Finally, finally World of Mirrors first chapter is off to the agent with the dreaded Chapter Outline completed along with the query. I'm going to slack off on the querying until the new year and try to finish Festival Madness. Right now, in the Christmas season I'm humming along more or less on schedule with the first batch of cookies to be baked tomorrow.
Yesterday I wrote about the Christmas Letter, which I hoped was modest and friendly. Not everyone's letter is modest. Here are some examples: http://www.funnyholidayletters.com/
Hope yours doesn't end up there.
Tonight I cooked Chicken in Calvados with Apples and a king's ransom of shallots. This was really good. I mean really good. We smugly decided we were the only couple in the entire Boston area feasting on such a scrumptious dish. We wondered if the folks in Normandy where the dish originated still made it and this led to a discussion of our grandmother's gardens. We think we are the last generation who will be able to reminisce about this. Whither the grandmothers of yesteryear and whither their gardens of yesteryear?
I fed the cows today. They stampeded up to the fence, even the babies. The ground shook. The sweet-faced young bull and the babies born this summer have all grown by the proverbial leaps and bounds. Last month's baby has lost his newborn look, and he hangs out with one of the older calves. I hang around and try to understand their culture. The pieces of melon are always popular. They'll even eat lemon rinds. With relish! Lettuce is ever popular, and squash skins have been a big hit.
Today's Boston Globe had the diets of 3 young people and I was appalled. Corn the only vegetable. Where were the apples? The grapes? The salad? The ickiness of the food boggled the mind and no one drank milk. Grapeshot has definitely joined the age group that tut-tuts about the younger generation. At least a big Mac would have lettuce and tomato. Bah humbug!
Think I'll go out and have a good howl since the moon is almost full. Baying the moon is a time-honored activity. No? Damn.