Man & Horse: The Long Ride Across America by John Egenes

Man & Horse: The Long Ride Across America

by John Egenes

GENRE: Memoir

BLURB:

In 1974 a disenfranchised young man from a broken home set out to do the impossible. With a hundred dollars in his pocket, a beat up cavalry saddle, and a faraway look in his eye, John Egenes saddled his horse Gizmo and started down the trail on an adventure across the North American continent. Their seven month journey took them across 11 states from California to Virginia, ocean to ocean.. As they left the pressing confinement of the city behind them, the pair experienced the isolation and loneliness of the southwestern deserts, the vastness of the prairie, and the great landscapes that make up America. Across hundreds of miles of empty land they slept with coyotes and wild horses under the stars, and in urban areas they camped alone in graveyards and abandoned shacks. Along the way John and Gizmo were transformed from inexperienced horse and rider to veterans of the trail. With his young horse as his spiritual guide John slowly began to comprehend his own place in the world and to find peace within himself. Full of heart and humor, Egenes serves up a tale that's as big as the America he witnessed, an America that no longer exists. It was a journey that could only have been experienced step by step, mile by mile, from the view between a horse's ears.

EXCERPT:

Sometime later—I wasn’t sure how long—I heard the sound of a vehicle coming up the road. I immediately sat up in my sleeping bag alert. We were camped down below the road, so I hoped that whomever it was would drive past without seeing us. My hopes were not realized, however. The headlights made their way toward us, bouncing and jogging with the ruts in the road, until their shadows revealed a pickup truck approaching. Instead of driving past, the truck slowed then turned toward us. They had seen Gizmo.

The pickup stopped, and the doors opened. I could see four of them as they got out, two from inside the truck and two who climbed out of the bed. They were talking loudly as they headed toward Gizmo, and they were clearly drunk.

“It’s a god damn horse!” one shouted. “What the hell’s it doin’ out here?”

“That’s a ranch horse,” another answered. “That there’s a ranch horse.”

“Ain’t no ranch horses out here,” replied the first man. “He’s tied up. Why the hell’s a horse tied up out here?”

I was getting tense. I was glad I had kept my pants and shirt on, though my boots were on the ground next to me. I reached inside my bedroll and pulled out the Colt. They were drunk, and they looked like trouble, but they had not seen me yet.

One of them said, “Hey, let’s ride the sumbitch.”

“Shit, you can’t ride that horse, James,” another said. “You ain’t no cowboy.”

“Hell, I can damned sure ride it if I want to,” the one named James responded. “C’mon, help me get on the sumbitch.”

Gizmo shied as the men advanced toward him. I pulled back the hammer of the Colt with an audible click, and they stopped, and suddenly grew quiet at the sound.

“Don’t get any closer to that horse,” I said calmly.

“What the …? Who’s there?” one of them demanded.

“You fellas just turn around now and go and get back in your truck and get on out of here,” I said. “I don’t want any trouble. Just leave the horse alone.”

“And what the hell do you think you’re gonna do about it?” James challenged.

“It ain’t what I’m gonna do about it,” I answered, in a quiet voice. “It’s what this Colt here is gonna do about it. You want to find out, you just keep right on. Otherwise, pack it on outta here. Like I said, I don’t want any trouble.”

“Fuck all, James …. he does have a gun! Fuck this, I’m gettin’ outta here,” one of them shouted.

Being the leader, James stood his ground. The other two added their own remarks about getting the hell out of there, but James didn't budge. He was the bull elk in this herd, used to being in charge. But he was stumped at having his authority challenged. He and his friends could barely see me, but my eyes were well accustomed to the dark, so I could see them clearly. I wouldn’t have shot them, but they were drunk, and I could fire over their heads to scare them if push came to shove. Through it all, Gizmo eyed them warily. As it was, James finally gave in.

“C’mon, let’s go,” he ordered, as if it were his idea. "But you ain't heard the last of this, asshole." They stumbled back to the truck, piled in, and drove off.

As soon as their headlights disappeared over the hill, I pulled my boots on and went to Gizmo. I moved him far away from where he had been, afraid they might have a gun in their truck and would come back and shoot him. I gathered the gear, saddled him quickly, and led him away from the camp.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

John Egenes has been a musician, a saddlemaker, a dog catcher, and a hobo, among other things. He only learns by making mistakes and he views his life through a windshield full of squashed bugs. He makes his home in New Zealand.

Online Sites for “Man & Horse”

Amazon:

Print: https://www.amazon.com/Man-Horse-Long-Across-America/dp/069293085X/

Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/Man-Horse-Long-Across-America-ebook/dp/B075821TZ7/

Barnes & Noble:

PRINT: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/man-horse-john-egenes/1127054577

AbeBooks:

Print: https://www.abebooks.com/servlet/BookDetailsPL?bi=22538017183

Book Depository:

PRINT: https://www.bookdepository.com/Man--Horse-John-Egenes/9780692930854

Alibris:

PRINT: https://www.alibris.com/search/books/isbn/9780692930854

John Egenes Blog: http://www.johnegenes.com/wp

John & Gizmo Blog: http://www.johnandgizmo.com/wp

Facebook: www.facebook.com/johnandgizmo

Amazon Author page: https://www.amazon.com/John-Egenes/e/B075QRZYVB/

GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17134236.John_Egenes

Twitter: @jegenes

The book will be on sale for only $0.99.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GIVEAWAY INFORMATION:

 John Egenes will be awarding 4 digital copies of the book to 4 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. : Enter to win a copy of the book - a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry

Everyone knows that story - the one about the young couple who want to give each other a wonderful gift for Christmas - so the woman cuts off her beautiful hair to sell in order to buy a chain for her husband's pocket watch - and her husband sells his pocket watch to buy a set of ivory combs for his wife's long hair...

I was very young when I first heard that story, and I'm afraid it made me cry. But what made me cry wasn't so much the fact that they'd sacrificed something beloved to buy a gift for each other - gifts that were rendered moot by their own sacrifices - no, what made me cry was the lack of communication. Even as a child, I knew that if they hadn't plotted and planned in secret, none of the heartbreak would have happened.

Of course, then there would not have been a story - a story about love and sacrifice, in the first place. I think I just hated the fact that their sacrifice was in vain.

At the end of the story, the angel hovering overhead and pointing out how wonderful they were, and how great it was didn't impress me. He could hover and point all he wanted. These poor people had lost a great deal. They were poor, and now they were even poorer.
"Money can't buy everything," the angel says, looking at me and frowning now. "The point of the story is that love is what is important. Not hair or watches."
"Go stick it in your trumpet," I snap back. "Comunication. That's what we need."
"We have tons of communication. We are drowned out by the babble of commuication. Do you think that's going to help anything? If they'd posted what they were going to do on Facebook, do you think that would have helped?" The angel is tapping his foot on his cloud. The cloud is turning dark and little lightning bolts are shooting out of it.
The angel has a point. Even with all the information we have, we still can't make the right moves. We are inundated by information, and we still do stupid things.
I guess, in the end, the only thing that really matters is love, and salf-sacrifice. I admit, I never really did understand the story. It's not a sad tale - it's a happy one.



Gloating does not suit you, Angel.
Oh, and if you want to read the story - here is a link:
The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry

Tomato Soup to die for

Tomato soup - staple for winter - easy to make, and everyone loves it, right?
My husband hates it. I love it. Have tried for years to get him to eat it. I've camouflaged it, changed its color, added bells and whistles - nothing worked - until last night. Here is the recipe for the worlds most delicious tomato soup: (for 2 persons)

Start with three tomatos - they don't have to be fabulous tomatos*, but as usual, the fresher the better. Cut in half and put face down in a saucepan and start cooking over low/medium heat. Cover. Go read a few chapters of a book. **
When the tomatos have turned to mush, add half a bouillon cube - I used vegetable, but you can use chicken or veal stock. When the cube is disolved, take a strainer and strain the soup over a big bowl. press with a wooden spoon to get All the juice out. Put the juice back in the saucepan and add a heaping teaspoon of good quality curry. Put back on the heat, stirring to make sure it doesn't burn on the bottom.
Now, here is where it gets tricky.
I had frozen watermelon left over from this summer. I had thawed it out, just to see what would happen. What happened was I got mushy watermelon and a ton of juice. I added the juice to the tomato soup. If you don't have watermelon juice handy - don't panic. Fresh orange juice will work. The tomatos made a little more than 2 cups of liquid, I added about 3/4 cup juice. Stir. Now, add 1/2 cup heavy cream.
Stir. The soup will turn a delightful salmon pink. It will smell divine.
Now, in a separate pot, cook vermicelle (angel hair) pasta. Strain, and put in a soup dish. Pour the tomato soup over the noodles. Serve with cracked pepper. Enjoy!

*You can even use canned tomatos for this recipe! Yes, you can!

**'The Road to Alexander', if you haven't already read it, otherwise, books 2 & 3 are available too!

3 or 4 large tomatos or a big can of stewed tomatos
half a bouillon cube
3/4 cups fresh orange juice
1/2 cup heavy cream
Curry
Pepper

My lunch with a literary agent (NY, circa 2006!)

For those who have always wondered what happens when you lunch with your agent - this post is for you. 

And for all you who wonder what it's like to say "I'm having lunch with my agent", know that my head will Never be the same size.
So anyway, I called Caren and told her I was in NY (this is the day I arrived and I am still jet-lagged but in the good way - when you come over from Europe you are all full of energy from 4 am until 4 pm and then suddenly you keel over.) Anyhow, I was still awake so I called Caren and she said "Great - let's meet at this restaurant in Union Square. I'll call and make reservations for two!"
and I said, "Well, I think I'll be bringing my daughter." and when I said this, my mom made all kinds of waving motions that meant 'me too, me too!' so I said, "and my mom will be there too."
"And Sam!" my mom said loudly.
Caren said "What?"
And I said, "My mom wants to come. And Sam will be there too. He's my step brother. Sort of. Well, you'll see."
But she was cool and said, "Great - see you tomorrow!"
And the next day we got up before the sunrise (jetlag the right way, remember) and caught the train to the city. We did the NY Times crossword going down - my mom is a whizz at that - and my daughter looked at the Hudson river and asked "are we there yet?" a hundred times. And then we Were there, in the city - and we took the subway to Union Square because the subway is the only way to get around in the city. (when you're on a budget.) But it was Hot that day - hot and humid. There was the Gay Pride parade on 5th ave. so we stopped and watched for a while. We got to the restaurant (a Cuban place on 17th street) and we met Caren and she had brought her boyfriend. He was really cute, and he was from Westerville, of all places. You find out how small the world really is when you find out your agent's boyfriend is from the town your sister lives in now. Weird.
And the conversation went like this:

Me: How do you like being an agent?
Caren: I...
My Mother: So, when are you going to sell Jenny's books?
Caren: Well, I sent them to some editors and...
My Mother: And did you read her Iskander series yet? And the Promise? You have to read the Promise, my kids love it.
Caren: Your kids?
My Mother : I teach English in a maximum security prison and I use Jenny's books for my classes. So, when are Jenny's books going to sell?

But like I said, Caren was cool, and she just laughed and didn't grip her knife tighter or anything, and she told my mother where she'd sent my books and which editors were reading them.
Of course that's when I knock over my black bean soup and I don't get to hear the last part because the waiter is looking Daggers at me, and my daughter is laughing like a loon because she heard the waiter say 'Oh Great'. I try to mop up the mess and make it worse, and then Sam comes in and takes over the conversation, thank goodness, because I'm really shy and shyness makes me nervous and when I get nervous I get clumsy, & I'm just sure my mom is going to make my agent wish she'd never signed me on. (Just kidding. Honest mom.)
Sam tells us about his brother's Tony awards (yes, awardS with an S - Jason won Two!) We're all impressed. Sam calls Jason and tells him how impressed we are. VERY. I wonder briefly where Caren sent my books. Figure mom will tell me later. (she forgot - thought I was taking notes.) Ha.
Anyway.

After lunch we all walked down to SOHO, Little Italy (for some ice-cream, of course) and then to Chinatown just for fun. (It's like going to a foreign country - so amazing - they sell these huge frogs in a bucket and there were kids reaching in to grab them with tongs!) And then we took the subway back to Penn Station - it was almost 5 pm and I had keeled over mentally about an hour back. (Sorry Caren, anything I said after 4 pm made no sense at all, but my brain was fried) My daughter was asleep on her feet. Mom adored Caren from the minute she saw her and she kept saying "Your agent is so nice!" she also thought she was awfully young. LOL. That part is true - she is young. Thank goodness. Sam made sure we got our train (he is so sweet!!) and we went back to Hudson - my daughter and I fell asleep on the train - jet lag is such a pain.

*Note: My books didn't sell, so my agent terminated our contract, and I was back at square 1 (you'd be surprised at how many times writers end up back at square 1!)  I placed the books with Evernight Publishing, where they are happily selling like hotcakes - if you want to read one, the link it here:

Jack the Stripper (murder mystery, fun & zombies!)



Murder & Mayhem (more mystery, fun and zombies)

Arrested Flight by Jo Hiestand

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Arrested Flight by Jo A. Hiestand

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ GENRE: British mystery



~~~~~~~~~~~~~ BLURB:  Ex-police detective Michael McLaren is determined to have a peaceful holiday after the fiasco of his first attempt at Windermere, so he stops at a bed-and-breakfast in Moorton, a village in Cumbria. But mystery and murder seek him out, and he soon succumbs to the B&B owner’s plea to investigate the year-old death of her daughter’s fiancé, a young musician. The Lake District parish seems peaceful, but a rival musician’s jealousy and a business partner’s anger boil beneath the façade. Mix that with ‘Barmy Barry’s’ sightings of fairy lights at the castle, references to Uther Pendragon's return and the secrets in the woods, and McLaren finds his sanity shaky. When the vicar is attacked and Barry disappears, McLaren sets a trap for the killer. But as it plays out, his concern shifts from the potential capture to praying he and his friend can escape with their lives.







 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Excerpt:  
McLaren’s fingers wrapped around the torch. It would do for a weapon if he needed it. He remained there for several minutes, hardly daring to breathe. 
When the tower fell into darkness, he crept toward it. He made for the nearest corner, groping for it in the confusion of darkness. It gradually defined itself, separating from the night as his sight adjusted to the new blackness. He reached, stiff-armed, for the wall and nearly yelped. Ivy, brittle with cold and age, wrapped around his fingertips and grabbed at his ring. 
He jerked away, momentarily alarmed. 
The wind sighed through the leaves, rustling gently, and he cursed his stupidity. He laid his hand back on the wall and moved toward the main archway. The moon had inched above the treetops by the time he came to the end of the wall. 
He glanced up, hoping for cloud cover. The sky was clear. He cursed his choice of the hour and prayed for rain, but he knew it to be a hollow hope. He kept his hand on the stone wall as he left the moonlit courtyard. Drifts of snow sagged against the base of the tower, chilling the air with a hint of frost and emphasizing the position of the foundation. 
He crouched near the entry, ignoring the arch, and pressed the torch against his chest. And waited in the darkness.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~ AUTHOR Bio and Links:   A month-long trip to England during her college years introduced Jo to the joys of Things British.  Since then, she has been lured back nearly a dozen times, and lived there during her professional folksinging stint.  This intimate knowledge of Britain forms the backbone of both the Taylor & Graham mysteries and the McLaren mystery series. Jo’s insistence for accuracyfrom police methods and location layout to the general “feel” of the area has driven her innumerable times to Derbyshire for research.  These explorations and conferences with police friends provide the detail filling the books. In 1999 Jo returned to Webster University to major in English.  She graduated in 2001 with a BA degree and departmental honors. Her cat, Tennyson, shares her St. Louis home.

https://www.johiestand.com/
https://www.amazon.com/Jo-A.-Hiestand/e/B0057SO7VI https://www.goodreads.com/author/list/635131.Jo_A_Hiestand https://www.goodreads.com/series/132095-mclaren-case-mysteries

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ GIVEAWAY INFORMATION:   
Jo A. Hiestand will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Enter to win a $25 Amazon/BN GC - a Rafflecopter giveaway

***

 Review: It was a pleasure to be able to read another of Ms. Heistand's books. I'm a fan of mysteries, and particularly police procedure books, and Ms Hiestand's books don't disappoint. I enjoy ex-police detective Michael McLaren, the character is very likable and he descriptions of the Lake District make me feel as if I'm there. Arrested Flight is the eighth book from Jo A Hiestand's series, The McLaren Mysteries.

After his last adventure, McLaren is battered both physically and in spirit. Grimly determined to continue his interrupted holiday, after leaving his home in Derbyshire and the memory of Dena’s death more than a week ago, he heads towards Whitby. But on the way, he's waylayed in a misty forest route by a strange man, who convinces him to follow him through the forest - then disappears. McLauren suddenly realizes it was probably a trap, and rushes back to his car, where he finds several of his belongings stolen. Furious with himself, he drives to the nearest village and decides to stay the night. After his debacle with the police (in his last adventure, he was accused of murdering a woman he'd just met), he is wary of calling for help. But his presence in the sleepy village of Moorton is a catalyst that sets things in motion. He learns that a young man was murdered a year ago - and the murderer never caught. McLauren is staying in a quaint B&B with the fiance of the murdered man and her mother. When a fundraiser and concert is organized in his memory, several people object forcefully. McLauren wonders why. He really doesn't want to get involved, but as a detective, and an ex-police officer, it's in his blood. Despite himself, he is soon enmeshed in a murder mystery that will test his talent and endanger his life.

I enjoyed the detective work just as much as I enjoyed the setting, near Uther Pendragon's castle, which added a wonderful, mysterious touch to the story. 

Very entertaining, faced paced, and highly recommended! 

Recipe time!

Apple Walnut Apple Brandy cake, with Apple brandy glaze!

I made a scrumptious cake today - the whole apartment smells of cinnamon and apples - the cake is delicious and the scent is wonderful!



Recipe:
1 1/2 cups vegetable oil,
2 cups sugar (1 cup white, 1 cup brown sugar),
2 large eggs or 3 small eggs.

2 cups flour
1 cup instant oats
1 teasp. Cinnamon
1 teasp. Allspice
1 teasp. Baking soda
1/2 teasp. Salt

3 cups diced apples
1 cup walnuts (I toasted mine, but you can use plain walnuts)
1/2 cup raisins

3 tablespoons Calvados, Applejack, or Apple brandy, as it's called.

Beat oil and sugar until smooth and thick, add eggs one at a time, beating well after each egg.  Mix the dry ingredients and add to egg and sugar mix, stir well. Add apples, raisins, and nuts, and the brandy. Mix, then scrape into a ten inch baking tin. Bake for 45 min to 1 hour at 325°. (160 C). It's done when a knife inserted in the middle comes out clean.

Glaze:
2 tablespoons butter, 2 tablespoons white sugar, 1 tablespoon brown sugar, 2 tablespoons Applejack brandy, 1 tablespoon fresh orange juice, 1 tablespoon heavy cream.

Melt butter in a small saucepan. Stir in sugars. When well blended, add the rest of the ingredients and, stirring,  bring to a boil. Lower heat and keep stirring, cook for about 3 - 4 minutes.

Take cake out of the oven and turn it over on a serving dish. Pour the glaze over the cake while it's hot.

Serve either warm or cool - it is delicious with vanilla and/or cinnamon icecream.

Enjoy!

The years go by...

December 2008: I don't think people can build things anymore. My oven door broke, and the 'thing-ma-gig' that broke is not under guarantee. If, when the thing-ma-gig broke, I'd let the door fall off instead of catching it, and the glass broke THAT would have been insured. As it was, the little joint that held the door broke, I caught the door, took the oven to the store, and was told to 'Go buy a new Oven'.
My daughter, who was with me, said loudly, 'We'll go buy it in Another Store, Not Here. I'm Never buying anything Here Again.'
The serviceman, who was just doing his job, replied, 'Happy Holidays to you, too.'
I'm afraid I started to laugh hysterically.
My stepmother sent me a check for Christmas, I used it as my oven money; Thank you, Anne!
(We did, however, go to another store)

December 2009:  The other day I made quince jelly – it looked so lovely when it was done – the prettiest peach color – I had to take a picture of my breakfast!
Quince jelly:
Cut up four or five quinces (leave the skin, but wipe the fuzz off) and cut out the seeds. Cover with water and boil for about an hour until everything is mush. Strain, and then add the same amount of sugar as juice (I never measure, I just looked and guessed – but probably measure the cups of water / cups of sugar ratio. Add the juice of one lemon. Bring to a boil and cook 10 more minutes then pour into jam jars. Let set overnight.
Enjoy!

December 2010 - 2013 (A new job puts a crimp on blogging

I have yet to settle into my new schedule, so I have yet to work out when to log on to the internet and write in my blog. Read and write books. To do housework & Cook
Take kids to various sporting events, social functions, school, etc.. Play with the dogs or take a walk, play some golf or go to the pool and swim…but I do know when I’m working.
Seems like it’s about 12 hours a day right now.
This morning my English student didn’t show up and I got a whole hour free just to fiddle around on the internet! Hello blog!
This afternoon I have another English lesson and about 5 hours of work lined up for me.
Tomorrow is another horse show, so there goes my Sunday.
I wonder if I can clone myself?

Meanwhile, here is a picture of my daughter setting the table for lunch.


No December posts until 2016... and then
Dear Santa,

Despite what you may have heard, I’ve been pretty good this year. It’s true I tend to rant a lot, especially on Facebook, and especially since the Donald was elected president of the US by a minority vote, but who’s counting? I have started telling everyone I’m from the Caribbean when they ask – I no longer say “America”, when I do, people look sympathetic, as if I’m suddenly seated in a wheelchair or I’ve just announced I have leprosy. When Bush was president, I admit things were bad – he was like a toddler with a rocket launcher. But this is worse. The Donald is a crazed toddler with the Nuclear button at his fingertips. I don’t pray very often, but lately I’ve been praying a lot. “Dear God, I’ve never asked for a lightning bolt before, but….” 

At any rate, Santa, I was hoping to ask for peace on Earth, goodwill to mankind this Christmas season. A nice gift would be the gift of tolerance. There are many people I’d like to receive this gift. People who tend to lump everyone in groups or speak from ignorance: “immigrants are all terrorists”, “homosexuals should not be allowed to raise children”, “marriage is for a man and a woman”, “there is a war on Christmas.” Santa – I ask you – has anyone declared war on Christmas? I’m shaking my head here. Even some of my Muslim and Jewish friends have Christmas trees and sing Christmas carols – how ignorant can you get to claim there is a war on Christmas?

As for the immigrants are terrorists – Santa, do I look like a terrorist to you? And yet, I’m an immigrant, and my family arrived in America on boats – one jumped overboard and swam ashore, he was on a prison boat headed towards a prison colony and life as an indentured servant – he jumped ship and arrived in the US with no papers, clandestine, and criminal. Now it’s a family story. Do you think that the refugees who are arriving in Europe and America will have family stories too?

Dear Santa, several of my friends, including school friends, are raising children in same-sex households. Their children are pretty cool, seem very well adjusted, are doing great in school, and are happy and healthy human beings. I’m sure they have questions about who they are and where they came from, and some of those questions will never be answered – but that won’t ruin their lives, any more than my adopted friends who grew up in more traditional households lives were ruined. People adapt pretty well. But I have friends who believe that gay people shouldn’t marry or have kids. For Christmas, could you please give them understanding, and failing that, could you have them read these scientific studies that show that children raised by same sex parents thrive? I’m not saying shove the studies down their throats. I’m simply thinking it very loudly.

Dear Santa, the Christmas tree lights are blinking. Night has fallen. I made cookies this afternoon and the house smells like chocolate and brown sugar. I don’t want anything for myself for Christmas – truly, all I want is Peace on Earth, and that part about Good Will is important too. A little more tolerance, except for the Donald. A little more love – for everyone. A little more sharing. I promise to do my part this year, if you do yours, Santa.

Here you go – this song is for you.

December 1, 2017. I still rant on Facebook, my appliances still break down. Latest one is my blender, not three months old, I poured veggies in it to puree for a soup, and the plastic blender cracked. Soup everywhere. What a mess. We went back to the store (the one in the first post, to be exact - not the same salesman, luckily...) and ordered a new blender - bowl thing. You know, not the machine, the plastic holder that...What is that called anyway? Well, I ordered it and am waiting. Hopefully it will get here for Christmas. It will be odd having Christmas this year - the first year that the children don't live here, so they will be coming as guests, bringing their loved ones. How lucky we are that we can welcome them in our home, when so many others are homeless right now. This year, my Christmas prayers are going to the people displaced by war and religious intolerance. 

This year we are having couscous for Christmas - a North African dish with mutton, loads of winter vegetables, and semoule. You can eat it as a soup, a stew, or as a dish. For desert we'll have clemantine oranges with cinnamon and homemade icecream. My mother in law is too ill to come, as is her sister, so my husband and I are organizing a Christmas day tour to visit them. I don't know what to bring - any ideas? Two elderly, bedridden ladies - what would cheer them up? 

I have a whole month to plan, clean the house, and get ready...(it may not be enough, lol). What are your plans for the holidays?