Better than fruit salad

Roasted Chestnuts! Perhaps you were more fortunate than I, but my pathetic American version of the yule never incorporated roasted chestnuts, much to my prepubescent chagrin. (It’s in the song! It means Christmas to EVERYONE ELSE. Why don’t I know what it tastes like?) So I won’t be able to indulge in time for Christmas, since I found this the day after when Googling “roasted chestnuts,” but we have plenty of winter months ahead of us here in the Arctic Circle of Northern Colorado, and the stores are filled with BARRELS of the things. So, tomorrow! Let’s get roasting!

THE PART ABOUT CHRISTMAS

So much better than Thanksgiving turned out, thanks for asking. I had a chance to sit and have good long talks, there were good stories, and I did well in the gift department*. One (rhetorical) thing I ask you: how did I end up with such flaky friends? Particularly the Colorado Springs strain. If I crossed an ocean teeming with beasts and maelstroms these people would sniff the breeze half-heartedly and yawn, saying you know, I’m not sure I can meet up with you after all.

THE PART ABOUT NEW YEAR’S

I am listening to Afrocelt but also Yusuf Islam (from when he was Cat Stevens) eating waffles and bacon and thinking about last night. I am existing in this warm, fuzzy, muppety happiness which is probably partially thanks to my recent purchase of the Old School Sesame Street (Vol. 2) and my subsequent dive, head first, into memory lane. Yes, nostalgia is icky and and not good, but getting a lot of what makes you happy — and what made you happy in the past — certainly couldn’t hurt, and as the Year of Pain comes to a close it has been nice to indulge myself in this.

I had forgotten about the human characters a little, even though I have a friend who reminds me of David, another friend who looks remarkably like Maria, and I used to pretend to be Bob. And is it ridiculous to be totally in to little vignettes of old men delivering the mail in the Appalachian mountains, or of a bunch of kids visiting a petting zoo? To actually get choked up when Guy Smiley sings his seasons song? Is it weird to then walk to your friends house for the New Year’s Eve party, buzzed on a Mint Julep and happy, looking at everyone sitting around the table thinking, we’re all friends. We’re all neighbors. We all have jobs and can read and smile and laugh together. I am living the dream of Sesame Street.

I always think fleetingly about a resolution, the same way I think fleetingly about squeezing the bottle of contact solution in the bathroom to make a tiny fountain. A bunch of people are putting up little lists about the year, and I think that’s very sweet and inspiring but I just cannot bring myself to. There are some fairly horrendous statistics for us. (Dani’s parents both died, Anthony rejected from 5 grad schools, Brother admitted to mental hospital and put on suicide watch, and so on). As far as resolutions go, this year I’m kind of well on my way to being better without even trying. I started to eat way healthier than I ever have, I’ve been remembering my cloth grocery bags, I have a nice consolidated recycling system going, and I’m starting to do better in terms of routine and getting stuff done when it needs to. So I think I’m good there, which is nice.

One big scary thing about the new year: Anthony will probably be moving in here full time, because really who are we kidding. Only scary in that I have to notify my Mom, probably will not get around to notifying my Father at this point, because I am a chickenshit. This needs to happen sooner rather than later, because of his rent mess and a whole lot of unknowns. So STAY TUNED!

*I am usually not one for bragging about swag, but I did score a digital SRL camera, and oh my God the hotness. The second I got it out of the box and scrounged some batteries and a SD disc, I assumed my post by the back door and took countless pictures of birds and creatures in my Mom’s back yard.

Here is the very first picture, ever.

Obviously there is a lot going for this, like manual focus.

And now I can be like everyone else. Breakfast is the new cat.