it's that time of year

I knew it would come. I could not pull myself out of lethargy and I’m paying for it now. No time left for goofing off.

I’m finally poking away at Christmas, doing what I can. The longer I sit the stiffer I get: hard to walk, hard to stand while I cook, and I don’t have the strength to do much kneading. I do it, though. Kneading is good for the soul.

I have to bake a stollen today. I do it every year for Christmas breakfast—only for my son and daughter-in-law now. I used to give them one for an early breakfast with them. Then I would fly to Boston for Christmas with my younger daughter and her family. Sometimes there was snow, never enough to stop me (and Matt). Not like now. Once Kate had a couple of later guests, stranded in Boston, who joined us. We waited for them. Kate did a miracle with the food. It survived. The dinner wine did not. We drank it all while we waited.

But the Boston family didn’t like stollen. I noticed it hangjng around and I asked about it. The bread is nice, they said, but they didn’t like the lumps—the glacéed fruit and almonds and raisins and stuff. So I stopped bringing it. But I kept on baking it for Canadian use. So that’s what I’m doing today, early. My other two great grandchildren are coming to visit after an overnight with their father’s sister (they came last week).

So I may not be back with you today.

Have a good one.