Readiness is not far away

Some years weather is the story as Christmas gallops toward us.  Not this year.  A messy day this week brought slush.  Slush has given way to mud since the ground has yet to freeze.  Charlotte is delighted.  There are seasonal movies to be watched and late nights follow long days.  Still, the tree is trimmed, presents are wrapped (actually more wrapping than bagging this year) and baking has begun in earnest.  As Alex noted, the kitchen looks like a line kitchen in a restaurant.  Adding to the joy of the day, Our Ken began the next phase of the fudge ritual.  On this day, his enthusiasm overtook his thought process.  On to the antique spode plate was poured - something.  Now, Our Ken is a fudge purveyor extraordinaire.  Without thought for a recipe, ingredients are spread about (no orderly cooking for Our Ken when a production is a possibility) and the game is on.  There is pouring and mumbling, sinks are filled with cold water and every wooden spoon in the house is employed.  Finally, the pot hovers over a buttered dish and with a great flourish (a drum is rolling somewhere) the outcome is poured and pronounced.  Well, this year on the antique plate, the pronouncement was an anguished "I've never seen anything like this" statement.  Lee, to this point trying hard to ignore the fudge-event, turned to see something concrete-like hardening on her plate.  And on it went.  That plate set aside, the production again began.  Undaunted, the kitchen remaining in turmoil, Our Ken continued.  Now, Lee was in the process of making 5 dozen Christmas cookies - the Swedish teacakes of her mother's recipe that are time consuming and fussy, employing perfectly chopped walnuts for rolling and homemade blackberry jelly, a thimble and fine shortbread-like dough.  The kitchen is a great room - for Lee.  Not so great for the machinations of the husband and his ability to spread, made even more able when panic follows production.  Pot two was somewhat more annoying than pot one and resulted in only a minor improvement.  There was some hope that this concrete would be able to be removed from the second plate - not the antique that had been eyed by Our Ken as his next victim, but still.  Sarah, ever cheerful, made the terrible error of noting that she 'loves taffy' - perhaps the most positive interpretation of this concoction  that could be given.  For her kind effort, she was sent home with batch two, Ken certain that it would be enjoyed and Alex contemplating how far up the road he would have to go before that offering became a Frisbee.  Lee finally put paid to the confusion and sent everyone out of her domain.  The cookies were completed and puppies were readied for their adventure to see Eric-the-Vet.  Home again, home again and a change of clothes to return to the city to dinner with the youngest son and his great children.  And as those clothes were changed,  a final pot of fudge appeared.  You see, each child (and associated grandchildren) receive Christmas fudge.  And it was going to happen.  So with the aid of the internet (Lee did a little research to explain the difference between hard ball and soft ball stage, augmenting Alex's correct interpretation already proffered) the usually successful fudge appeared and was packaged for the next child.  Christmas is never dull at Regalridge. 

The kennel is ticking along, managed well by Naomi and Moses.  The old Airedales are in residence and settled, knowing exactly where they are and enjoying the activity level. 

And the dogs are delighted with the season's pleasures.  They love the comings and goings of extra people in the house.  They love the kitchen activity.  They love the wrapping and having Lee in the den more than is usual and they love the food that lands on top of their dinners.  The older puppies thought the brief snow period had been set up just for them and took great pleasure in learning the snow plow moves of the older dogs.  Piper is firmly attached to Lee's side, taking every opportunity to note that she is 'special' and in need of all extra available treats.  Abigail is bouncing.   Our Ken is inside more than is usual and is urged to sit in his chair so that little Abigail can join him. 

Dinners have been varied and are increasingly deliberately planned.  Seafood and fish are mentioned regularly and the fresh, local turkey will be collected from the butcher shop across the street.  The pudding is being readied and the hard and lemon sauces will be made.  Cranberries are done.  Sprouts are on the menu and Our Ken's squash has been chosen.  Fiddleheads are a tradition.  Lobster has been settled on for Christmas Eve - another Ken production.  Lee is giving thought to her mother's mocha cakes.  Cherry flips will appear before Sunday.  Sweet breads are made.  June's chocolate is being employed.  Nobody will go hungry.