Well, we won't be tripping the light fantastic this New Year's Eve, that's for sure. Actually, we'll probably sip a toast along about the time New Yorker's do then head off to the comforts of a soft pillow and a snoring Saint Bernard.
As this year comes to an end I think our tradition of swapping the planning and preparation of Holiday meals will also end. At least to the extent we did it in the past. It's an age thing you know, and stamina.
Here we are still creaking and groaning after our December 2nd auto accident. The damp weather isn't helping any but that's the luck of the draw. Hubby had his meal planned and was determined to follow through but I knew he felt no better than I did. I'd hear some non-Christmas language coming from the kitchen and realized things weren't going as smoothly as usual. So traditions can be tweaked and we soon found ourselves working together and laughing at our mutual fumble fingers, deciding what we might like next to do with our lives since we're blessed to still have them and, ultimately, marveling at how well the dinner turned out.
We didn't cut a tree nor put up our outdoor decorations but Christmas music still filled the house. Everyone - the fish, Bacchus, the birds all got their presents. And so did we. The best we could have wished for. Each other.