For the last dance rehearsal of 2021, I brought the festive look.

Although this clarinetist/saxophonist played wonderfully, what I loved the most was how she managed both the band and tech crew and never missed a beat. LITERALLY.

Signaling to the band when there was a change in music she wanted. Issuing commands to the tech crew when the spotlight wasn’t in the right spot, when the mic didn’t work, or when the sound was off.

All the while, she entertained both the live and virtual audiences.

That punch tasted more like an action verb than a noun. Instead of the usual hors d’oeuvres, the event served actual dinner. I’d met a friend for happy hour at a restaurant before meeting another friend for this event. So, I only took a few sips of punch, but on my way out, I asked for some mac and cheese to go. The museum curator, gave me three pieces of fried chicken along with a grandma’s serving of mac and cheese. Not that I complained.

The type of event my roommate likes to call “free with rent.” So, of course I went to eat and drink a bit of the money I pay for the honor of living in the complex. Since the day turned out chilly, as it should, given it was mid-December, I wore my Santa/Rudolf winter pajama pants.

I wasn’t expecting much. They advertised “mimosas and waffles,” which turned out to be an excellent menu. I made my own mimosa, but they had a woman, who I’d never seen before, operating the waffle iron. She knew exactly what she was doing. Those waffles were crispy on the outside and pleasingly fluffy on the inside. I brought one home to pair with that nicely fried chicken breast I’d brought home from the jazz concert. Hmm, chicken and waffles on a Sunday afternoon. Heaven!

How often are leftovers from two different meals just come together to form one of my favorite meals? I love edible synchronicity.

My Christmas Eve baking consisted of a Breakfast Bundt. Although this was my the first time making it, there’s no way that buttery flaky biscuit dough, pepper bacon, cheddar cheese, cream cheese, red onions and eggs could go wrong!

Last month, while interviewing Cousin Universe for Strange Family Folklore podcast, we reminisced about our grandmother’s cakes. So, I made this cake to remember Mama Bea.

Granted, I used to make more involved desserts such as cheesecakes.

I was still eating breakfast when the call was scheduled to begin at 10 AM. One of my sisters had originally sent the meeting ID without the passcode. So, that bought me some time to eat. I still had my camera off when I finally joined the meeting. Instead of Mom complaining about that, the sister who thinks she’s my mom complained.

I made up for lost camera time when I grabbed the one Christmas box I’d received. (My Christmas box from my other sister will probably arrive in January. It’ll be my Three Kings Day gifts.) My sister taped that as if it were full of Ft. Knox gold. Once I finally opened it, the first thing I pulled out was a gift card, which I announced I’d put it away like Mama Bea would by tucking it in my bra.

Then, I pulled out a book. Even you’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover, I could tell the genre was Afrofuturistic. The niece who’d placed it in the box said that she remembered me saying I liked that genre. She’d read it for a college class.

Next, I pulled out the curveball gift. For some inexplicable reason, my nieces and nephew love shower products that essentially prolong or complicate showering. There were two powdery things that one’s supposed to put near the shower that will infuse the steam with scent. Then there was a bar of soap, which I may save my legs with to test it out. So far, all any of that did was powder the inside of the box, causing me to wipe down the table and everything inside the box.

Then, I pulled out one of my long-time stocking stuffer favorites: wool socks. Fortunately they weren’t covered in that shower product dust.

Finally, my sister’s and brother-in-law’s favorite Christmas gift–peanut brittle. But not just any peanut brittle. They’re very brand loyal. I’ll admit it. It is the best I’ve ever had as well. I just never buy it for myself. Even the Austin-based gift boxes I’d bought them had local peanut brittle. They said it was good, but not as good as their favorite Christmas peanut brittle.

I thought taking the group picture after we’d opened our gift boxes would bring a sense of closure and we’d end the call. Yet, Mom and my sister who thinks she’s my mom both found around a half hour more of things to talk about.