Whew! What a year!

Let’s clink to putting Covid behind us, more or less. Even if drinking the toast requires us to take off our masks. And clink again for better things ahead.

Two olives, for me, marks a festive occasion.

On my end, the year included downsizing earlier than anticipated when I uprooted from ducky Dover to diehard Downeast as a vanguard for the rest of the family. It was their idea, for the record. Not that I’m complaining while some old, long-buried dreams finally come to fruition. And in all of this, I’m still in their good hands.

Along the way, I drafted a juicy, unorthodox history of early Dover in time for the 400th anniversary of its settling. Forget what you thought about Colonial New England, this take challenges a lot of the prevailing view. (You’ll be reading more about that here at the Barn in the months ahead.)

I definitely wasn’t planning on researching and writing another book, but here it is, finished.

Clink once more.

It adds up to a lot of change to digest.

So clink again. Remember, in moderation, it’s supposed to help the digestion. Cheers!

In praise of instant pudding

I’d give you a photo, but it would look too bland, unless topped with whipped cream and maybe a cheery cherry.

But the packs are cheap and a stir to make.

Even the cooking-required varieties are simple.

It’s a dish dumb guys really need to have up their sleeves.

We can’t live solely on frozen pizza, can we?

~*~

Actually, I’ve been pretty pizza-free. Grilled cheese sandwiches fill the void nicely, yum-yum, smothered in sliced pickles. Or humus, if I’m observing Orthodox Advent.

~*~

So much for my image as a snob. Please pass that turkey and mashed  potatoes and gravy and save me a couple of slices of the pumpkin pie.

And don’t forget to say grace or take a moment of grateful silence.