4:17 on Christmas Eve Afternoon

We had enough of a break in the weather that I could scurry over to the nursing home to see Mrs. Feller and take the cookies Alison and Summer made – and a can of candy. Plus 34 episodes of Bonanza with three bonus episodes of Wagon Train with Ward Bond. Kathryn got a phone call and when she came back, I was the one almost napping on the bed. I will say this: It was warm and cozy in their room and the bed was – I think I’m quoting someone here – just right.

The eggs are boiling for deviling, but right now I have my legs stretched out on the sofa and my shoes are off. oooooooooh. stretching and streeeeeettttccchhhing and then do it some more. Oh, golly gee, it feels so good.

deviled eggs . . . oh, yeah

Ah, I forgot about the devilled eggs . . . so another trip to the grocery. One of probably many last-minute forays. I have a tradition of closing down a nice department store on Christmas Eve and sucking in the Christmas Eve spirit – sometimes at Chili’s. But we are in the middle of partially melted ice and new ice coming. So . . . it is . . . wait for it . . .  Wal-Mart and Kroger’s.

Soon I must poke the turkey and see if he is defrosting on schedule of if we need the cold water treatment – and the turkey breast which will be tucked under his legs, not to mention the extra drum sticks. It is a big roaster. A big old roaster.

Two salads are made and on the top shelf of the refrigerator – Strawberry Pretzel with cream cheese and cool whip and butter and brown sugar and strawberry jello and strawberries and a lemon-lime affair with pineapple and jello and cream cheese and cool whip and sugar and pecans. Today I will tackle the Buttermilk salad, if I can find the recipe. The recipes for the first two are on mimeographed green paper with duct tape holding the torn folds together. On one, Mother has written “very good”.

i do not like to cook or bake, so my Christmas present for folks is to suck it up and just do it. I have found the Christmas plates and now must re-start this sucking up business and head for the kitchen.

I will be dancing with the deviled egg in the pale moonlight.