January 1, 2024

Managed to watch twenty minutes of the Rose Parade.  

Annual New Year’s Eve party was easier for me this year, as I was very gradual in preparation, doing one important thing a day every day after Christmas. Little dread or anxiety, as in years past. However, fewer people came than expected, and added to my natural propensity to over-prepare, the mountain of leftovers this morning was daunting. Much dumping and running of the disposal, load after load in the dishwasher. I find such wastefulness appalling, but I don’t know what to do about it this one day of the year. I could have hosted three parties on the food prepared for one. I should learn, year by year, but fear the appearance of meagerness. DJ’s ramp centered on the front steps, and it was sad–as well as funny-- to see my guests, many of them quite elderly now, inching their cautious way up the staircase, looking for a hand to steady them.

DJ saw a fox as he rumbled home. An omen.  

Hosts of crows cawing in the garden, claiming bits of the party foods I threw out for them. 

R gave me a strudel, chocolate-y and nutty and rich.