Some Shining Cherub's Wing

Epitaph of a Mason, Dr. George Farrington, who died in 1816, age 47:
Here lies beneath this monument
The dear remains of one who spent
His days and years in doing good,
Gave ease to those opress’d with pain,
Restor’d the sick to Health again
And purified their wasting blood.
He was respected while on Earth
By all who knew his real worth,
In practice and superior skill.
The means he used were truly blest
His wondrous cures will well attest.
Who can his vacant mansion fill,
Bourne on some shining cherub’s wing
To his Grand Master, God & King
To the Grand Lodge in Heaven above
Where angels smile to see him join
His brethren in that Lodge Divine
Where all is Harmony and Love.

Driving home from an all-day writers’ group meeting I heard an ad on the radio for a liquor that sounded great: RumChata.  It’s a cream liquor, like Bailey’s.  Now I like Bailey’s, and my husband likes hot buttered rum, and this sounded like the best of both.  So I stopped at a local liquor store and, once I recovered my breath at the price (we drink mostly beer), bought a bottle.  We each had a sample, over ice.  And we both agree, it is absolutely delicious!  So now we have our Christmas tipple, and have solved a couple of difficult present dilemmas as well.

Speaking of writers groups, I want to say again, they can be manuscripts’ best friends.  I read a new synopsis at my group this past Saturday and they had some really excellent suggestions for a polish it badly needs.  We also gave a prospective new member a tryout.  Fortunately, we like her and she likes us.

Thanksgiving is upon us.  We’re hosting a dinner with five friends – it was to be six, but one had to back out, so there will be seven of us.  I’ve been to some gatherings that were much larger, and they’re fun and exciting, but now I’m more comfortable with a number like eight or maybe ten.  I’m going to try something new in roasting the turkey: spatchcocking.  (Isn’t that a cool word?)  What it means is that I’ll get someone in my grocery store meat department to cut the spine out of the bird so he will open like a book and lie breast up in a big pan.  I will press down hard on the breast bone to break it so he lies even flatter, but I won’t (like some chefs do) dismember him.  The reason for this harsh treatment is to shorten the roasting time to something like 90 minutes.

Whatever your plans are, may they come to brilliant fruition!