Leftover Soup

Last week I roasted a turkey for the first time for our dinner guests (I officially don't know what the fuss is over roasting a turkey. Just make sure it's defrosted, then follow the directions.) With it, I made a sweet whiskey-maple sauce and a pomegranate-cranberry sauce to go on the turkey. The pom-cran sauce didn't quite thicken how I wanted it to, but it was still yummy. (It was just Ocean Spray juice and the juices from the pan, essentially.) We had lots of leftovers, so I thought I'd whip up some soup. Earlier in the week I used the leftover pom-cran sauce and low-sodium chicken broth, added some chopped carrots and celery and some pasta, all heated together til the pasta was cooked and the veggies were just tender. It was really good. Today I thought I'd make soup again, as it would be a great way to use up turkey leftovers. I put water, a vegetable bouillon cube, and pomegranate-cranberry juice in a big pot, dumped in roasted turkey cut into bite size pieces, the remainder of a bag of baby carrots, and about 1/3 bag of barley, plus some garlic powder, chili powder, and a bay leaf (which William insists makes a difference but I don't think it does at all.) I let it all cook on medium low heat for 2 hours, added a smidge of salt at the end to bring the flavors together, and we enjoyed it for lunch along with some rye crackers. If you find yourself with lots of leftovers after Christmas, this is a fun, healthy and economical way to use them up. I think this recipe would work with traditional cranberry sauce in the soup, leftover green beans, spinach, etc.
Side note: I make my own stock usually but am currently out. The next best thing is College Inn brand, and the next best thing to that is vegetable bouillon cubes because it usually doesn't have added msg or high levels of sodium. Always read the ingredients though.

Christmas poems

These are two of my favorite Christmas poems. I discovered them in a book my Grandma gave me years ago, a collection of poems, short stories, and excerpts of longer stories. Enjoy.

"Christmas and New Year Bells"
by Alfred Tennyson

The time draws near the birth of Christ;
The moon is hid; the night is still;
The Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the mist.

Four voices of four hamlets round,
From far and near, on mead and moor,
Swell out and fail, as if a door
Were shut between me and the sound:

Each voice four changes on the wind,
That now dilate, and now decrease,
Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace,
Peace and goodwill, to all mankind.

This year I slept and woke with pain,
I almost wish'd no more to wake,
And that my hold on life would break
Before I heard those bells again:

But they the troubled spirit rule,
For they controll'd me when a boy;
They bring me sorrow touch'd with joy,
The merry, merry bells of Yule.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going; let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we seen no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.


and

"The Sheep Herd"
by Sister Mariella (who, incidentally, was a champion of Flannery O'Conner.)

I am a shepherd-I have hated
The smell of damp sheep in the rain,
The pain
Of clouted shoes on weary feet,
The silly barking of watchdogs in the night,
The blinding light
Of summer suns on hillsides without shade.
Nor anything I did not wish was not
From hoar-frost on the meadow grass
To dizzy stars that blinked on stupidly and bright.

Last night
I went with other men who tended sheep
Over to Bethlehem to see-
We did not know just what we'd come to see
Who'd followed up a cloud of singing wings.
Until we came to where a young girl held
A little baby on her lap and smiled.

She made me think of flowers,
White flowers on long stems and blue night skies.
Nothing happened-
But today
I have been shaken with the joy
Of seeing hoar-frost wings
Atilt upon tall grasses; the sun
Upon the sheep, making their gray backs white
And silvery
Has hurt me with its beauty, and I heard
The sound of the barking watchdogs break
The tolling bells against the quiet hills.