Public Accountants' Public Fun

Everyone knows there are millions of jokes about lawyers floating around.  I suspect there are about as many about undertakers and accountants, but people don’t tell accountant jokes in front of me.  They know I’ve worked in an accounting firm over 20 years and wouldn’t want to offend me.  I was amused that we had a real joke situation in our office.  Although we had an almost full house, four of the accountants were doing a seminar via a web cast.  It was a live program, so they were already in session when I got to work, and they took breaks only when the presenter did.  Valerie projected the screen from her computer onto a large wall so they could watch it together.  Things were fairly quiet most of the morning.  We had lunch delivered, each paying for our own meal.  It’s fun for me to be with the group.  They go out on audits together and work in close proximity to each other in the back.  I’m not usually in on the teasing, nor do I know the nuances behind private jokes.  However, I enjoy their lively conversations when they are on a break, so this was fun for me.

After lunch I kept hearing raucous laughter erupting from Valerie’s room.  I had to give Margaret some papers, so I used it as an excuse to see what was going on.

“Brent is there on the wall,” Valerie said, nodding toward the projected session.  I glanced at the dark headed speaker and saw he looked nothing like Brent, our accountant who lives in Massachusetts.  Brent had been in our office two days that week, and I knew he was doing continuing education in the city.

Valerie saw my skeptical look and said, “He really is there.  Look!  Can you tell which one is Brent?”

I looked again, seeing the backs of four men’s heads.

“Oh, Brent is the one in the lower left corner,” I said.

“How did you recognize him?” Valerie asked.  They all looked similar.

“I identify most people by the backs of their heads, because that’s the way I see them at church,” I replied.  She nodded, giving credence to my claim.  I hadn’t been out of the room more than a minute when everyone exploded with laughter again.  Shortly after that, Margaret passed my desk on her way to the kitchen.

“What is so funny?” I wanted to know.

Margaret explained that they knew Brent was at the live presentation in Manhattan, and they thought they recognized him.  I have no idea how many people might have looked at this thing, just as our people did.  It could have been hundreds.  Valerie texted Brent to see where he was in relation to the speaker.  When she knew she had him in sight, she told him to raise his right hand.  Shortly after that, they saw him bend his head, looking at his phone.  He raised his right hand behind his head, pretending to smooth his hair.  Every once in a while Valerie sent him another outrageous demand, like rub the top of your head, give yourself a pat on the back, pull on your ear, etc.  Margaret said Brent played to the camera, waving with his pinkie at them behind his head.  I have no idea if the subject interested our accountants, but they certainly paid close attention to the screen all afternoon.

Christmas Pageant 2011

The church Christmas Pageant of 2011 was one of the best yet, as far as I was concerned.  I am the organist, and usually a day ahead I am given a notebook with the script for the play.  It doesn’t matter what is written there; I won’t hear the words muttered into microphones at the other end of the sanctuary, and won’t know when to play the congregational carols.  This year the Sunday School superintendent played the only song the parents and doting grandparents were allowed to sing in the middle of the production.  The rest was karaoke!!!  The woman confided that she gets physically sick the days she has to play.  She said she took one look at the accompaniments and told the director she couldn’t possibly play the pop, syncopated rhythms called for.  I don’t know who ran the iPod, but they did an excellent job.  The superintendent, meanwhile, was struggling.  I thought that was overkill for playing “Away in the Manger”, but then I noticed she accompanied one of the teens for a solo.  She did a wonderful job, as did the boy.  She also helped direct from the side, singing and going through the hand motions.  After I saw all she did, I understood why she was nervous.

The pastor’s wife proudly showed me the new costumes several weeks ago.  I knew before she pointed to it, that the blue costume was for Mary.  I think Mary has dressed in blue since the dark ages.  Poor thing never has a choice, but she is always recognizable, even if played by the roughest tomboy in the group.  Our sheep were a frisky lot, on two feet as often as four.  I’m sure the real shepherds wouldn’t recognize their counterparts, whose costumes were a bit too designer perfect.  You can usually pick out the wise men who carry pretty boxes, but at a distance I couldn’t see if they had anything in their hands.  The angels were the ones who really looked spiffy, having just earned their new wings.  They will look more realistic next year.  The wings were useful, though, because you often can’t tell the difference between angels and choirs.  One angel’s mother took no chances on the costume.  Her daughter was dressed in a floor length white dress.

The only mistake was Pastor’s skipping over one choir piece.  We quickly jumped in at the next available quiet spot.  It wouldn’t take a wise man to know we did the right thing.  At the end, the director had each set of characters take a formal bow before exiting down the center aisle of the church while the relatives clapped loudly.  It was a resounding success.

Anne’s Americanized English Christmas Pudding

Stir together:

            1/2 cup flour

            Pinch salt

            Breadcrumbs – 2 slices of bread whirled in a food processor

            1 cup brown sugar

            Lemon rind if you have any

            ¼ cup cocoa (first American aberration)

            1 Tbsp cinnamon

            1 tsp nutmeg

            1 tsp ground cloves

            1 tsp allspice

Measure 5 ½ cups of fruit in another bowl:

            3 cups raisins

            1 cup dried cranberries

            1 ½ cups candied fruit

            Some chopped almonds, if you like nuts

            Or whatever ratio of the above that you like

Melt about ¼ cup butter or margarine.

To the dry ingredients, add the melted butter, 2 eggs and about ¼ cup of brandy or fruit juice.  Stir well and add to the fruit.  At this point, call everyone in the house to the kitchen.  It’s traditional for all to take a turn at the stirring while making a wish.  I personally think this is done so that everyone will have a stake in the outcome and will agree to eat some on Christmas Day.

Grease a five cup Pyrex bowl, put in the fruity batter, cover with aluminum foil, and steam on high in a crock pot for about 6 hours.  When it’s cool enough to handle, remove from the crock pot, let it cool, cover with plastic wrap, and store in an airtight plastic bag in an unreachable corner of the refrigerator until Christmas.  Haul it out the day you are serving it, replace the plastic wrap with aluminum foil, and steam it in the crock pot again for about two hours.  You’ll be sorry if you forget to remove the plastic wrap.  It won’t matter if you forget the pudding while it’s steaming, because 4 or 5 hours wouldn’t harm this indestructible blob.

Brandy butter.  Cream together:

            Half a stick of butter

            1 cup confectioner’s sugar

            A little milk, just so there is something virtuous in there

            Add brandy – as much as it takes.  Our family doesn’t drink, but oh! do they like a generous portion of tipsiness to drown out the pudding!  Come to think of it, go back and double everything above.

Serve with flair.  Run a thin knife around the edge of the pudding to loosen it.  Cover with a pretty plate and turn both together so that the upside down plate is now right side up, and the pudding is on its head.  It won’t get a headache, although you might if you eat too much brandy butter.  It’s important that you unmold the pudding while it’s quite warm.  Pour a little brandy in a cup or bowl and warm for a few seconds in the microwave.  The last time I did this, I probably used a quarter of a cup, and it was too much.  The silly thing burned for five minutes and almost singed the children’s hair.  So, let’s say less than ¼ cup brandy warmed for 10 to 15 seconds.  It needs to be hot but not boiling.  Make sure all guests are watching as you pour the hot brandy over the pudding and immediately touch a lighted match to the bottom.  If you use too much brandy, the family will have time to sing ALL the verses of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” before the flame goes out.  If you used a paper plate to avoid having to wash the dish, the plate will now self destruct, ruining the pudding.  Settle everyone at the table and divide up the brandy butter, and all will go home happy.  Ideally, you’d slice the pudding and pass the brandy butter to the children first so that Uncle Jim doesn’t hog it all for himself.  This isn’t going to work, anyway, because the pudding will crumble.  You might as well just use a spoon to dole it out.  It’s really better if no one looks at his plate while eating because the pudding looks like a mess or worse.  You might start a discussion of Christmas customs in England, bringing in Scrooge and some of the ghosts if you need to scare anyone into submission.

As they say in England, “Happy Christmas!”

Alzheimer’s Watch

I am inviting everyone we know to be on our Alzheimer’s watch team.  One of us has Alzheimer’s disease, but neither of us knows which one.  What a quandary!  I’ve dreaded this day for 45 years, always assuming I’d be the one watching others for telltale signs.  That was a silly assumption, but I was young and ignorant.  I’m now on super alert, knowing my name is at the top of the list, right next to John’s.  I know they say you don’t have Alzheimer’s disease if you are concerned about it, but what exactly does that mean?  I can worry about all sorts of things, including losing my mind.  It just comes naturally!  There is one bright thought, however.  I spelled the “A” word correctly without looking it up.  That’s a vote in my favor, isn’t it?

Last night I reached for scissors in the kitchen junk drawer and came up with a bag of rotted lettuce.

“John!” I shouted.  “Look what I just found!  This bag of lettuce was in the scissors drawer!  It’s rotten!”

I wouldn’t doubt my tone was accusatory, because I certainly don’t remember putting cut up lettuce in a drawer.  Who would do such a thing?

John answered, “I was looking for that.  I wanted to make myself a salad and couldn’t find it.  That’s why I bought more at the grocery store today.”

His words implied he couldn’t have lost the lettuce, because he was actively looking for it.

We are at an impasse.  Neither will actively accuse the other of doing something stupid, but the bag of lettuce is floating in our minds like a festering sore.  There is no telling what silly thing could happen next that will make us doubt our sanity.  That’s a no brainer.

Some of you might point out that we are often alone, though not always.  Kate, David and Nate are in our kitchen on a biweekly schedule.  Given their young ages, it would be a bit unreasonable to attach the “A” stigma to one of them.  The other alternative is to label the lousy lettuce an accident.  I can’t quite imagine sweeping a bag of produce into a drawer with scissors, but it is humanly possible.  I hope you don’t mind, but if any of you witness us in a mindless action, please let both of us know in writing and keep a copy yourself.  Thank you.

Post Script   It was just about 24 hours after I threw out the rotten lettuce that John and I were standing in the kitchen when Nate came in.  He opened the refrigerator door, shut it quickly and turned toward the junk drawer.

He said, “That’silly!  I started to put the scissors in the refrigerator!”

John laughed out loud, while I exaggeratedly held my hand over Nate’s head and pointed down.  We had to tell him the whole lettuce story.  He found it amusing, but I’m not sure he understands that he will now be on the “A” list as a prime suspect when something goes missing.  No, maybe not.  Eleven would be a preposterous age to get “Old Timer’s Disease.”