Butter Fudge

I love, love, luuuuuuurve home-made butter fudge. I ate nearly a whole packet of it and have decided that what I want for Christmas is home-made butter fudge to sweeten the palate as I watch numerous episodes of the Waltons.

My book-du-jour, Julie and Julia is splayed open. It's such a truly hedonistic, sybaritic romp, what with the recipes and the butter and the disasters and the crustacean murder and the sucking out of marrows and Julia Childs, and pounds of flesh and David Straithairn and loons on the subway - that I laugh to myself at La Bodega where I wait for Zafrul who is already 30 minutes late and will possibly be more as he is stuck in traffic somewhere in Mahameru.

So I read and chuckle and look up to see Kamal grinning at me. Shirene is upstairs with her Mum having her hair done and little Aki is at the playhouse so he joins me for a latte.

I'm wearing my Santa hat and Kamal wants to know if I'm doing it cos I lost a bet. No, I'm wearing the Santa hat cos I want to rustle me up some Christmas spirit. BSC is bedazzling but that doesn't somehow do the trick. Now I attract furtive smiles and cheeky grins and it is always nice to have strangers flash their teeth at me for no reason, well no reason I can think of until I remember my unconventional headgear.

So Uncle Cody is being courted by Cordelia Hunnicutt. And I have finished one cup of tea. And there are brownies and muffins in the fridge.

And I will be making chocolate chip cookies by the bushel tonight. Truckloads of flour and chocolate chips reposing on the table. And can you believe that all these choc chip cookies are for Julie. Well not for her exactly. For her to give her gym aunties and her gym instructors.

So maybe I'll lie on the sofa and finish my book. And watch another episode of the Waltons.

How does one step through life, jaunty, unafraid, neither timid, nor tentative nor apologising for one's existence?