Spotify and sugar save the day! Had a cheerful morning here baking to Christmas carols. Otherwise, it’s been so quiet, so subdued.

Thumbprint cookies, pecan balls, and pinwheels — more to ship West, some for the neighbors, a few for us.

If you knew what a messy cook I used to be, you’d be shocked to see me wiping counters between measuring, laying the wet teaspoons on a dish towel, and getting all my ingredients out prior to beginning. This affirms for me that people DO change.

Determined about a week ago that we’d have lasagna this year. True to Covid-custom, I ordered everything on line. Waved to the peapod guy thru the door. But guess what? I forgot ricotta! Quick. Quick. Checked amazon fresh. Every single size and make of ricotta was out of stock. That’s when I learned that other people make Christmas lasagna, too.

That night, I did not sleep. Not a wink. Not because of my ingredient oversight but because I just don’t one or two nights a week. I usually read and eat a bowl of cereal — that night, French Granola and a novel about immigrants in Brooklyn at the turn of century entitled, We Are Not Ourselves.

It was well enough written to make me read it in a few days, but otherwise? Just okay. Compelling details, though, about early onset Alzheimer’s, which one of the main characters suffered from.

I was more impressed when I learned that it was Thomas’s first novel.

Once it was late enough (early enough?), I headed over to Wegman’s for ricotta. The early hour is reserved for seniors.

A gull flew over head as I made my way across the parking lot, its belly orange-hued from the rising sun. Later when I remembered that tangerine-bellied gull, I couldn’t remember where I’d seen it. Or when. That speaks to Covid-mind more than to age, I think. Was it really this morning that I saw that gull? How is it even possible?

The last time I’d been to Wegman’s was March 11. I don’t usually remember dates, but I’d had a bone density scan that day in one of the offices above the grocery store, so it’s easy to peg in time. (That DOES speak to age).

K started working from home two days later. So it’s been nine months. Nine months of barely going anywhere and hardly seeing anyone.

One in fifty residents of Los Angeles County is infected with the virus now. My brother has a construction crew coming in and out as well as physical therapists. What to do? Both the therapy and a handicapped-accessible bathroom are essential. Everyone is careful. Still, it’s hard not to worry. My brother acknowledged on the phone this morning that he would not survive Covid.

Meanwhile, both of my careful sons have roommates going home for the holidays. WHAT THE FUCK? Nice way to put entire households at risk! Both boys will have to assume those roommates are infected when they get back. They’d be smart to avoid them and wear a mask in the house, but I’ll bet they won’t. I had hoped to be past nagging by now.

One batch of my pinwheel cookies was a botch. Too tedious to explain, but — no matter — I decided to call them Comma-Lah Cookies. Get it?

I think my second fox is adorable, don’t you? The first one is below. I think I only shared it on Instagram.

I’m babbling, so I’ll sign off: Merry Christmas or Happy Belated Chanukah to all and to the United States of America — let’s have Happy New Year. A happy January 6. A happy January 20th. Let 2021 turn the tide.