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Dear friends,

Never has so little been done with so much.

There is plenty to consider, contemplate, share and discuss.  There are interesting changes happening at LuthorCorp -- interesting in a good way, not in a head-tilted, eyes-narrowed, "ohhhhh, you mean *interesting*" way.  I will be doing work that is just absorbing enough to keep me pleasantly distracted, but not so absorbing that I will find my eyes snapping open at 2 in the morning, wondering if I'd made some small screwup that has cost the company billions.  I will be working with a friend, someone I've known for years, a smart and terrific woman (and I'm not just saying that because she is a Friend of PTMYB).  I will be able to take the time I need next year to do more egg research.

There is dinner to consider as well.  Unlike last year, when I was still in mourning for my grandfather and thus not at all inclined to celebrate the holiday, this year I am celebrating in my own particular idiom.  In my fridge is a six-pound bottom round roast, which I bought on Tuesday, brought home, rubbed all over with dark brown sugar and confined to a Rubbermaid tub that takes up half my fridge.  Tonight I came home and made a dry curing mix of salt, black pepper, whole allspice and juniper berries, all crushed together in the Cuisi.  Rub, rub, rub, and back into the fridge.  I will be rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, imbuing my fingertips with the smell of speculaas and gin, for the next two weeks, at which point I will take the roast down to my parents' house.  The night before Christmas Eve, I will roast the roast for five hours in a slow oven.  I will take it out, put it on a board, put another board on top of it and press down on it, hard, while Lloyd ties the boards together.  The beef will pack down overnight in the fridge; when we take it out on Christmas Eve, we will be able to slice it into whisper-thin, nearly translucent slices.

Let's not forget why I'm here:  there will be baking, too.  Lloyd did a partial ingredient run for me last weekend, and I will be picking up the rest tomorrow after work, the better to spend my weekend in a dreamy swoon of almonds and rum, cardamom and brown sugar, almond paste and sour cherries, pecans and bourbon, chocolate and coconut and candied ginger and macadamia nuts.  I will pack it all up, wrapped individually to prevent crumbling, pack it next to jar after jar of preserves, all to be sent out into the world.

There is general news of the world, tales of rogues and scoundrels, always good for a pre-Christmas rant.  There is news of friends, good news, bad news, and plenty of love and wishes in either case.  It is, to paraphrase Stan Freberg, a grand, grand world, and at this moment I am at a total loss for words.  Dear friends, I am sorry.