Growing up, Christmas eve was special.

For most of my life, this is when we would put up the Christmas tree.  (That way, we would first see it lit, in all it’s glory, on Christmas morning.)

One year – I don’t remember if it was the day before Christmas or the day before New Year’s, but my folks got a wild hair and decided the living room and dining room needed to be painted before the gathering the next day.  What kind of fucked up idea is that?  Grown ups.  Sheesh.

Today, I don’t have to work (thanks employers); so I am baking a Snickerdoodle Caramel Bundt cake (with visions of how I’ll spend retirement (assuming I ever retire) spinning in my head). 

I hope the recipe comes out, because I did fuck-all about dessert for our Christmas dinner.  (Not that I expect we’ll abstain from freshly baked cake until Christmas dinner – get real.) 

And if it’s not good, I have Dryers Peppermint ice cream in the freezer.  (I wish I had Lunardi’s homemade peppermint fudge swirl ice cream – but they didn’t have it when I went shopping earlier this week.)

We don’t buy gifts for each other.  At our age, if we want it, we get it – who wants to wait and see if we’re still around to enjoy it for Christmas?  But a few people have sent us treats, and they are under the tree (in their shipping boxes – we have cats, what would be the point of putting wrapped presents under the tree?  The more formidable the barrier to the contents, the better.)

I’m not a package shaker or a gift peeker.  This is the one time, I would rather be surprised; and I’m one of those people who is more concerned about if you like what I got you than what you got me.  Gifts to me – it’s truly the thought that counts.  I’d just as soon get a card, letter, e-mail, text or phone call as something wrapped under the tree. 

Of course, I’m missing family.  In years past, we would be down in LA spending Christmas with my sister Karon and her family; but they moved home to Michigan and even if they were still down in LA, LA is way too covid-y for this fat old lady.  Maybe next year, we’ll be in Michigan for the holidays?  (A girl can hope, and so can a fat old lady.)

We’re expecting rain this next week (including Christmas Day) and I’m happy with that.  That is the California version of a white Christmas.  A reason to stay inside where it’s cozy. 

I’m even making a special breakfast (or at least, that’s the plan) – a breakfast pizza, that I can start making tonight and then finish in the morning before popping it into the oven. 

Well, my cake is ready to come out of the oven – let’s hope after cooling it is willing to leave it’s bundt cake pan reasonably intact.  If not; guess we’ll have Snickerdoodle caramel trifle for dessert!