Smoke in the garage.

It has been very quiet, very calm, very restful here, as compared to other people’s houses. We spoke to my husband’s older brother yesterday and his wife, hearing their granddaughter in the background (who got a mini-karaoke machine for Christmas of all things) as they prepared to have a houseful of people for dinner. It was just the four of us here, enjoying a lovely meal of barbecued whole salmon, mashed potatoes with dill and garlic, a salad of ruby lettuce, feta and walnuts dressed with my homemade olive oil and lemon juice dressing, followed by a homemade blue/black/raspberry pie (from frozen fruit), washed down with some delightful merlot and followed up with tea. No turkey, no stuffing, no cranberries, and no crowd. It was a change from our usual Christmas pizzas, but there’s always next year.

My daughter knitted and crocheted all her gifts this year. She made me a beautiful choker out of black cotton thread, and hats and scarves for her dad and brother. My son even bought gifts for us, although I’m having a hard time off the top of my head trying to remember what he got me. Oh dear, I’m a terrible mother. Hubby got me a book, a DVD (Ir0nman, which we watched last night), some glassware, and a beautiful Japanese lacquered metal teapot with a can of lichi-flavoured red tea. Oh! I remember what it was. Buddy Boy got me a set of four hand-painted square plates, suitable for serving appetizers on. I knew it would come back to me.

Today has been only marginally less lazy. I did a load of laundry and made dinner, but for most of the day I was in my pyjamas and bathrobe. Right now friends of Little Princess are visiting from Ottawa and two of them will stay over tonight. I took the opportunity to escape upstairs when they all (my husband and children and guests) disappeared into the garage to partake of questionable substances. I don’t exactly disapprove, but I won’t join them.

I hope everyone had a lovely holiday.

P.S. Yes. It was a white-breasted nuthatch.

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