Cookies Get Me Through Christmastime
Take your eggnog and shove it. I’m here for the shortbread
This is not the most wonderful time of the year.
The most wonderful time of the year is August — well, at least in the U.S. Northeast — when it’s possible to pluck from your backyard garden all the tomatoes and herbs you need for dinner.
Christmastime is not magical to me. For one, I’m not a Christian. Furthermore, I live in Pittsburgh, which (especially of late) doesn’t get picturesque white Christmases — it’s just gray and rainy. My parents’ divorce when I was a child, followed by my mother’s death when I was 16, meant holidays were always different — different people, different places, few traditions. I eat a largely vegetarian diet, so ham-centered dinners don’t much appeal to me. I used to be able to get behind the music — namely, of course, the greatest holiday album of all time — but now that John and Yoko start whispering “Happy Christmas” before the Halloween displays are put away at big-box stores, I can’t even glean joy from “All I Want for Christmas Is You.”
I hate snow and tinsel and wrapping paper and glitter; don’t even get me started on glitter.
