all of the gaps of our lives

 Cookie after cookie were carefully rolled out and baked. 2 dozen serinakaker and almost as many gingerbread shapes scented the air with sugar and spice. My heart wasn’t really into it but by gosh I’m going to make sure I end the year on a positive note. 

I’m fighting feelings of apathy and gloom by immersing myself into these mindless tasks but alas, I’ve already made 8 kinds of cookies. That’s really the limit of reasonableness, although I might try Italian walnut meringues. Tomorrow I’ll decorate the gingerbread stars and trees (no men). On the 21st I’ll set the scene for solstace with a bunch of spruce boughs as a table centrepiece. On the 23rd I’ll make a tourtiere - that’ll be a good diversion.

Will we have friends over between now and Christmas? I’m not sure. In my mind I know it would be a good thing but I can’t summon the will. It doesn’t help that we are being asked to limit our contacts. I know that I’ve got to get my thinking under control but dammit it’s f’ng hard.

I still look for him when I get into bed.

Awesome!

“fresh snow glinting in the morning light”

“light and fluffy snow was easy to shovel”

“pink sugar”

“The conclusion I have reached is that, above all, dogs are witnesses. They are allowed access to our most private moments. They are there when we think we are alone. Think of what they could tell us. They sit on the laps of presidents. They see acts of love and violence, quarrels and feuds, and the secret play of children. If they could tell us everything they have seen, all of the gaps of our lives would stitch themselves together.”

― Carolyn Parkhurst, The Dogs of Babel