Ribless

Isn’t there a song titled “Have Yourself a Lonely Little Christmas?”  Maybe there ought to be.

With Kathy still in Albany, I’m flying solo for the holidays.  I haven’t put out decorations, raised a tree, sent cards, or even bought presents for anyone, but I’m doing my best to raise a bit of cheer.  Right now I’m wearing a bright red holiday shirt!  A standing rib roast is traditional in my family for Christmas Eve, so I actually cooked one just for myself, along with various trimmings.  It should last a week or ten days unless I get tired of it and freeze the leftovers.  Afterwards I took the traditional holiday digestive nap, cleaned the kitchen, then watched an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Earlier during the pandemic, I noticed that whenever I talked to someone, we exchanged information on what television we were watching.  We don’t seem to be doing that anymore, I think because we’ve already watched everything.

Tomorrow I’ll have some traditional holiday tamales, which I should have done today but forgot.

If I can rise from my digestive stupor, I’ll write a few more pages on the next Praxis book tonight.  Literature never takes a holiday.

I wish you all a peaceful, safe holiday season filled with digestive stupors, good cheer, and if possible tamales.