Survival Rate = 100%

That's right, people, the Malcolm family Christmas survival rate is a round, ripe one hundred percent, so I'm having a mocha Meltaway in celebration while I type. There were no arguments, no melt-downs, no tears all of the days of the family togetherness. DD & DIL2 left this morning for their long drive to Lexington; it was great having them here for a few days.

On Christmas Eve we went one more time to see the lights at Dousman & Platten...


and then DIL2 got out her guitar and played and sang us a few original songs. She's good, very good.


Christmas morning was present opening and visiting with family. We went to DS & DIL1's house for their first Christmas dinner using their heirloom china, sterling, crystal, and hand-crocheted lace tablecloth. The table was beautiful and the meal... well, the meal was the equal of any fine dining restaurant you could name with the addition of the care lavished on it by people we love. There was salmon spread and cheese spread, veggies, and Durwood's meatballs for appetizers. Dinner began with Caesar salad, followed by garlic mashed potatoes, steamed carrots, steamed asparagus, Yorkshire pudding (popovers), and perfectly done slabs of prime rib of beef served with an excellent California red wine for those who like it. Oh my, everyone's party manners were out in force, it was a lovely meal, perfect even, and spent with the people we love best. All three Grandmas who passed in 2011 were toasted and fondly remembered. It's an unhappy year when you start with three grandmas up and end with all three grandmas down. As HJZ said, "I don't like it one bit." Ditto.



Porter celebrated by gnawing on her very own smoky bone from her Chihuahua pal, Lucy. She was totally engrossed the whole evening.

During halftime of the Packer/Bear game we enjoyed HJZ's traditional cranberry muffins with butter sauce. Oh. My. So very good, and so very bad for you. We all swore to leap into fitness and healthy eating--next week, after the first of the year. I mean, really, isn't it rather foolish to think you'll get back on track in the week between Christmas and New Years? Better to just go on your merry way and hit the brakes on January 1 when you're suffering from one form of overindulgence or another. That's my theory and I'm sticking to it.

And for those who care, the Packers won!

December 25--Simone Martini, Madonna and Child. Everyone stared. What else did she expect? She was Italian with olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. Her husband was the son of Middle Eastern parents whose parents had emigrated years before themselves. So their son should have been dark haired and eyed with olive skin too. He had his mother's eyes and his father's olive complexion but his hair, his hair was red. It was the red gold of the sunset or the color of a ripening tomato. No one in living memory in either family had had red hair like that baby boy's. Illaria cried when her grandmother teased her that baby Giorgio's hair was the same color as the butcher's boy and Hassan wouldn't say a word about his red-haired son as if he wasn't sure he believed that the child was his.

I don't have to work today. I plan to go play with Porter in a couple hours and loll around like a slug the rest of the time. Oh, and I will never again forget to toss knitting into the car. Football games are endless when you don't have any knitting along. The Yarn Harlot contends that knitting is what makes her suitable for nice company, after last night I have to agree. I was a tad whiny and petulant, unwilling to be placated by the offer of a ball of yarn and needles to just knit. Mature much? Hope all your boxes enjoy Boxing Day!
--Barbara