Friday, December 28, 2012

Y2 Day 121: A Motley Hodgepodge of Assorted Potpourri

In just a few minutes, the four Chardonnays are going to do something so fun, I am beside myself with excitement! I've baked chocolate cookies and Gooey Cinnamon Squares (from my new Smitten Kitchen cookbook; they are described as a snickerdoodle bottom with a crackly creme brulee crust and a gooey buttery middle, they just came out of the oven and smell like heaven in a dish), and we are going to hunker down with freshly baked still-warm goodies and mugs of steaming hotdrink and listen to old-time radio mystery shows! (The Shadow and I Love a Mystery and The Whistler and Quiet Please!) The kids will likely grow restive (which is why I'm bribing them with treats), but I still think it will be fun.

Other things I wanted to say:
  • I got this fortune in a fortune cookie a few months ago and have been holding on to it; I thought it would make a good blog theme, but I fear I'm never going to get around to it:
Only put off until tomorrow what
you are willing to die having left undone.
  • I feel like I wasn't as "good" at Christmas as I usually am. I got more stressed than I wanted to, and did more than I meant to. Usually, I pride myself on my ability to keep things in perspective and remember what we're really celebrating (and let the rest go hang, if need be). Today I read Gretchen Rubin's column in the December Good Housekeeping, and she did a beautiful job of summing up my own philosophy. And she's a famous and successful writer, and here I am quoting fortune cookies. Whatev, it was still a good column.
  • At church on the Sunday after the tragedy in Connecticut, our Order of Service contained a poem that simply melted my heart, and I wanted to share it here:
And so the children come
and so they have been coming.

No angels herald their beginnings.
No prophets predict their future courses.
No wise men or women see a star to show where to find
the babe that will save humankind.
Yet each night a child arrives is a holy night.

Fathers and mothers—
sitting beside their sleeping children's beds—
feel glory in the sight of new life beginning. They ask,
Where and how will this new life end?
Or will it never end?

Each day a child arrives is a holy day.
A time for singing,
a time for wondering,
a time for worshiping.

—Sophia Lyon Fahs, adapted 
OK, enough for now. I have cookies to eat and coffee to drink and radio to enjoy!

A very happy weekend to you all. Tomorrow my day begins with zumba, which, thank heaven, despite all good intentions I've done no exercise at all, and tonight I fully intend to eat my son's weight in Gooey Cinnamon Squares.

Love to all,
Lady C

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