Four Days Until Christmas
At least my traditional vörtbröd (a traditional rye bread made with brewer´s wort) came out smashing this year, and in triumph I carried part of the loaf to mum-in-law. She had, in spite of near blindness, made a second attempt in as many days to bake hallongrottor (literally: raspberry caves).
She showed me a tin full:
"I think this batch looks much better than the first one."
Well, I could see the raspberry, but no cave; there was a sorry pat of jam on top of a slightly burned, thin layer of flour in the paper baking cups she had used.
"I think you may not have used enough flour", I said.
"But I followed the recipe exactly!"
There was a lot more Christmas spirit at my friend Oscar´s tenth birthday bash, as his mother is a champion decorator and a black-belt shopper. She was particularly happy about the tree this year, and rightly so, I thought.
I am trying to learn how to use my camera better, and this low-light season is very challenging. As you know, the road to proficiency goes uphill and is paved with failure, and I came home with around eighty very, very bad photos. Sometimes, however, a bad photo goes so bad, it turns around and comes back kind of good in an unexpected way. This is, of course, not a sign of improved skill, but rather blind luck.
Today, I have the big pre-Christmas cleaning to do, Sunday is the big Christmas shopping day, and Monday is meatballs and ham frying day. Tuesday, it´s Christmas Eve, which is the Big Day for us in Sweden, when we eat ourselves sick and watch the eternal and obligatory re-run of "Kalle Anka och hans vänner önskar God Jul" (= Donald Duck and his friends wish a Merry Christmas). And drink liters of glögg.