Just went out and shoveled snow, at least the first round. (I let Robert sleep, because I imagine he had a rough night.) Now that I'm inside, it's snowing even harder.
Yesterday, when I was talking about our both eating white food, I was reminded of a little tradition in my family. In the summers, we all moved to a big house with my mom, her parents, and her mom's parents (and lots of visitors). Every night before dinner, we had a cocktail; I even had little fizzy tablets that were put in a glass of water so that I could have my own cocktail. Very civilized.
My great aunt (my grandmother's sister) and her husband (the one who died recently) kept the same tradition. In my great aunt's older years, she was no longer allowed alcohol. So they continued to have a drink before dinner, except that it was always some kind of tasty juice. My great uncle went off all alcohol during that time. When my great aunt died, my great uncle went right back to his cocktail with alcohol, and kept that up, I believe, until after he'd stopped eating dinner.
[Footnote: when you grow up in an alcoholic household, this type of tradition can no longer hold. We were always looking for blankets in the blanket chest and finding empty bottles in the top layer. My mother could keep liqueur in the house, but no wine or the type of booze that people of that generation typically served to guests. She finally discovered that she could keep alcohol for guests in her shoe closet -- the one hiding place that my step-father never went into. A few years ago, we visited a family friend in her summer place, and we noticed a half-full bottle of scotch on a table. My mother pointed out that you never saw that in our household -- either a half-full bottle, or a bottle out in the open.]
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