Christmas is an Olympic event to me.
I train for it. I plan for it. I make multiple lists. I mutter over cookbooks weeks in advance. I dance in my car to Christmas music in November. Early November.
I'm into it.
Normally, December 23rd (or Christmas Eve EVE, as I call it in my head), is Baking Day. If I have the great (biannual) luck of being with my sister, Jenny, we listen to the Pogues and the Waitresses and bake cookies and spike our coffee with Kahlua.
If not, I bake pies all day. I usually end up with a 1:1 person to pie ratio. Not because everyone eats a whole pie, but because I want to make several kinds of pie, and why make just one? Everyone has to taste it, you know. And of course, my family requires at least three pumpkin pies. So. I make a lot of pies.
This year, Durel had a great (yet revolutionary) idea. He suggested that we go to Fredericksburg with PapaDu, Uncle Dustin, Aunt Geri to breathe Hill Country air and drink wine. (Frederickburg is a Texas German town a little more than an hour away. It has cuteness and vineyards in abundance.)
I told him that was a great idea.
My brain was freaking out about OHMAGERD THE PIEZZZZZZZZZZZ. But I told that inner voice to shut up. And off we went.
I'm also not good at admitting I'm wrong. But you can guess where this is going.
Durel was right. It was a perfect (balmy) day and an amazing way to spend it.
|I love these people. So much.|
|My beautiful sister in law.|
|Maxing and relaxing.|
Guess what? I still made pie.
Hope your Christmas involved the magic of new ideas.