Reposting this for Margaret. I wrote it, published, the pulled it for no good reason but that I am feeling a bit quiet and shy around here still.
The weather forced us inside for a few days. I was unusually on top of things the day before the storm hit and stocked up on ingredients for cozy, hearty meals. I made this pot roast, Ina's Tortilla Soup, honey bread, salads, and potato soup ... We've eaten well this past week. We've spent hours by the fire, played board games, and read. We didn't make Mass this week and it has thrown me off but there was no helping it. I also didn't get to plan or execute our typical second Sunday of Advent tea time. I am working on rectifying that today. We've decorated the wreath with fresh greenery and I just rolled out gingerbread dough. The children rummaged through the cookie cutter basket and chose their shapes.
We're just picking up steam now and honestly, this holiday business is not for me. I endure December in a Merle Haggard sort of way. It's too bright, too costly, too busy, too much for me. But there are some little things that I love; birch branches, fresh flowers around the Advent wreath, bulbs chilling in the refrigerator. And right now, I'm reading Bubo, the Great Horned Owl by Jean Craighead George to my son. I love disappearing into those woods every evening.
I have to run now. The chidlren have waited long enough for gingerbread. I'll be back soon.