Upstairs Downstairs

Upstairs it snowed all day. Bands of lake-effect squalls drifted slowly through, fat flakes reducing everything to simple, white shapes. Mid-afternoon we bundled up and went out to clean off the car and move it closer to the house so the plow service could clear the driveway when the storm had passed. The snow was fluffy and light, and the air was so cold that every crystalline capped column was starkly etched in each flocculent scoop of the shovel. In short order our work was done and we ready to venture forth on a snowy walk with the dogs.

Downstairs, the heat was working overtime; the year was 1984 and Wonder Woman flew in her invisible plane through fourth of July fireworks. I propped up my feet and reached into the bag of cheese corn on my lap, squinting to make out every familiar location in the movie that was filmed just a few miles from our house. WW1984 was slated to be released last summer, but COVID first pushed the premier back and then changed it to streaming. Like so many summer movies, it was as cheesy as the popcorn, and so it seemed a little out of place this time of year. Even so, it had been a minute since I'd seen anything even resembling a blockbuster, and so I forgave it for its lack of subtlety.

Christ-mehs

As promised, the snow starting falling at just about 10 last night. The tradition here is to open gifts on Christmas Eve, so everyone slept in a little, and we woke to a classic white Christmas with flocked trees and a soft, perfect blanket on the ground. The morning was spent puttering with our presents: plugging them in and trying them on, mostly, but not playing with them. At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I confess to being a bit out of sorts, for there was not a single toy or game unwrapped this year. Which is perhaps just as well, because there is no sister, brother, nephews, or niece here to play them with, either. This holiday is lovely, but it doesn't feel completely like mine. I thought I would be fine, and I am, but I'm also not.

Things went a little off the rails this morning when breakfast was delayed, and my usual even disposition was a little ragged with hunger by the time the quiche made it to the table at noon. I perked up a bit with a facetime call to my brother and sister and aunt, and the prospect of cooking my rib roast the Alton Brown way also invigorated my day. 

Brown call for putting the well-seasoned roast into a cold oven and setting it to 250 for three hours until the internal temperature reaches 118. Then it's rest the roast and blast the oven to 450 for the Yorkshire pudding, and then sear the rested roast in that hot oven for about 10 minutes before carving. And it all would have been great, except I was following video directions which didn't mention that his roast was 8-10 pounds while mine was barely 5. 

When I checked the roast just a couple of hours in, the faulty meat thermometer read 160 and I swore a blue streak to think I ruined a 70 dollar roast. But snatching it from the oven just then to rest while I spun around the kitchen like a dervish for the next 45 minutes making gravy, Yorkshire pudding, roasted brussels sprouts, mashed sweet and white potatoes, and salmon for the non-meat eaters turned out to be perfect timing and the roast was a lovely rare, the slabs of juicy prime rib rivaling any steak house you like. 

Even so, it was sheer luck, I know, because it's not even my job to cook the roast on Christmas Day. I do the gravy.

A Star, a Star Dancing in the Night

I was lying on the bed reading when my watch reminded me to stand up. Despite the temptation of holiday nestling, yesterday I made both my exercise and activity goal, but not my 12 hours of standing, which is ironic, because I always get that goal. So, with a cold rain falling, and exercise and activity feeling out of reach, I jumped right up and started waving my arms. Destiny Child's version of Do You Hear What I Hear? was playing in the background, and my flailing morphed into a kind of Christmas jig as I boogied to the contemporary arrangement of that old classic. Ding! One hour of standing achieved, and 2 minutes of exercise, too. Just nine more hours and 28 minutes to go-- all those cookies are not going to work off themselves.

We'll Weather the Weather

There's a big storm brewing up here. Driving rain and frigid winds are headed our way tonight and tomorrow. It's not the kind of weather you hope for this time of year, or expect, either, especially in Buffalo, NY. I guess we can chalk it up to another shitty thing about 2020. Except... on the other side of the front are arctic temperatures and lake effect snow. The prediction is that the rain will turn white just in time for Christmas morning, and 8-12 inches of snow will blanket the frozen mud. 

Is that a metaphor for 2021?

Christmas Finery

There was a pretty gift bag on our front porch yesterday before we left. Inside, beneath the brightly colored tissue paper, was a bandana for Lucy. Buffalo plaid on one side and little candy canes on the other made it the perfect holiday accessory, and tucked in the bag next to it were two little drawstring pouches. When we opened them we found a couple of masks sewn to match Lucy's bandana. The collection was handmade by our neighbor, and her thoughtfulness made us smile. Even so, I couldn't help sighing as I tried my mask on. "It's so nice," I said to Heidi, "but this might be the saddest Christmas gift I ever got." 

We're Here Tonight

How hard it was this morning to pack up and leave not only our decorated Christmas tree, but our two cats, and hit the road for the 7 hour trip to Buffalo! Cautionary advice from health experts and interstate travel restrictions made leaving home even harder, and Heidi's cranky parents and their reflexive negativity did not feel all that beckoning.

Still, they are the only parents we have between the two of us, and as we all grow older? Time, especially at the holidays, seems more precious for sure. It was their request that we gather despite the public health warnings, and in the end, despite our reservations, we agreed. And so, after a road trip that has grown as comfortable as a warm pair of mittens over the years-- around the beltway, up through rolling farmland, into the snowy mountains, past thousands of twinkling lights, and down to the great lake-- here we are together, just as we have been for the last 21 Christmases. 

And that's enough.

Two and Half Hallmarks

 That's how long it took to decorate the tree this morning. Well, okay it was really only one and three quarters, but once you start watching? You have to know whose charm bracelet it is and how long it will take Holly and Greg to discover they are meant for each other.

Right?

And I must say that there is something quite soothing about knowing that no matter how bleak it seems, everything will turn out great in the end. 

And everyone will have a Merry Christmas.