Christmas eve is a special night. We go to my Grandparents'. We have dinner. We have yummy yummy cookies. We munch [sic] on all night. We open gifts. We take pictures. Then we go home.
Good night. Sleep tight. Let's hope Santa has a safe flight.
- A six-year-old me
I was at my mom's this afternoon, going through some of my old papers from my "formative years," and I stumbled upon these papers. There was something highly amusing about (re)discovering my youthful impressions of Christmas--and even more amusing was the fact that so little has changed: the cookies are still really, really yummy, and the night still special. And, of course, there are still lots of photos capturing some of the holiday magic.
The Greek and I have been here for less than a week, but it's been a lovely time so far--quite peaceful and relaxing, which, after the move and the end of the semester rush, is just what we had been hoping for. We spent one rainy and cloudy afternoon walking around Washington, the city in which I was born. It was quite festive, with lots of wreaths and lights decorating the businesses in town. We also stumbled upon some graffiti that I found to be quite charming--I felt it captured the charm of what "old Washington" must have been like.
While I had walked the streets of Washington many times before (this is, after all, where one of my favorite local restaurants, The Union Grill, is located), it's always interesting to go someplace with somebody who's never been there before. Walking around with the Greek, I found lots of things to photograph--from pretty churches to the campus of Washington and Jefferson College. A local police officer saw me taking pictures and I couldn't help but notice the bemused smile on his face; I'm sure he was thinking we must have been crazy out-of-towners to find beauty in these run-down and mundane sights.
And then a few mad days of last-minute Christmas shopping later and it was already time for Christmas, yummy yummy cookies, unwrapping the carefully (and, in some cases [bread pans are impossible!], not so carefully) wrapped gifts and roasting the Prime Rib that, a few short years ago, I boldly decided should become a part of our holiday repertoire after I read an article in an issue of Saveur about how delectable Prime Rib was and how it would bring only joy and happiness to the holiday table.
What can I say? I'm easily persuaded, hopelessly gullible and a sucker for pictures of beautiful, carefully prepared food, as well as the words that describe it. My Christmas loot can attest to this. Let me just say, I was quite thrilled that my holiday cookbook fantasies largely came true: Baking: From My Home to Yours (! I hardly know where to start! I'm also inspired by the small fact that this woman got her doctorate in gerontology only to decide that she wanted to bake for the rest of her life--and has been ever since), Mastering the Art of French Cooking (! Oh, Julia!) and one of my most coveted holiday items--thanks to my little brother who for once in his life was actually listening--Purple Citrus and Sweet Perfume (! To put it mildly, basically a pistachio lover's dream cookbook!).