A Perfect Day

Our Christmas was well worth waiting for.  It was a mad dash to get everything done before the Kids got here, but it all came together at the last minute.  No mishaps in the barn to cause a delay, and I got back up to the house before the first truck drove up with Deb and Craig.  They work together to make the most incredible fresh crab mousse, studded with large chunks of sweet crab.  I have no shame in saying I dove in like it was an Olympic event as soon as they opened the container.  And it was a good thing I did.  Clay, Dave, and Larry and Susan arrived, and I could see them eyeing the mousse over shoulders as they kissed and hugged everyone, getting the amenities out of the way so they could head for the crackers and crab.

A lot (okay, all) of our family get-togethers are centered around the kitchen.  Craig and Clay were assigned to make another appetizer, dates stuffed with goat cheese, wrapped with bacon, and broiled.  Dave, still in his motorcycle leathers, supervised, and Deb was washing rice to go with the chili verde that was simmering in the oven.  I'm kicking myself because I didn't get a picture of Larry, the birthday boy, or his lady, Susan.

A horde of locusts could not have gone through the appetizers faster, and we headed to the living room for presents.  My Kids are incredibly generous and I thank them from the bottom of my heart.  We do presents the slow way, one at a time in rotation, so as to see and appreciate each one.

Dinner was a serve-yourself affair, and then we all headed out to check some stuff in the feed barn.  Deb and Susan wanted to look at some beaded ornaments and the guys pulled the old '69 Honda trail bike out from the back to inspect.  After I put the goats and chickens to bed, some broke out the cards and poker chips and some went downstairs to reminisce.  A call from Pete and Jake, my SoCal son and grandson, made the day complete.  Everyone was tired after the extended holiday season, and so all the revelers were on the road home by seven-thirty.

It was a good day.

I can't say the same about last night.  Something Bessie Anne ate was going through her like corn through a goose.  She woke me at eleven, again at one-thirty, and still again at four a.m.  None of these was a false alarm, but dang, I overslept again.