Relative Something

This is one of those times when any words I could assemble into descriptive sentences would pale compared to a simple photo to depict the sweet anticipation when Cyndie begins to prepare for her seasonal baking extravaganza.

When the cookie tins come out, and huge bags of baking flower, sugar, flats of eggs, and tubs of butter show up from the grocery run, I know it is time to dig out my excessive calorie warning.

The house is decorated, lights are on, purchased gifts are being delivered by all the acronyms (USPS/FEDEX/UPS), and songs of the season keep popping up.

The only thing missing is a hint that ours might be a white Christmas this year. There’s still a little over two weeks to go, but forecasts don’t sound promising in that regard. At this advancing stage of my maturity, a lack of snow bothers me a lot less than it did in the past.

The problem I keep needing to cope with is that our frozen mornings feel so dang cold compared to the warm afternoons we have been enjoying the past few weeks. The back and forth is more taxing on my body than when it just gets cold and stays that way for months. Or should that be, more taxing on my mind? Probably both.

Asher decided to do his best to contribute to the festive decorations Cyndie has been putting up in every available space of our house.

The snuffle mat Cyndie created out of a sink mat became a colorful spread of fabric and plastic shards this morning. It worked well while it lasted. I suppose Asher was just making sure none of his food nuggets had gotten lodged between the plastic and the felt strips.

He has no clue about the smells he is about to be smothered with from Cyndie’s kitchen this weekend. I have no idea whether it will compare to the animal scent trails he freaks out over on our walks around the property. Given the intensity of Cyndie’s Christmas cookie-baking process, I suspect the sweet aromas from the house will have all the wildlife in the vicinity at risk of spiking their blood sugar simply by smelling it.

Don’t worry about me, though. I’ll survive. It hasn’t killed me yet in the past [mumble-mumble] years.

Now, where is that special excessive sugar warning that needs to be re-issued…?

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