OK, I’m back in a good mood now. I had a lovely Christmas Eve.
I felt profound gratitude for four things last night:
1) I have a good son. Mothers of good sons, you know what I mean! Last night my son drove me to church for choir practice and came back an hour later to sit with me during the service, which was especially meaningful as my husband couldn’t make it to church this year due to his knee surgery. My son offers his arm when we walk through icy parking lots together. ❤️
2) SINGING: I just love it. Especially on Christmas Eve at our beautiful candlelight service.
My church on Christmas Eve
3) My husband felt well enough to go out to dinner with us after church. It was his first time in a restaurant since his surgery a month ago.
4) A negative mammogram. Ladies, you know how good that feels. Even if you’ve never had breast cancer, we all have friends or family members who have had it. (I got my results on Christmas Eve at 10pm.)
And now we await the arrival of our “celebrity guest” (as my son is calling her)—my precious one-year old granddaughter and her parents.
My husband preparing his famous Lasagna Bolognese with an ice pack strapped to his new knee
I fear my posts may be turning a bit negative this week, but I know that the holidays elicit mixed feelings for many. (In fact, my church offers a “Blue Christmas” service each year for that very reason.) What follows is a realization I came to in September but never posted. (It was in my drafts folder.) I offer it to all who may need to be a bit kinder to themselves this Christmas:
When you’ve given someone “the benefit of the doubt” for decades, it’s OK to say enough. I no longer wish to have a real relationship with this person, even if some level of communication must be maintained for practical reasons.
Trust can be eroded to the point of no return. You can be officially “done” with someone.
Perhaps you’ll actually be doing the person you’re done with a favor in the long run. If they know you will not be there for them on any type of regular basis, they may learn to take care of themselves.
And even if they don’t, it’s not your problem. Because you’re done.
I had one of those moments of clarity yesterday. Not on the meaning of life or anything important like that, but a small realization that I just don’t like an acquaintance (a couple actually) that I’ve known casually for decades. Without making a big deal of it, I will simply avoid interacting with them in the future.
I ended up chatting with this male person after church (as I have many times before) and he said something insensitive about my husband’s recent knee surgery. It was fairly typical of him. It was a put down of sorts. His wife, whom I’ve also known for years, is what GenXers would refer to as a “nut job.” Wacky and extremely extroverted. Case in point: when addressing the entire church from a podium yesterday, she announced that her pronouns are “She, her, ME.” Twice.
Lots of people “love” this couple (or seem to). They do a lot for the church community. But I just “do not care for them” (as an older generation might say). They’re not my cup of tea.
Yesterday I participated in a sacred circle dance where we honored Yule and the winter solstice.
AI depiction of our sacred circle yesterday, which included a 90+ year old woman and her 5 adult daughters all dressed in white for her birthday
The sun set at 4:16pm yesterday so we lit a fire in our fireplace in the evening. I had a memory of how much we really wanted a fireplace when we were house hunting. (Our first house did not have one.) We only use our fireplace occasionally, but it IS special to have an an indoor fire on these longest, darkest nights of the year.
As the embers burned down, I made myself two s’mores for dessert.
And now, on Winter Solstice morning (December 21) it is still pitch black at 6:30am and I’m awaiting the replay of the livestream of the ancient chamber at Newgrange in Ireland, which we visited in June. (I wasn’t up at at 3:40am to watch it live.) We saw a demonstration of how the sun lights up the inner chamber on the solstice when we were there, but I want to see the real version.
Finally, if you missed this year’s Lucia Morning broadcast from Visby, Sweden on St. Lucia Day (December 13), it’s a great thing to experience during these dark long nights. I watch it every year. The second children’s choir (the younger kids in the adorable wool coats and sweaters) are particularly enchanting.
Wishing all of my fellow Northern Hemisphere dwellers a light in the darkness this December solstice day. It only gets brighter from here.
I admit to being absolutely delighted to read that Rep. Elise Stefanik (Republican of New York) has ended her bid for Governor of New York and in fact, will drop out of Congress altogether.
After being considered a “reasonable” Republican, she went full MAGA—kissing the deranged orange baboon’s ass at every turn.
He rewarded her by jilting her—over and over and over again.
There are many beautiful old doors in Boston’s historic North End (aka the Italian neighborhood), but 160 Endicott Street is not one of them.
It’s an old, unrenovated building……in a great location in Boston’s North End—just around the corner from the original Pizzeria Regina
It is, however, a meaningful door in terms of my life story. I lived there in the early 1990s with my roommate Bridget, a friend from work. It was the last place I lived as a single woman. After that, I moved in with a boyfriend who I later married.
160 Endicott was truly a dump. It was the first floor apartment over a convenience store that I think was some type of front for a low-level gambling operation. Their most popular item was lottery tickets. They had a few dusty cans of soup and literally nothing else you would ever want to buy. The irony was the hand-carved sign, “If we don’t have it, you don’t need it.” They never had anything I needed. Not a tampon, not an Advil, nothing.
The apartment itself was totally unrenovated and smelled liked cats. The kitchen was horrible. The bathroom had cockroaches. The downstairs neighbors (who lived in an unfinished basement beneath the store) were always asking to borrow my car so they could drive to the dog racing track up north. But it was in a great location in the heart of old Boston and we could afford it on our art museum salaries, with absolutely no help from parents, which was my main objective in moving there. I really didn’t want to be beholden to my parents for anything. I needed some space from them and my troubled sister.
I took my kids back to visit in 2009. It looked much the same from the outside, but the store inside looked cleaner and nicer. New owners had taken over.
I didn’t ask to see the old apartment, but the green exterior bay window looked exactly the same. And the sign was still there:
“If we don’t have it, you don’t need it.”That was the window of my “bedroom” which was actually the living room. I slept on a pullout sofa. A return trip to 160 Endicott Street in 2009In 2009, the humble exterior looked identical to how it looked in 1990.
The twenties are such a formative decade. So many forks in the road. Decisions made. Paths chosen. Roads not taken.
Memories of my time on Endicott Street include gaining a more visceral understanding of poverty (I thought our place was bad, until I saw how the people under the store were living); finally ending a longterm romantic relationship that had been going on and off for years; great authors—like Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou—introduced to me by my roommate Bridget (a reader and a feminist); and food smells—especially Bova’s bakery, open 24/7. Not much in Boston is open all night…but Bova’s is. There are better bakeries in Boston’s North End, but nothing smelled as good as Bova’s at 3am.
I wanted to make things easy on myself yesterday as I am doing all the cooking, while my husband recovers from total knee replacement surgery. (His leg still aches too much to eat out in a restaurant.) I had the idea of making chicken parmigiana with store-cooked chicken cutlets, but the price for TWO of them was $16.99, so I decided to make them myself.
Believe it or not, it was my first time making chicken parm. I looked at NYT Cooking’s version of the recipe, but then decided to go with something simpler that Google turned up:
I like how there’s a baked version of the recipe (if you don’t want to fry the cutlets in oil first), but for my first time making it, I decided to fry the cutlets.
I didn’t have sliced mozzarella, so I used about 8 ounces of grated mozzarella and it was yummy. I also didn’t have basil, so I topped with a bit of fresh parsley leftover from my Slow Cooker Garlic Butter Chicken.
My husband was very appreciative (as always) of my efforts and I liked it too. I used store bought marinara sauce (Rao’s), so it was really pretty easy.
I recommend buying high-quality organic chicken breasts (like Bell & Evans) and slicing them into cutlets yourself before pounding.
Buy the good chicken breasts for best results Served on leftover pasta with a salad
I’m sad about Rob Reiner and Michele Singer being murdered by their drug-addicted son.
I mostly feel badly for their other three adult children.
I have no idea what went on in this family, but I can relate to the situation of having a sibling for whom life is considered “more difficult” and is therefore indulged and supported endlessly—especially financially.
In my opinion, parents of adult children should keep careful track of how much money they give to each adult child. They should also consider the huge and selfless undertaking of raising children (aka their grandchildren) when sharing their resources.
If one adult child is allowed to act like a teenager into adulthood (aka Peter Pan Syndrome), you’re going to have problems.
Equity matters. Sometimes tough love is required. Never ask a healthy, functioning adult child to get involved in their sibling’s problems. (That’s up to them, if they want to do that.)
Having multiple children is a choice. Siblings may or may not get along later in life. One way you can increase your chances of family harmony is to expect adult behavior from adults. And keep track of how much financial support you provide each adult child. This may sound cold and calculating, but it can help you see things more clearly, when needed.
27-year old orphan Romy Reiner with her late father Rob. This poor girl found her parents’ bodies and had to name her brother as the killer. How did it get to that point? What choices were made?
The healing process for my husband’s knee replacement is ongoing. Sadly, we had to cancel dinner with our son for his 25th birthday tonight, because my husband just isn’t ready for restaurants yet. There’s still a ton of pain, swelling, and stiffness, which apparently is normal at this stage (3 weeks post-op), but he’s never dealt with anything like this, so it’s pretty hard.
I decided to try a recipe I saw on NYT Cooking “most popular recipes of 2025” list—Slow Cooker Garlic Butter Chicken. It looked easy and it was. My husband loved it. He said the flavor was great and it really was. I even made my own croutons, which soaked up the delicious sauce perfectly.
New England is experiencing real “depths of winter” cold right now. (It’s giving late January vibes.) Given the very cold weather and the knee, I think this was a success. And so easy.
Next time I’ll put the croutons in the dish first to absorb as much sauce as possible 😋
I’m afraid the 2025 holiday season will be forever remembered as the “Year of the Knee.” Arthroplasty is rough, people. My husband is doing OK, but the pain is quite brutal. Thank goodness for opioids. I honestly don’t know how anyone gets through this without a partner. (I know they can and do, but it would be really hard.) Outpatient PT has started and now I get why folks call the PTs “Physical Terrorists.”
But on to happier things…
I have been enjoying looking at the lovely, happy holiday posts and photos from Scillagrace and others.
Last year was such a special Christmas because we had my brand new baby granddaughter—so perfect in every way. After the sting of the horrible election in November 2024, she gave me so much hope. She was—and is—a miracle. All babies are. I thank my wonderful daughter for the greatest gift of all last Christmas. Infants are pure love, pure light, pure joy.
My granddaughter and me last December Our tree last year The new mom managed to decorate—and even bake—last year. Hand-dipped and decorated Oreo cookie ballsWhite roses for Christmas last yearI got Christmas “crackers” from the British imports store and did special napkin folding last year.
I hope everyone can find some way to enjoy the season this year, despite whatever pain or hardships burden you. I recommend watching Sweden’s National Santa Lucia Day broadcast this Saturday, December 13. It’s always such a beautiful celebration of light in the darkness, with gorgeous choral music—including young children singing in tune. It’s typically available on YouTube the same day.
December Rx:
Music, lights, babies (if you can’t get your hands on a baby, watching young children sing is a good substitute)
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