It started snowing again, so it was time to head for the market and make sure that I had everything to make garlic toast. This seems to be my coping mechanism, or else it’s just a Pavlovian response, since I made it the last time it snowed. But in any case, I got garlic toast out of it, so I’m happy.

While I was waiting for it to come out of the oven, I meditated on the pecan pieces. I did some Christmas candymaking this week that needed caramels, but I ended up with a lot of leftover caramel. I could throw it out, but the tragic waste of that had prompted me to buy chocolate and pecans in the interest of making pecan turtles. Surely there would be somebody I could inflict them on. (I’ve been taste-testing liberally for the past day or so, and I can finally honestly say that I’m inured to the charms of homemade caramel.)

That was the plan. But then, at the last minute, I picked up pecan pieces at the store instead of pecan halves. I didn’t do it by mistake — I just rebelled. I know that the whole point of these things is that the five pecan halves with the caramel blob and the chocolate over it is supposed to remind us of turtles. But I didn’t want pecan halves. I don’t like pecans that much and big bites of pecan seems like the greatest liability of pecan turtle consumption.

Looking at the pieces, I was wondering how to proceed, when a thought came to me, and I started placing numerous pieces around the caramel base — three on one side, small piece on the other, long piece on the top, or some other configuration. Mutant pecan turtles. Three Mile Island turtles.

With just a little work, I thought I could make them into teenage mutant ninja turtles — but I rebelled again. No. Because that would be cute. And I’ve had it with cute. I’m done. I’ve worn out every Martha Stewart gene I had in my body (both of them), and I’m done making precious homemade goodies. It can be nice up to a point, but that point was yesterday, and now I’m making Three Mile Island turtles. Good thing most of the packages already got in the mail, or else people would start getting bizarro presents from me that would make them send me gift certificates for electroshock therapy.

I’m not really as wigged out as that may sound. I like how Advent has been going, and I loved having the time and inclination to do all kinds of extra little things that I don’t usually have time for. But it’s December 17, and it feels like about the time to say goodbye to Winter Wonderland and Amazon.com and the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook (chapter 7 - candy!). Advent is about timing, and it’s getting to be about that time. Time to get ready.

Bethlehem of Judah, prepare the gates of the city. For the Virgin Mother of God is coming to give birth in you in the cave to the One, appearing as a mortal, who is my Lord and my God.
– Orthros service

By the way, my mom sent this link to an online Christmas card from a university chapel, and though it might seem cutesy to some, I thought it was kind of touching.

Follow-up
My confections are even more subversive than I thought they’d be. Since the caramel never really got all that hard, the only way to keep them from sticking to the wax paper is to turn them upside down. At that point, they look most of all like,… well, roadkill.

I’m really not thinking I have a future in Betty Crocker’s kitchen.