Perhaps over the weekend, recuperating from Thanksgiving, we’ll get it. I don’t think my husband ever gets it. I have to hear the right song at the right time on the car radio, shed a tear and then I’m in the holiday spirit.
We’ve seen my husband’s family for Thanksgiving and my family will be absent this year, Patagonia I think. So we’re on our own and tend to take in strays.
Christmas is a holiday in which I can use my imagination. We started with turkey, moved to prime rib, yorkshire pudding and the entire English feast. I’ve done pork roasts with hard cider gravy and corn-stuffed apples.
There’s something about that song of Maria with the Nightengale that brings me to tears every year. It was always on the car radio when I drove home from Thanksgiving with my husband sound asleep in the passenger seat and our dog at his feet.
Do I need to buy Michael Buble’s Christmas to get in the mood to see how many we’ll be feeding this year? Menu, everything, depends on this year’s muse. I have to cry, first. It’s tradition. With love and two new ornaments for a wreath we’ll get this weekend, I remain your trusted scribe and omnivore, Dee
Cooking with Dee 