I had gone from “hawt” in his view to a disgusting lowlife.  His eyes narrowed as he looked me up and down.

“That’s a BAD HABIT,” he snorted as he changed lines.

The backlash that I get when I pick up cigarettes for Hubs is incredible.  People lecture me, and nobody ever believes that I have never even tried a cigarette in my entire life.  Usually I get really annoyed because come on, do you drink?  Do I bug you in the liquor store?  No.

On the other hand, if thinking I’m a smoker gets rid of creepy people?

Totally works for me.