You know the old song "Christmas Eve will find me... where the love light glows- I’ll be home for Christmas...."? Well, Christmas Eve will find me lounging on the couch, watching snow flakes falling gently while sipping my old fashioned cocoa (made with real milk heated on the stove). I admire the lovely tree piled high with gifts and my joyful heart swells at how blessed I am.
Before you think I’m some sort of paragon of a woman, let me explain. I’m on the couch only because that is where I collapsed in exhaustion. As for the cocoa, I’m trying not to notice the burnt taste it acquired when it boiled over making a sticky, gooey mess on the stove.
Then there’s the snow -- after spending 30 minutes digging the car out so I could hurry into town and buy the packages, I was so aggravated, I used all my snow scene Christmas cards to light the fireplace.
Last, but especially not least there’s the tree! Whoever started the wives tale that decorating a tree is a heart warming and joyous occasion could not possibly have ever decorated one. The madness begins when you decide to cut down your own tree. After hiking a mile through knee deep snow you find the perfect tree only to realize that you left the axe in the car. Freezing and frustrated, you hike back only to discover that your 4 wheel drive is snowed under and the tow truck bill alone could have bought a tree for every room of your home!
You wedge it into the tree stand- forget trying to make it straight! You’re just excited that it stays in the stand without falling over. It’s amazing what you can do with baling wire and duct tape. You string your own popcorn (another story in itself) and hang gingerbread men only to find later that the tree is laying prostrate on the floor stripped naked and at the mercy of the dog who grins at you, revealing his mouth full of severed gingerbread limbs.
Now you know why my heart swells with pride looking at my tree: Because it took more work to build it than the Empire State Building!
If Christmas tradition runs you over like Santa’s freight train, this recipe might just be your miracle on 34th street. |
