A couple more runs to the airport to send our two warm weather offspring back to their coat-free comfortable climates and that will be it. Christmas is a wrap for another year.
All in all, I’d say it was a good one. Our two youngest grandchildren, Zoey and Ella, seemed delighted with the bags of goodies under the tree. I don’t know about your house, but at ours, the tedious job of actually wrapping Christmas presents gave way to putting them in brightly colored bags (sacks?) a long time ago. I suppose that disappoints some traditionalists but I’ve yet to hear anybody around here complain.
Linda and I both feel like we’ve put on plenty of holiday poundage even though I don’t believe I ate more than usual..it’s just that most of the things I consumed have been laden with copious amounts of butter, sugar and animal fats. Right on cue, we’ve both put into motion those annual lies about dieting in the new year..and by god, we mean it this time. But first, I have to finish off the lefse that John Mogen baked and brought over here the other day. I’ve said it before and say it again, his is the best I’ve ever tasted and, it looks like lefse is supposed to look; resembling my dear old great aunt Christie’s mole-covered face. Those of you who are new to the special craft of lefse-making..first of all, good on ya for at least trying to carry on this Scandinavian tradition, but you must realize that those big brown spots which appear during the griddling process are not flaws to be frowned upon and rejected..nay..they are badges of baked perfection by which all great looking and tasting lefse should be judged. For within those scabby dark circles of burned flour lies the flavor goodness that makes this delicacy so delightful. There are also lots of leftover cookies and candy and Chex mix stuffed into Christmas cans around here but they are nowhere near the temptation to me as the lefse.
Christmas Eve is always a grand time at our house especially since it was our turn to have Suzan, Joe and Zoey here from Lincoln for our annual ham supper. We have to share them with Zoey’s other grandparents every other Christmas Eve so that meant all the kids and grandkids were in attendance. Although we had some snow, the weather didn’t affect anybody’s travel plans but it was partially to blame for a trip to the emergency room Thursday morning. Joe, my last remaining son in law, is a seasoned actor who is currently drama director at a high school in Lincoln. For years whenever he’s had a performance; either as a performer or director, we’d wish him good luck as is traditional in theater circles, by saying “ Break a Leg.” I have no idea where that came from..(hold on I’ll check google.) Hmmm..origin obscure but apparently reflects a theatrical superstition in which wishing a performer good luck means bad luck.
Anyway, my performing son in law took the saying a bit too literally the other night and, after an evening of frivolity, proceeded to step out of the passenger side of the van; fell to the ground and broke his leg. It’s a fracture to the smaller bone of his lower leg which does not require a cast but rather a brace and crutches and a whole lot of extra careful trodding around his wife for the next six weeks.
Well, we’re back from the airport and Linda is about to rip into the decorations removing all signs of the season until next December. That means it’s time for me to skeedaddle; not that I’m unwilling to help but she’d rather I didn’t hear the cussing.