Juno and I came to Dryden to see Shanell and her two kiddos for the weekend. With daycare and school closed over the holidays, and me working early each morning, the girls haven’t been home since Christmas day.
I was pretty bummed when Little Grandma said Friday that Harper had been sick in the night.
I was looking forward to seeing both of them. But Juno and I came on our own and Harper and I will have to make another weekend trip in the near future for some Mom/Harper alone time.
It’s been a good holiday. Hectic. With three sets of grandparents and school parties and friends and all of the things going on I feel like, starting the week before Christmas, we just start running and do not stop until after New Year’s. We’ll be driving home from Dryden tomorrow. I’ll be in bed by nine with any luck.
I’ve done lots of baking. Peanut butter blossoms and two pecan bourbon chocolate pies. That recipe has changed my life – and my waistline – for the worse, for sure. Shanell and I made some Tuscan mac and cheese tonight that our kids hated because kids have shitty taste because it was amazeballs. Growlers of Cinnamon Stout and Raspberry Weissbier from Southern Tier, yummo! And Uncle Stu was in Erie so it’s been a fun girls weekend.
One of the ways I started recognizing that I was truly starting to heal from my marriage was when I started cooking on purpose again. And when it started feeling good, mentally, to cook. I’ve been a cook and a baker for well over a decade. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been able to experience legit flow state doing besides writing and riding. And diving, recently. I’ve missed the enjoyment and peace of an empty kitchen, Amazon music, and a recipe waiting to be started. It’s been nice to be back.
Bill and Gingersquatchie got new collars, toys, and treats in their stockings. I heard Santa bitching at Bilbo a little bit to quit getting the toys out of his stocking until morning. He’s like a kid. I love it. Santa also wound up with a lil’ hernia from hauling that 14 foot trampoline from the utility room to the tree.
No one cares.
I really like it here, in Dryden. It’s close to Ithaca, and we’ve already discussed my Greek mythology-philia. So that’s fun. If you’ve had a chance to see Village of the Damned, this is the town it’s based on. It’s sensational as hell, that show. It’s really just a cute little town. I have thought to myself numerous times over the five episodes that there are probably lots of little towns all over the country with a decade of weird tragedies. Shit, we had what? Three murders in Warren just over the past three or four years? But it’s a legend and I have a degree in storytelling. I’m a sucker for a town or a person with a legend attached.
I don’t know what else I really want to talk about. Let’s see… Last column of 2017 was about resolutions.
I have no idea, whatsoever, what I’m going to write about starting in January but I’ve been considering resurrecting the tarot idea, or maybe a humorous exploration of astrology. I may not stick with monthly themes this year. I may go a tarot a week until I get through both arcanas.
I don’t know.
Hmm. Happy Christmas. Happy New Year’s. Happy life. I’ll catch y’all on the flip flop.
I mean, 2018 can’t suck worse than the year we elected a repugnant clown into the highest office in the nation. I just keep reminding myself that the bar is so low for us as a society at this point that we really can’t possibly go anywhere but up from here.
Famous last words.
Ooh. Famous last words. Sounds like a column theme…