I am currently coasting on my breakfast of shortbread and oatmeal cookies, cherries and oranges, coffee and Bailey's, and some leftover wild Polish mushroom soup from last night. But the escalating turkey aroma is starting to drive me a little nuts, so I have decided I need to wrestle some nutrition from this big glass of red wine.
I've been looking through the Christmas cards that came in the post this month. I was particularly impressed to see three handmade cards amongst them. The craftsmanship is so beautiful and they fill me with a desire to make my own cards, but I am afraid of crossing over that line into over-achiever (or perhaps simply over-attempter) territory.
Another card that I particularly cherish is the one pictured above, from my German aunt. I love the old world feel of these German Christmas pictures. They put me in mind of the advent calendar like the one we had when I was growing up, for which I have been searching unsuccessfully for about ten years now. My aunt is the last relative left to whom I write Christmas cards in German and she, bless her soul, always writes back in English.
While Christmas tends to bring out the traditionalist in me, there is one tradition which I have failed miserably to fulfill this year. And it's a big one - leaving out the milk and shortbread cookie for Santa. I guess we stayed up too late watching crappy tv last night or something, but somehow I forgot to set out the offering before heading off to visions of sugar plums.
Santa still filled the Resident Offspring's stocking, but he made it abundantly clear in the note he left on the mantle that he was pissed. I'm just glad he didn't come up to our bedrooms and break our kneecaps.