We're still living happily-ever-after with our kitchen stove: bread is baked, sprouts are roasted, and the scent of melting plastic has vanished from our home. Today I might make some Christmas cookies; I haven't baked any at all this season, and perhaps I should celebrate the fact that I managed to successfully ship five big packages in the midst of a rainstorm and a pandemic. The process of mailing things has become ridiculously difficult.

So Christmas-present shipments are done, and now I can turn my attention to our home party. Paul has decided that we should have theme meals, so we are planning an Italian-style seafood Christmas Eve (oysters, crab, clams) and a Polish-style Christmas Day (golabki, pierogi, babka). Paul will take charge of the clam sauce and the babka, Tom will handle the oysters, I'll do the golabki and pierogi, and we'll all hope for the best.

So, by the way, my son is a good man. At dinner last night he told us that he'll probably only be working three days a week from now on, because he asked the manager to give the rest of his hours to the cooks who are struggling to pay rent or feed their families. I do love him so.