There’s everybody’s suspicion that what you do on New Year’s day, you do all year. Good, bad, true, I don’t know. But just in case, I’ve been being good, baking home-made cinnamon rolls with a ton of cardamom in them, from here, and baking bread from here, and washing clothes and dishes and being a good – well, at least slightly better housekeeper than I’ve been in the past. And knitting, finishing a sweater that I started years ago.

All of which I should have taken pictures of (Remember; blogging equals willful disregard of grammatical canon.). But since I didn’t, I’ll show you some stuff I did take pictures of. Some stuff of which I did take pictures. (See? It loses all romance.)

One of my favorite lake-views, and the beach we bobbed at last summer.

Gingerbread cookies, made from cutters that were made to look like somebody had already taken a bite. Which I couldn’t eat. Because they had faces on them. Fortunately, they weren’t all decorated to look like little people with lives and stories and everything, so I was able to eat some of them. And there were a few that were put out of their misery quickly by having their heads removed, and then eaten. And of course there were the ones that were made with no heads. They went down quite nicely, thank you.

Sometimes I think I might be, well, odd.