A quiet day. Cold, crisp, beautiful.
Pam and new dog, Digger aka Guster, came over with Finnish breakfast bread this morning while we still weren't dressed. Big, white chunks of sugar like New York pretzel salt on top of the braided bread flavored with anise. Wow.
Before we knew it, noon had arrived. No time to sit around reading, my enduring, great hope. We went around the town in the chill. We were bundled enough to muffle sound. "What?" I yelled.
"I said, I guess people don't really stop by on Christmas."
"Depends on whose house."
At home there were white peanuts clinging to faux suede. In spite of or mutual plea for no gifts, wrappings littered the floor. As a neighbor walked by our large unadorned window, Chico leaped up and beckoned him in thus proving people (and dogs) do stop by on Christmas.
In my family of origin, the Stewart family, there is a fondness for tartan. As an American Scot, my father always made a big deal of this. He loved the Ancient Hunting Stewart Tartan, Stewart of Appin, and many others. On the other hand, it is forbidden for Stewarts to wear any tartan not bearing the name Stewart. Anyone non Stewart shall not wear the Stewart Tartan. I think these are ancient clan rules. My mother, the seamstress and consummate do-it-yourselfer, nurtured his yen for the highlands with hand made garments of all types and in all Stewart tartans. Now that my parents have passed, we siblings (6) amuse ourselves and each other with tartan tokens. The Royal Stewart Tartan, shown here, is the most common. Thanks, Nance. Nice to be remembered, and nice to remember.
Now we look forward to Pam, Reinhold, Edgar and the new dog bringing over Indian. They make great food. They are great neighbors.
Merry Christmas. We wish you all the joys of the season. Twinkling lights, twinkling eyes, brimming hearts and (all the) rest.