I am concocting the perfect auld lang syne hot buttered rum. It’s a guid-willie waught, or a festive draught, that is. For reasons understood only (I presume) by my mammalian brain-layer, I’m having a rather nice New Year’s Eve at 8:50 pm, in the kitchen, in the company of quadrupeds. Tonight, all of them got bits of my salmon (leftover from lunch at Garry’s Grill,) but none got buttered rum. They’re relatively certain that’s ok.
The reason this is significant is that New Year’s Eve has, since the time Jeff’s brain devolved to little more than reptilian, seen me in a funk, and I’m just as glad to have broken with an apparent tradition.
I’m not saying it means anything for 2011 (though I won’t protest if it does,) but a light spirit is a thing of beauty and you might as well take one if they’re handing them out.
Jeff dozed through Easy A on Comcast-on-Demand, (a valid response, though I didn’t mind the low-demand entertainment...it was better than Eat, Pray, Pointlessly Self-Indulge,) and has now been pilled and tucked into bed. Hazel is keeping me company in the box-top from a carton of Harry & David pears, and Otis is harassing Chessie around the kitchen. Not nice. (No guid-willie waught for Otis.)
Now there is Peruvian music by Agua Clara playing, and dancing--not sitting--is called for.
Kampai, Slan, and bottoms up! Ok 2011...let’s see what happens...
1 comment:
:) i love you!
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