My husband had a dream.

No, really, I mean he literally had a dream.

A dream about burgers. Burgers that were inside out. You know, with the bread on the inside.

“I’m going to make you something special for dinner this week,” he kept promising me.

Special indeed.

This is the first of likely many (or, at least, a handful) of picture posts, because, with the holidays just passing, and my mother’s gift to me of a more convenient point-and-shoot, and what with me finally getting around to upload about two months worth of photos, I have loads of them.

I want to talk, first, about Christmas, which I’m sure everyone is sick of. Frankly, everyone always seems sick of Christmas, or of holiday cheer, or the non-denominational-but-admittedly-commercial holiday season.

But I pretty much never am.

When I was a kid, Christmas was the most magical thing, ever. I believed in Santa Claus until I was almost ten. Granted, this has an awful lot to do with the Dudley Moore flick, Santa Claus: The Movie, which was billed as the “real” story of Santa, and I can see why. The first half, which is all about this weird Santa resurrection and magical elves called the vendicum and why Santa wears red and how reindeer eat glitter-filled oatmeal, is amazing.

(The second half, which is about product placements and Dudley Moore, is less-so.)

Anyway, so Christmas meant a lot to me as a child, despite my agnosti-half-Jew upbringing. This had nothing to do with Jesus and surprisingly little to do with presents but much more to do with:

1. Sparkling lights.
2. Magic.
3. The fact that my family always seemed to get along pretty well on Christmas, the ceremony of our traditions, the general warmth of our household on Christmas eve.
4. And, okay, the presents, too.

As I got older, after my dad died, our Christmas traditions slowly changed. I don’t want to say they dissolved, but (maybe understandably), my Jewish mother was pretty eager to stop doing the garish, artificial tree thing. We spent a few holidays in New York City, at my sister’s place, and three years in a row watching Lord of the Rings movies (which, since Christmas is a time for fantasy and magic for me, I loved, but I think Emily, who doesn’t like fantasy movies generally, liked less), but lately, other than the fact that we’d be together on Christmas Eve and probably watch a movie on Christmas Day, we pretty much didn’t have any traditions. This made me sad.

One of the (many) things I like about Jordan is that he gets my Christmas boner, even though he’s an agnosti-half-Jew himself. Christmasses with his family were a really special time for him, too, as a kid. Like me, he doesn’t dread “Christmas creep” but enjoys it. The lights. The music. The Christian people trying to be nice to one another because it’s the one time of year you’re supposed to.

So this year, our first living together, I wanted to do something special for the two of us to honor our seasonal love. We were planning on driving to New Jersey for the holiday itself, but, I figured, there was no reason that we were obligated to celebrate on Christmas itself; it’s not like we believe in the religious aspects (and even if we did, not like Jesus was born on the 25th, for real, anyway). And despite our utter agnostitude, we’re only human–we like traditions, including some of the ones we were raised with, and it makes sense to affix them to a date with some sort of meaning.

So we decided to have a small, seasonal celebration on the Winter Solstice. Why the solstice? Well, it’s the Pagan holiday that the Christians took many of their traditions from, of course, so there’s precedence. It’s also firmly rooted in actual, scientific things that go on in the world: the longest night in the year, the shifting of seasons. After the solstice, the days start to get longer again. Since I’d been walking home in the dark for weeks, it was easy for me to see why that was worth celebrating.

So I got a bunch of Christmas movies–the Santa Claus one, but also The Christmas Toy and some claymation ones–decorated a cheap, fiberoptic tree, strung up some lights, and invited people over for a feast.

The menu consisted of:

• An ethically-raised ham shipped to us by Niman Ranch. I used this Yule ham recipe, which was seasonally appropriate and, uh, pretty much amazing.
• Roasted winter veggies – Acorn squashes and potatoes and garlic and parsnips nom nom nom.
• Mulled mead, for revelry.
• Homemade peppermint ice cream, which, sadly, we forgot to eat on the holiday, but have been enjoying in the New Year.

We invited a few friends–Gainesville around Christmas isn’t the most populated time of year–to share in the celebration with us. The plan was to stay up until dawn, to celebrate the passing of the longest day. The mulled mead put a kink in that plan, and we ended up passing out around two.

However it was still a pretty magical–a step in the right direction towards honoring the season, and celebrating it. In the morning, Jordan, Sammy Katz, and I opened stockings–small, thoughtful, funny gifts. It was low-key, happy, nice. And it did bring the change of the season to the forefront of my attention, which I think is a good reason to celebrate the solstice. Sure enough, since I’ve been back to work, my long walks home have been getting progressively brighter. Time marches on; if winter’s here, can spring be far behind? In any event, it might sound cheesy, but I hope we’ll be
repeating this tradition for years to come.

I have a theory:

that nuggets of all sorts (such as VeggiePatch spinach nuggets, pictured) exist only a a means of delivery honey to my mouth.

I haven’t posted pictures of myself eating in awhile. I’m sure you guys have been mourning the loss! Well, it’s an easy enough error on my part to correct. For your enjoyment: Friday’s dinner!

A chicken leg from the rotisserie lemon pepper chick from Ward’s, and a salad with green leaf lettuce, arugula, plum tomatoes, red pepper, pineapple, and blue cheese.

I love pineapple! It’s probably my favorite fruit, beating out even my other favorites–blueberries and strawberries.

Nom nom nom.