While Santa was nestled snug in his bed, with visions of sugarplums and various other acid flashbacks dancing through his head, Ms. Claus was up and taking care of bidness as per usual.
In point of fact, she was out in the frosty air, delivering a big box of Dunkin deliciosity to the residents and staff at Herself the Elder’s assisted-living house.
The coffee was made in the kitchen with care, for she knew that eventually, against all odds, that grumpy old elf St. Grinch would haul his fleabitten carcass out of the sack and stumble blindly around the joint screeching for stimulants to jump-start the undersized and frequently offline Freon pump in his rib cage that he claims is a heart.
Now she’s home and banging around in the kitchen making pancakes and eggs over easy, with more coffee, still more! Molasses cookies are likewise on the program. Your basic Joyeux Noël, n’est-ce pas? Feliz Navidad? Nollaig shona dhuit?
Whatever you call it, have some on us. Her. Whatevs. I’ll have more coffee, please.
Mad Blog Media 
Speaking of coffee…
Enjoy the holidays, but let’s center on the theme that needs the highest of highlights. “Peace on Earth”
Don’t forget the Goodwill toward men. Also, the Salvation Army, food banks, and plasma centers.
I can give blood again! Seems the Red Cross finally realized we’re the only industrialized nation still worried about lingering Mad Cow exposure from the mid-eighties. So gotta schedule my appointment for a jab in the arm and a free glass of orange juice.
It’s really nice, a gift even, to see Herself the Elder smile! We got another gift this morning, rain. Not much, but enough to make us giddy while walking the Duffinator. Doesn’t take much water to tickle a hardened desert rat.
This afternoon our infrequent but effective triple bubble group gathers to eat, drink, gab, and play and sing. The maestro, that be Alan, and his apprentice, me, will be playing the guitars.
Tomato, fresh basil, and feta cheese omelette plus fresh mixed fruit on the side. Celebrating the last Christmas of 2020. And hopefully the end of 2020 soon!
Bon Hiver and Happy Solstice, Festivus, Saturnalia, Hanukkah and Christmas, you get to pick.
I’m not ready to hang up my Head Chef and Bottle Washer duties, but the kiddos made three batches of cookies without adult supervision, so my time on the throne will soon be coming to an end.
Shouldn’t have been surprised. Big Sister has been pitching in on these for 8 years now, a recipe from America’s Test Kitchen that she holiday-fied by adding the crushed candy canes.
Funny … pretty much stopped adding anything to the old HPD site about when Urchin #2 showed up on our doorstep. Crazy to think that she’s now in 3rd grade and has a couple of HTML/CSS websites on her elementary school resume.
Happy Winter to Everyone!
Here’s a holiday / New Years gift for all fellow travelers, free-lance guardians of the status un-quo, and the extended Mad Dog Furry Family: Our Nebraska State Fair-winning granola recipe, by way of our 3rd-5th grade girls coding club. (Now you can say you knew them before they became masters of the universe.)
https://granola-tutorial-bgwc.glitch.me/
Hoping 2021 brings everyone peace, bowls full of goodwill, and daily diversions from the insanity that is always right outside the gate.
Mmmm, cookies.
I’ll take teo and a cup of coffee and maybe one more.
Two! Unless “teo” is Greek for 13.
The baked goods and other sundries have been making the rounds in the cul-de-sac. Cookies, poinsettias, and what have you. Herself just passed out a bunch of these to the neighbors. It’s all very comforting in a very weird time.
Been married 22 years to a farm girl from Western Nebraska. And her family tradition was a work of pure genius. Everyone made on kind of cookie, but made 12 dozen. Then everyone got together on Christmas Eve and swapped, walking home with half a dozen of 24 different cookies. Only problem is, the grandkids are all fleeing the farms, and the youngest of the founders generation just turned 80. So last year was a half-hearted effort to keep the ball rolling, and this year it was just the four families left in town.
I tend to scoff when I hear anyone talk about “the good old days,” but in some cases, they were on to something.
3rd sentence: Everyone made ONE kind of cookie, but made 12 dozen.
We’ve been very fortunate in our last few neighborhoods. In Weirdcliffe a neighbor and I took turns driving the snowplow (a mid-Eighties Dodge 4×4 with a blade). Other neighbors helped me fix fence and cut firewood. Lots of community cookery, some of it involving locally harvested game.
In Bibleburg a neighbor and I took turns shoveling out the ’hood on snowy days (we were blessed with a surplus of infirm little old ladies). The kids across the street helped them carry groceries. Again, plenty of community cookery, and an annual block party that was the primary focus of the neighborhood association, which couldn’t care less what color you painted your trim.
Here in ’Burque people keep an eye on each others’ kids and dogs and porches, swap produce and baked goods, loan tools, let you know if you toddle off without remembering to close the garage door. The good old days are still with us, at least occasionally.
Dangnabbit, why’d ya have to post that seductive picture of those oh so fresh cookies? I was doing so good avoiding the Pile O Sweets until your post pushed me over the edge and straight to Toffee Canyon. Me loves homemade molasses cookies!
I wasn’t a fan of ginger snaps, snickerdoodles, or anything like that until I married into a Midwest farming family. But those folks will whip out a buffet-tables-worth of cookies that all look the same but taste completely different. Cinnamon spice here, molasses crinkle there, triple ginger next door, and something with sour cream at the end of the row. And all made from memory.
Put on 5 pounds thinking about it.
Episode 10, Season 3: Seoul Brothers
“It’s an old legend, that on Christmas Eve at midnight, all the animals fall on their knees and speak — praising the new born Jesus.
Back in the winter of ’68, my Dad was doing a short term for D and D. Mom was — I’m not sure where Mom was. Anyway, I was home alone on Christmas Eve and I stayed up late to see if my dog, Buddy, would talk. He did — at least I think he did. I don’t remember Buddy’s exact words, but that’s not important. What matters is that a seven-year-old boy experienced his own personal epiphany.
My point? It’s that Christmas reveals itself to each of us in a personal way — be it secular or sacred. Whatever Christmas is — and it’s many things to many people — we all own a piece of it. Kinda like Santa’s bag, inside there’s gift for everyone.
My Christmas wish for you tonight — may your dog talk.”
– Chris-in-the-Morning (excerpt from “The Friendly Beasts”)
Woah..! I think I just heard my dog just say “cookie”. “What’s that boy? What did you say?” “Peamutt budner cheeze & bakeun cookies pleaze”. Woah! Now that’s a good dog. Although I can’t figure out how he gets those S’s and Z’s out.
Christmas greetings to all you shunned velo-minded deviants. I hope your bellies are full and your minds are calm.
Cheers !