It’s 9:30am the Sunday after Christmas and I’m defrosting bags of fruit on my dashboard as Jamie, my husband, drives us toward Roseville. We’re late for a post-Christmas breakfast and we’re supposed to bring the fruit. Frozen mangos, frozen strawberries and frozen blackberries slowly show signs of weakening and I mix the fruit together under a blasting vent of hot hot air. Jamie’s got his window rolled down even though it’s raining to try to escape the heat that inevitably permeates the car…
We call that the ghetto defrosting technique. Works for chicken, too, I hear, but fortunately we were only responsible for the fruit.
You ever get the feeling that Christmas is no longer a holiday, but another busy weekend in a life of busy weekends? I’ve gone to 5 different houses and celebrated Christmas 6 times over the past week, opening presents with people I love, opening presents with people I don’t really know, giving presents to people I love and, again, to people I don’t really know. I’ve packed away enough sugar to make the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man look like a joke regardless of how many wacky jacks I do (thanks, P90X, for reminding me that I’m never too old to feel ridiculous). Moreover, tomorrow’s Monday and I, like a few other lucky folks, am getting up at 6:30am to get ready for work. Just another weekend, starting another week.
Cynicism aside, Christmas is actually my favorite holiday and it has been rather wonderful, though over much too soon. Jamie and I drove through the Fabulous 40s (Sacramento’s idea of Beverly Hills, without the awful pinkish terra cotta houses) last week to appreciate all the beautiful lights on all the beautiful homes. Minus one - I know it’s a hit with the kids, but the “Toon” Christmas house is perhaps a bit… how do the English say… twee? Regardless, bravo for the effort and camaraderie of the neighborhood to decorate for this appreciative renter without the means, space or general desire to hang lights (I mean, I’m defrosting fruit on my windshield, remember? I’m not the fanciest person around, even if I do blog about it). I admit, I’d rather drive a few miles to see the rich folk’s work because, in our neighborhood, peeps be taggin’ garbage cans and bumping down the block to obnoxious bass music. Who’s actually going to hang lights and ask to be a target for vandalism? I know I’m not alone, either. I mean, let’s not deny it -- the Fab 40s is the place for lights. And Halloween candy, too, for that matter. Am I right?
But all in all, it was nice to spend Christmas with my family and friends. Everyone had their trees decked out like it was the belle of the ball, each one sparkling in fancy jewels and fine attire…And the company was good. No, the company was great.
Christmas, in general, is great. I don’t care when Jesus was actually born - if my friends and family want to celebrate His birth on the 25th of December, fine with me. Any day is a good day to celebrate that.
Finally, as a tribute to Fancy Pants and the point of the blog, Jamie got me Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Trendy, I know, but oh so fancy pants!!!
Merry Christmas.
We call that the ghetto defrosting technique. Works for chicken, too, I hear, but fortunately we were only responsible for the fruit.
You ever get the feeling that Christmas is no longer a holiday, but another busy weekend in a life of busy weekends? I’ve gone to 5 different houses and celebrated Christmas 6 times over the past week, opening presents with people I love, opening presents with people I don’t really know, giving presents to people I love and, again, to people I don’t really know. I’ve packed away enough sugar to make the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man look like a joke regardless of how many wacky jacks I do (thanks, P90X, for reminding me that I’m never too old to feel ridiculous). Moreover, tomorrow’s Monday and I, like a few other lucky folks, am getting up at 6:30am to get ready for work. Just another weekend, starting another week.
Cynicism aside, Christmas is actually my favorite holiday and it has been rather wonderful, though over much too soon. Jamie and I drove through the Fabulous 40s (Sacramento’s idea of Beverly Hills, without the awful pinkish terra cotta houses) last week to appreciate all the beautiful lights on all the beautiful homes. Minus one - I know it’s a hit with the kids, but the “Toon” Christmas house is perhaps a bit… how do the English say… twee? Regardless, bravo for the effort and camaraderie of the neighborhood to decorate for this appreciative renter without the means, space or general desire to hang lights (I mean, I’m defrosting fruit on my windshield, remember? I’m not the fanciest person around, even if I do blog about it). I admit, I’d rather drive a few miles to see the rich folk’s work because, in our neighborhood, peeps be taggin’ garbage cans and bumping down the block to obnoxious bass music. Who’s actually going to hang lights and ask to be a target for vandalism? I know I’m not alone, either. I mean, let’s not deny it -- the Fab 40s is the place for lights. And Halloween candy, too, for that matter. Am I right?
But all in all, it was nice to spend Christmas with my family and friends. Everyone had their trees decked out like it was the belle of the ball, each one sparkling in fancy jewels and fine attire…And the company was good. No, the company was great.
Christmas, in general, is great. I don’t care when Jesus was actually born - if my friends and family want to celebrate His birth on the 25th of December, fine with me. Any day is a good day to celebrate that.
Finally, as a tribute to Fancy Pants and the point of the blog, Jamie got me Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Trendy, I know, but oh so fancy pants!!!
Merry Christmas.
I had a grand time with you too my love! Hooray for Christmas!
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