Chocolate in its various incarnations

I'm drinking the very last cup of the Really Good Hot Chocolate. I have drunk it. It is gone. If I'm aware that there is No More, Ever, of something like a kind of hot chocolate, I find I'm more likely to enjoy it if I treat it like something ordinary, if I drink it when I want it rather than fussing over whether this is the perfect time. Life has no perfect times, other than the ones we make for ourselves. Drink your cocoa.

I really ought to make candy today, as it is Mikulas. I think if the book goes very well or very poorly there will be layered fudge, and if the book goes very very well or very very poorly there will be matastas's rum balls as well.

I'm hoping it snows some more, not just because I have a general pro-snow agenda (although all of you know by now that I do) but also because there's enough snow on the driveway that I will have to clear it if we don't get enough more snow that the driveway service will do it. So laziness and aesthetics once again coincide; how convenient.

Right. Book now.

Tyop du jour

Strifle.

It's not as bad as all that! It certainly couldn't be called strife! It's merely a strifle!