O Tannenbaum

Driving around town over the weekend, I noticed all the cars with trees strapped to their roofs, which I find really heartwarming—especially after being bombarded by the commercial crap of the holidays, starting the day before Halloween. A decorated tree is one of the best things about the season. I love driving down Summit Avenue on my way home from work, where evergreens strung with golden lights fill corner windows in nearly every house.

Since we're traveling to Princeton this Christmas, John and I agreed we would forgo a Christmas tree. Instead, I bought a wreath from the neighbor kid selling them as a band fundraiser. Sure the wreath is fragrant with pine—and looks stunning hanging on our massive stucco fireplace. But somehow neither the wreath nor the bowl of red glass ornaments on the dining-room table provide adequate holiday spirit. I'm just not feeling it.

So, on our way home from the library on Sunday, Simon and I stopped at Nativity, a neighborhood church, to see if we could find a little tree. Some boys were dragging around a three-foot tree—much to their mother's annoyance (mine, too)—that looked perfect. But, it was likely the only one as we were unable to find another. After poking around a bit, a six-foot balsam beauty caught our eye. And in the split second it took to pay for the tree, someone had bundled it up and secured it to the roof of my station wagon. How Norman Rockwell is that?

Lucky for me, John arrived home from running his errands just a moment before I did. And boy was he ever surprised to see us inching down the alley with a tree on top of the car!

Last night the boys helped me trim the tree. Simon has the eye of a decorator and very carefully and thoughtfully hung some of the most delicate ornaments, while Winston hung all the unbreakables on the bottom branches. And, with only two small exceptions*, the tree is perfect.

*In replacing a bulb on the string of lights, somehow a whole section has gone rogue, blinking as if the strand was meant to do that. Fortunately, it's the middle section and is providing a nifty effect. The other is actually a larger issue: the stand has a leak. Not only did I had a small lake to clean up while avoid electrocution, but the tree hasn't had a drink in a few days. And, I had to find a replacement stand. We've tried metal and plastic, but every stand we've purchased has had just one use before it has broken. I've just picked up a cast-iron stand and will hope for the best.

Snow is falling

and sticking to the ground. The temperature here in Minnesota is cold enough for the teeny, tiny, itty, bitty snowflakes that are falling, very slowly, to pile up. While the amount of snow on the ground is trace, when combined with the bitter cold wind, it serves to remind that winter is fast upon us. The boys were so excited this morning. When they heard we had some snow, they imagined fluffy piles for sledding. Not so fast lil rangers!

The Shepards had a lovely, relaxing weekend mostly because the parent-Shepards were nursing hangovers from the Spanish-wine tasting they hosted on Friday evening. We were joined by the Ws, M/Cs, and H/Js, none of whom seemed to suffer much the next day. Sarah W. and I provided the food, which was mostly tapas—cocktail mix (pistachios, almonds, and fried favas, fried chickpeas, and cornnuts), marinated olives, warm paprika-spiked marcona almonds, caperberries, spicy garlic shrimp, a traditional tortilla (where the potatoes and onions were cooked in olive oil, then added to beaten eggs before cooked together), and a hot spinach dip. The Ws also brought the piece de resistance—chili-pesto oysters. The oysters, which had been shucked just before arriving, were a nice mix of kumamoto and bluepoint, topped with a chili-spiked pesto and breadcrumbs, then blasted at 475 degrees. I'm confident I ate more than my fair share, but I couldn't stop eating them.

The wines were fine. Lisa brought a random selection of riojas and snuck in an Argentinean malbec, for some reason unbeknowst to anyone. Interestingly, a very developed rioja reserva that stood out noticeably from the others had us all fooled into thinking it was the malbec. Not because any of us knew better, but because it was different from the rest.

On Saturday, the boys attended Sydney and Georgia's joint birthday party at the Children's Museum, which is still a dreadful place, especially as our children are outgrowing the joint. Then, Winston and John spent the afternoon napping while Simon gorged himself on TV and I read the February 2006 issue of Travel and Leisure—catching up on tall piles of back issues. Later that evening, after the long winter naps, we all went over to my friend Suzanne's house. She and her husband host an annual book party, whereby Suzanne, a publisher's rep, sells her samples for cheap (twenty cents on the dollar) and donates the money to a local food shelf. This year's event was more relaxed than usual, and we had a chance to chat with Suzanne and B. and another guest (E.). And, we picked up some great books, including Brad Melzer's The Book of Fate, the latest Michael Connelly, and a cookbook.

The weekend was deliciously relaxing. I wish I had done more reading—books with obligations are piling up (Pride and Prejudice, which I'm reading with Caryl; Girl in Landscape, which seems short, like I might be able to finish it before the end of the year). And, I wish I had done some knitting and some organizing. Alas...

Watching: Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip

Reading: Chicken with Plums and the New York Times Book Review "Best Books of the Year" issue

Cooking: croque monsieur (from Barefoot Contessa in Paris) and spaghetti carbonara (from Cooks Illustrated)