thursday, december 23

"To Teach Is To Touch A Life Forever" Surrounded by books from floor to ceiling, dark dense naked forest outside the window and with a fat cat named Miles lurking around I find myself posting from my teachers' house. The cross-stitched framed quote meant to inspire lean dustily against a filing cabinet. 'twas the night before Christmas and... and what? I know I sound like I have Christmas coming out of my ears already, but to be brutally honest... I don't feel it. At all. And I don't know if I will be able to for a long time to come. As a Swede, I celebrate Christmas tomorrow night. From the looks of it, it will consist of a few graceous gifts from Jessica to me, and one gift from me to her (a pez pikachu [hopefully she isn't reading this - if you are, pretend that you had no idea tomorrow, okay?]). Gabriel said something about baking a cake, and I might try the same despite not having any real recipes around. And that's all. What is that? No, I mean it, what IS that? Don't get me wrong, I'm very much looking forward to it, and I'm confident it will be fun, but Christmas? If it weren't for the tiny plastic tree Jessica decorated and put on top of the tv-set, it'd just be any other night. Sentimental hag I am, I am. I know. It's so strange to look at the photograph above, though, and remember. Tables filled with 5 kinds of bread and cheeses, red beet salads, hard boiled eggs, sausages, pickled herrings, ribs, meatballs, puddings, cakes, cookies, rice pudding, ginger snaps, burnt wine with nuts and raisins, and the center piece of any Christmas table - a home baked ham. (Of course, I can't really eat much of the above because I am a vegetarian, but this year I won't even have the tradition substitute food - mom's cheese and egg suffle, the veggy nuggets and the sausages. bah.) Ah well. I will get over it. It's just the usual harshness of realizing you are all grown up now, and that things will never be the same. Boo... hoo. Still. I have the above picture to remind me of what it was like sitting next to a fresh dreadful looking Christmas tree that is only a step up from being a heap of branches because of all the crappy ornaments thrown over it. Not to mention it is the only photograph existing of me and the now late Missan. So. 'twas the night before Christmas, and the girl needed gloves for her sentimental gush-ball of a heart. Merry Christmas to you and me and everybody, and may the Santa treat you well. bye.

GOD says: "*bouncebounce* I want a Pink Invisible Unicorn for my birthday!!"

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