July in Christmas

I was not feeling particularly festive, despite the rapidly approaching holidays. I tried cranking up Trans Siberian Orchestra, spattering garland and stockings and candles around my apartment, and dragging out the tree, and... ugh. Nothing. There just doesn't seem to be much Christmas spirit going around. Or even Hanukkah spirit, for that matter.

I refused to decorate the tree myself. In my family, it's always been kind of a big deal. Everyone had to be home to participate. The ornaments were unpacked and laid out, and everyone had their assigned group to hang. Cookies and spiced cider (with or without rum) were served, carols were played... it was truly a holiday event. Obviously living hundreds of miles away from my family, my own little tree doesn't get such special treatment, but the past couple years I've had a helper. Thinking about decorating my tree solo reminded me of how much I miss Randy, how hard long distance relationships are, and how much I wish things were just back to normal, our "normal," our routine. Faced with lack of family and lack of lover, tree decorating seemed like a chore, and I had no desire to do it.

Thankfully, I have some pretty great friends, who are basically the closest thing to family I can get around here. They were easily recruited for a tree decorating event by the promise of Great Lakes Christmas Ale (imported from Cleveland by my mother, and essentially liquid gold) and the weekly cake. I hoped a little company, good food, and good beer could spark some holiday spirit.


The cake was a lemon polenta pound cake. The recipe is fairly simple, except for zesting the lemons. I'd like to know who the first person was that decided to use "zest" in anything. I'd like to find him or her and give him or her a swift kick. I also discovered that baking soda boxes should probably come with no-slip grips, since somehow my box flew from my hand and went crashing to the floor, creating a beautiful blanket of snow all over my kitchen, complete with little footprints. Quite festive. In a quite irritating way. Clearly baking the cake did little for my holiday spirit.


But once Chris, Tim and Maureen arrived, Christmas music was playing, Santa hats were donned, and Christmas Ale and cake were served, my spirits did pick up a bit. The cake was perfect--crispy brown crust on the outside and a crumbly yet moist nearly neon yellow inside, with a bright, fresh, lemony flavor. It was a like a burst of sunshine in the cold December weather, and provided just enough extra warmth to kick the festivities into high gear. So the tree was decorated, Christmas Ale consumed, and lemon polenta pound cake enjoyed by all. I'm feeling more Rudolph than Grinch now, so bring on the holidays!