New year, more blogging? Potentially. However, I try not to make promises I cannot keep and we’ve all seen how faithful I am to this blog. It’s a complicated relationship, guys. We do really well for awhile, spending so much time together, really feeling like we’re in sync. And then it tapers off a bit. One of us feels disconnected from the other. Words are thrown about carelessly. Then, worse still, words are stopped altogether. Silence.

Until one day one of us misses the words. And checks back in to see how things are going. To see if words are still there.

And today? They are…ish.

I’m coughing again. Which means it’s January in Seattle and this is when I get pneumonia. Now, please don’t worry. I don’t have pneumonia right now. BUT. I remember last year at this time. I started to feel a little bit sniffly. And then I had a wee bit of a sore throat. Then a cough. And then the next thing I knew, pneumonia was all up in my business. And the mean doctor said that since I’ve had pneumonia once before, I’m 70% more likely to get it again.

How is that even fair? Shouldn’t pneumonia be like the chicken pox? You get it, you itch, it sucks, bada bing, you’re done!

Also? The doctor should realize that you should never tell a pseudo (or not so pseudo) hypochondriac that she’s MORE likely to get a certain illness. Because now every time I sneeze I think, “OMG. I have the pneumonia!” and then I realize that pneumonia isn’t a sneezy thing, so I feel better for a split second until I realize it could be a tumor in my central sneezing-system. And THEN I think I might have gotten the plague somehow, like maybe when I was on the airplane over the holidays. The guy next to me seemed a bit plague-y. His socks didn’t match. If that’s not a sign of plague-induced delirium, well then I have no idea.

I went home to Texas for the holiday and spent a lovely 10 days with my family. Mateo got married and it was lovely. My brother came home and hung out with me a bit and it was lovely. I baked 4 kinds of cookies and it was lovely. AND we had a Christmas Cookie Massacre, which was not so much lovely as it was a blood bath of epic proportions.

See, we always decorate cookies and it’s always fun. This year we had some rad neon icing and the help of Linds. AND we had Elf on the DVD player. How much more Christmas-y can you get? The answer is none. None more Christmas-y.

So we made lovely cookies. Snowmen and stockings and candy canes and doves and geese and even special ornament cookies with winter scenes, the earth, a nativity, and the Russian flag. And it was all wonderful…until the blood bath. The tragedy. The Great Cookie Massacre of 2008, which tops even last year’s cookie catastrophy when Miss D dropped the icing gun on my most beautiful snowflake.

It’s difficult to talk about. I’ll let the picture explain. If you have children in the room, you ought to cover their eyes:


It’s hard to know what happened. We have theories, of course. It clearly looks like the dove went crazy on the snowman and goose. But that’s really all we can be sure of. My sister’s friend Jen stopped by and saw the Massacre and had her own questions.

Jen: But why would the dove do that?
Ceci and Me: We have NO idea why the dove would do that? Isn’t it awful?
Jen: No, but really. Why would the dove decapitate a snowman and a goose?
Ceci and Me: We have no clue! Isn’t it so strange?

I’m sorry to burst your holiday happiness bubbles, gentle readers. But I feel it’s important to be real with you, to let you know how the holidays can go very horribly wrong. And sometimes there is no explanation.

MUCH like my absence from the blog. Sometimes I just don’t write. And I don’t know WHY! Isn’t it awful?

But, so as not to leave you with a graphic image of violence, I shall close out this reunion post with a much happier image:


That’s Moo. She’s on a beach in Oregon. And she’s the happiest she’s ever been.

Here’s looking forward to more words in 2009!