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.