Visions of Sugarplums (with a few sugar quills and chocolate frogs...)

As I'm busily preparing for the Evans' family Christmas, I thought I'd share a bit about our celebration. Particularly, the food!

In our house, Jason is the cook, and I am the baker. (Though as most moms know, I cook the everyday, routine dinners--they're just not as gourmet or tantilizing as Jason's creations...) So for our family Christmas we go all out. I've been known to bake as many as 13 different cookies, plus other delights, such as a chocolate Yule log or German nut stollen.



I have recipes that my german grandmother shared when I was a teenager (thank goodness I set a date to bake with her, my notebook in hand to record them). She was a wonderful baker--she ran an informal baking "business" in her Philadelphia home with her girlfriend. They were known for the hundreds of tins of cookies and doughnuts they created and gave to churches and neighbors every year at Christmas. The recipes that I recorded that day are full of phrases like: "a pinch of...", "two handfuls", "about two cups", "until it looks like", "use a light touch", etc.



And, the dinner that Jason prepares to precede all these sweets is grand. Here's the main event:



Yes, we roast a pig in our fireplace every Christmas Eve... Jason is "the man"! He needs to turn the spit every hour through the night. Surprisingly, after twelve years of sleeping on the couch, he has yet to meet Santa...

But Santa snitches a piece of pork each year as he fills the stockings! The girls have wondered if he gets burned when coming down the chimney. We've explained that Santa has other methods of entering the house.

My personal belief is that he apparates...you know, he is distantly related to that famous Dumbledore family. Have you noticed the family resemblance: long white beard, twinkle in the eyes, loves children, employs hundreds of house elves...? Santa uses reindeer instead of thestrals because they're less creepy. But clearly he is no muggle. He obviously uses a time turner to get the job done in one night, and I bet he makes use of an invisibility cloak through the year. (Otherwise the paparazzi would have had a field day!) But I digress...

So what are some of your favorite holiday foods?

Have a Happy Christmas, everyone!

Nutcracker Dreams

This post was inspired by K.Lawson Gilbert's poem "Jo"
Thanks, K!


When I was a girl I took dance lessons. Ballet, tap, jazz. The usual mix. But it was ballet that captured my heart, and "dancer" was one of the first roles added to my self identity.

I took lessons seriously and became competent enough to be invited to join the local company's production of The Nutcracker. As a result, some of my fondest Christmas memories are associated with practices and rehearsals. The Nutcracker Suite is now strongly associated with Christmas in my brain. Just hearing the first few notes of the overture instantly puts me in a "preparing for a holiday party" mood.



And just because this video is entrancing, here is a unique version:



My most special Christmas present ever was the nutcracker that my parents gave me at the end of the closing performance the first year that I danced in the Nutcracker. I spent hours in my room dancing with that wooden soldier as if I were Clara. I still get teary every year when I pull it out of the box where it spends most of the year nestled with my small collection of nutcrackers. I remember feeling disappointed that it had a screw mechanism to crack nuts instead of the usual lever, but now I am glad for its uniqueness.


For several years I danced with the Candy Canes, then I graduated to the Russian Trepak. Here I am, probably at dress rehearsal when Mom could make me pose for the Polaroid.

Hearing those parts of the Nutcracker Suite evokes visceral reactions and sensory memories. The sound of the orchestra, the hushed voices waiting in the wings, the smell of rosin, the swish of tutus as dancers hurried backstage for costume changes. Even today, when I hear the ending notes of the dance of the reed flutes (or "Mirlitons", which preceded the Candy Canes)-- I feel the fluttering in my stomach.

The first notes of the Candy Cane dance or Russian Trepak would sing, and I would be transported-- I was no longer me. My arms and legs knew when to flex, when to stretch. I gracefully moved through the choreography, barely aware of each step as it flowed into the next. Rather, I felt the warmth of the stage lights, noticed the brightness of the costumes blurring by, and of course heard the music which fed my muscles.

I was no longer me-- I was a dancer.