It's The Simple Things That Make Life Great

Is there anything as simple and amazing as sharing dinner with friends and family? We strive to do Saturday or Sunday dinners with friends and family, and I have to tell you there's not much in this world that I enjoy better, sans the occasional minute and a half excursion with the misses.

I have to admit however, that I struggle with one aspect the dinners; We're so blessed to have so many friends that I agonize limiting the number of people who can comfortably attend. I want everybody here and it pains me to have to exclude anyone. We used to do Soprano's Sundays with 18 to 24 people almost every Sunday for as long as the seasons lasted, but it got very chaotic and very expensive. I do have to admit that I loved every minute of it. I used to refer to it as memory making in hopes that the kids would think of the great times that occurred during their childhood week after week.

As you would imagine, many of the meals are Italian. Pasta and gravy, Arincini, sausages onions and peppers and then a few glasses of Limoncello or Sambuca with espresso, they are gastrointestinal marathons.

I'm not quite sure why the post, but I suppose the the purpose of the blog is to share, and the dinners are one place where we excel in sharing.

If you find yourself in the neighborhood, drop us a line and we'll put out a plate for you. I can guarantee you'll leave with a belly full of food that is sore from the laughing. Salute!

Timber!

Some people call New Hampshire during the holidays, "God's Country." This reference is probably not because God likes to buy cheap cigarettes, cheap liquor or the other tax free shopping available in this "Live Free Or Die" state. It's more due to the fact that it's damned right pretty around here during the holidays.

Deb and I shared a special moment yesterday. For the first time in our relationship we sought out and cut down our own Christmas Tree. Now you may be saying that this should be a family event, but the truth is our children have secretly met and reached consensus that their parents are now officially the uncoolest people this, and any side of the Mississippi. They wanted nothing to do with getting the Christmas tree. It's almost like they believe the sole purpose of Christmas is to get presents and eat.

It wasn't a farm, but someone's actual residence that advertised "cut your own trees". We drove down a dirt driveway and found a quaint house with a quaint gentleman standing in his driveway. He had a saw horse with a tin tea canister that had a hand written sign that stated, "pay here." There was also a small selection of hand saws to choose from.

I have to admit that the 27 acres were scenic. It's probably corny to make reference to Norman Rockwell, but that's what it was like. We held hands as we walked by the pond and toward the selection of soft blue pines. Debbie asked me to imagine she and I retired in a similar spot with dogs, camp fires, and all the peace and tranquility that goes along with such places.

We browsed the selection of pines and found the sparsley branched tree that reflected Deb's vision. Again, the classic New England scenery, the hand holding, and the light banter all made for a very romantic atmosphere. Unfortunately this all came to an end when I cut down the tree and dropped it on my wife's head. If this wasn't bad enough, I bonked her in the head again when I was carrying it in the house.

It's the beginning of a Cristmas I'll never forget, and she'll never remember.