Christmas in review

So it was a White Christmas here, despite my fears to the contrary. The whiteness wasn't award-winning, but at least it was white. Then a day later we got a good, old-fashioned blizzard, but even that wasn't award-winning. I was hoping for maybe 3-4 feet of the stuff, but we got only 12" or so. It was difficult to determine just how much snow we did get because the wind howled and caused a lot of drifting. Ah, well. Winter is still young.

On Christmas Eve we went to our good friends Jim and Lynn's for a delicious seafood chowder dinner. I wish I could upload some photos from that evening, but Blogger is in a snit, it seems, and won't let me. The chowder was generous and thick and full of haddock, lobster, shrimp, and scallops. I'm salivating just thinking about it.

Christmas Day we went to my sister's, where we celebrated the day with her, her husband, their son, their son's wife, their grand daughter (Violet, whom you've met before), and their son's wife's mother. (Pay attention, please, because you'll be taking a quiz when you finish reading this post.)

Violet comes in handy as the Christmas gift hander-outer, and we've put her to work in this capacity since she was big enough to hold a gift without dropping it.

She received a hot pink froo-froo skirt from her grandparents, and she immediately stripped down in the living room, put on the skirt with matching tights, and wore the new duds the rest of the day. (I'm told she also wore them the next day, and the next, and even wanted to wear them to school, but her mom finally convinced her they weren't the most sensible clothes to wear while playing in the snow.)

After the so-called blizzard, Mr. Cardinal paid a lengthy visit in the bridal wreath bush outside the kitchen window. I love to see the male cardinal year-round, but I especially enjoy him once there's snow on the ground and his deep red color contrasts nicely with the whiteness of his surroundings.

I'd like to ask him where Mrs. Cardinal is, since I haven't seen her in about a year, but he ain't talkin', it seems. Could be a sensitive subject, I suppose.

I've been on a focaccia bread-making kick the past few days. It could have something to do with Santa's bringing me a panini press. I've made paninis once this week and plan to try them again in a few days. Of course, the press is now on sale at Macy's, I couldn't help but notice in the newspaper today, for $40 less than Santa paid for it. That's always the way, and it reinforces the old "Ignorance is bliss" axiom.

I'm reading Bill Bryson's At Home. I love Bryson's writing. This particular book, which details the evolution of the "home" as we know it today, contains a lot of surprising tidbits that only Bryson could dig up. In the section I read last night, Bryson mentioned a fellow who spent three months trying to teach his dog to read. Needless to say, the endeavor was fruitless.

We can't even teach our Molly the difference between the "beep-beep-beep" of a truck backing up on T.V. and the beep-beep-beep of one backing up in our driveway. She goes into a frenzied barking at either. I can't imagine trying to get her focused long enough to decipher letters on a page!