Woodland Idyll

I enjoyed the most relaxed Christmas ever:  I spent a couple of days with N, one of my oldest friends.  (We met in junior high when we were put in the same same homeroom because our surnames began with the same letter.)

N  lives in a fairytale forest across from the ocean.

Our Christmas consisted of good food (N roasts a mean turkey), so so movies and a constant battle to keep one elderly Chihuahua from pissing off three feisty and athletic cats.

It was my first Christmas without my Boy, and I was all set to be miserable, but N saved the holiday.

Today, I’m grateful for kind friends, pets and family.

Tomorrow, I can get back to worrying about everything 2018 has in store for me.

Christmas Has Exploded!

016Remembrance Day seems to be the official end of the non-holiday season.

Once we’ve paid tribute to our brave veterans, Christmas explodes onto the scene, taking over every public space with baubles, greenery and…random body parts???

Most of the decorations are festive and jolly–others somewhat disturbing.

Fess up–who thinks disembodied limbs clawing their way out of a tree says peace. love and joy???

They’re Back!

020Fruitcakes have arrived!

(And not a moment too soon–after all it’s only nine weeks to Christmas.)

I have to admire the optimism of grocers who continue to stock this unpopular item, year after year.  Other than my Welsh mother, who died almost thirty years ago, I can’t think of anyone who eats these leaden blocks of dried fruit, flour and fat.

I’m partial to the thick marzipan layer on top, but that’s as far into fruitcake territory as I’m prepared to venture.

My mom, who was a truly loving and generous parent, used to cut off the marzipan and give it to me EVERYTIME she “enjoyed” a slice of fruitcake.  It’s not that she didn’t like marzipan herself.  (Who doesn’t???)  She shared the best part of her fruitcake with me because she loved me.

Seeing that fruitcake display brought back such fond recollections of being cherished that I almost bought one so I could take the feeling home with me.

Maybe those grocers are smarter than I thought.  They’re not selling fruitcake.  They’re selling memories.