December 1st, 2009. 11:25 AM
Last night I walked over to my sister’s place in a nauseous daze to make Christmas cards.
Everything in her kitchen was washed with cozy. On the stove was a potato soup, green beans sauteed in garlic and butter, and in the oven a roasted beet salad.
Five of us gathered in the living room with glasses of wine and plates of food and talked about eating the face of a pig (a few of them had gone to an American Thanksgiving dinner the night before where there was a suckling pig).
The record player quickened and slowed, warbled and sang the singing nuns.
We pulled out our supplies and started cutting and gluing and mumbling our own made-up Christmas tunes.
Well actually that was Christa. The greatest lyricist of all time.
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