Made some eggrolls and Asian slaw Saturday and it was pretty good. Have to say I miss
listening to Mr. Keillor tell stories, and I miss Lake Wobegon, too. It’s just the truth.
The days are the darkest of the year, and when you can’t see much around you, your senses
compensate, it seems. Food tastes better along the dark edges of the days – eggnog and gravies
and cheese-crusted hot dishes – and the scent of fresh bread is more
powerful than in the warmth of a summer afternoon. You smell the smoke from other people’s
wood fires, and you hear bells and dogs barking and snow plows making their way down the side
streets. And you can’t see much from the window but the lights on the neighbor’s trees.
Twinkling, multi-colored, sometimes flashing lights casting their glow on the sparkling snow.
Made some cranberry pear crisp Saturday, and it was not bad. Considering we’d all eaten our fill of carbs covered with cheese and crushed cornflakes, and sweet potato concoctions and turkey sandwiches and leftover lefse and pumpkin pie and salty pickled things, and it was time for something on the light side, and fruity. The kids ate it up and so did we after putting up the tree, a balsam this time around, a tall one at that, with “A Muppet Christmas Carol” playing on the TV.