HAUL OUT THE HOLLY

five bottles of red, a half gallon of milk, two pints of heavy cream, a dozen eggs, four oranges, five lemons and a big box of cookies from the heartland mean we're just a trip to the liquor store away from a cocktail party. the whole cloves don't pose any obstacles, but it's probably safer to stay away from the whole nutmeg next time. and it will be, very certainly, a question of safety unless there's a good mortar and pestle under the tree this year. hammering the devil out of those nuts over the course of several (now recycled) plastic vessels might have stuck us with the grinch if the end result -- after a quick sweep and a wipe of the counter top -- didn't leave the kitchen stinking to high heaven like the spirit. nothing says christmas like the sweet aroma of toxic delirium.

now that there's a poinsettia in the apartment there need to be at least a dozen more. or ten dozen. they'd fit. in the space and with the spirit...although they're supposed to be toxic, too (euphorbia pulcherrima, after all). let's glut this place with red. drape it with petals, because, well, without drapes this place gets cold. without drapes and without people, that is. but then the friends arrive and the oven's on and the crock pot is ladling out cups full and i can't imagine it won't be warm. let's hope it's warm. there's going to be a test batch made with bourbon tomorrow night, so come and say hello if you can stand the cold.

on the night before the night before the night before the night before christmas, it's to bed with a near future sci-fi novel by toba shin about a wartime quarantined plague city. sweet hallucinatory sugar plums, darlings. we're in for it. it's the longest night of the year. take heart, though. we may all have grown a little sadder and older, but there's a garland at the end of the tunnel. i may be rushing things, but pray that it does its job before my spirits fall again.