Another Saturnalia, shot to the underworld
Christmas has come and gone in a very quiet fashion in the Wardigo household. Sure, a goose was roasted on Christmas Day, which is probably more of a pain in the ass than it needed to be, but isn’t that what the holidays are all about? Doing stuff that’s more of a pain in the ass than it needs to be.
We did go to the trouble to have our chimney cleaned this year (and, no, I am not being euphemistic). So, I invested in half a cord of wood, and Christmas was celebrated among friends with a roaring fire, music on the jukebox, and a roasted goose with all the trimmings.
Sadly, I did not take a picture of the goose, though I did take a picture of my roasting setup, but only because my neighbor and I were exchanging pics to get a second set of eyes on one another’s setups so that no one was doing anything particularly stupid. Turns out, roasting a ten-pound bird that throws off a quart of grease can be problematic. As you can see in the photo, I ultimately decided upon jury-rigging the broiling pan from my oven over a large, deep, disposable drip pan that’s normally used to serve catered food. I was concerned that the foil pan might balk at ten pounds of bird, but all ended well.
Also sadly, our holiday plans precluded anything theatrical. We did hope to get Sunday tickets to A Play, a Pie, and a Pint, but they sold out several days early. I guess everyone else had Sunday open, too. So, sorry I missed it, but if anyone else caught it, please give me a shout.
In the meantime, I’ve been working like a banshee on my new novel, which is tentatively titled, The Lost City of the Metal Men. Pretty catchy, right? As you might guess, it’s a lot less dark than the novel I’ve been marketing, Solomon’s Archivist, which, for the moment, I’m putting on a shelf. I’m not going to go into details just yet, because while I’m tempted to launch into a voluminous, sprawling tale of my evolving strategies to attain literary fame, I think the start of a new year is a good place to start a new chapter in my never-ending battle on that particular front. Besides, most of you are rushing to the nearest liquor store right now, desperately grasping for the final remnants of their stocks of Tattinger Brut. Go with God, I say.
So, I hope everyone is safe and has someplace warm and snuggly to spend their New Year’s Eve, and I look forward to sharing my latest tribulations with you, wherever they take me.
Happy New Year!
- Coming up for air
- Moving on…