Fondue and Frogs

We ate fondue from Trader Joe's last night (thank you, Jesus, for Trader Joe's!) with crusty bread and a green salad. I wish I could say the conversation was interesting, but it consisted of both boys telling some inane joke using the word sausage so many times in you can imagine gross ways, that I finally croaked out STOP! And I mean croaked, because my voice is completely gone. The webinar I moderated the other day took the last audible sound out of me, so now I croak. I'd say it sounds husky and sexy, but it doesn't. And I can't yell at my kids. I guess I'll have to start spanking them. :)

Here's a poem that my dear friend Tanya sent me the other day. It's a perfect one for the season:

In Dark December 

            ~ Ralph Murre

Whatever you believe,
whatever you do not,
there are sacred rites
you must perform
in dark December.
Do this for me:
Pull together
the kitchen table,
the folding table,
and that odd half-oval
usually covered
with bills and broken pencils
and red ink.
Pull together family and friends,
cool cats and stray dogs alike.
Turn off everything
except colored lights,
the roaster,
the toaster, the stove.
Cook.  Bake.  Eat.
Yes, even the fruitcake.
Eat, crowded around
those assembled tables
with mismatched chairs.
Reach so far
in your sharing
that you hold the sun
in one hand,
the stars in the other,
and no one between is hungry.
Now walk together,
talk together,
be together
on these darkest nights.
Give and forgive.
Light candles and ring bells.
Sing the old songs.
Tell the old stories
one more time,
leaving nothing out,
leaving no one out
in the long night,
leaving nothing wrong
that you can make right.