The Toasted Tomato

“So, we’ll watch Elf tonight?”

These words came from my husband this morning as I was blearily spreading Vegemite on toast. I blinked hard and shook my head. Was William actually asking to watch a Christmas movie? Was he planning in advance what movie we would watch?

For the thousandth time this year, I had to pinch myself to make sure I was awake.

But post-pinch, there he was with an expectant look on his face.

“So, Elf then?”

I nodded and handed him his lunch kit.

When it comes to Christmas, people tend to get separated into two camps on a number of topics. Colored lights vs. white lights. Fake tree vs. real tree. One tree vs. five trees. Kenny & Dolly Christmas vs. Mariah Carey Christmas. Turkey vs. ham vs. rib roast. Cheese ball vs. …

Never mind. Everyone agrees on a good cheese ball.

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A few nights ago, we were sitting in the living room when a car pulled into our driveway unexpectedly. Seeing its lights, my instinct was to look around for a place to cower. Being part Grinch and full introvert, I never expect something good will come from an unexpected visit. If I’m honest, I always fight the worry that someone weird is going to come to the door and try to sell me something.

Soon, though, those feelings evaporated and were replaced with ones of pure affection. For it was then that the incredible Meg emerged from her car swinging a festive Christmas bag.

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If you’re looking for a partner in crime to help you indulge in your every last craving this holiday season, look no further, kids, because I am your girl.

You want a candy cane? Suck away. You want gingersnap cookies? How can you not? You want a whole bloody cheese ball? Hell yes you do.

In my world, the very best thing about Christmas is the beautiful food, in large part because the very best thing about living is, again, the beautiful food. So if you feel like you need a green light? You feel like you need to blast away some guilt? You come to me.

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About five months ago, our little dog Fitz decided he loved car rides. It happened suddenly one day when I was getting ready to run a stack of errands. As soon as I picked up my purse, there was Fitz at the back door in determined athletic stance. Then, he turned slightly, jutted out his chin and said, “Yes, mother, I am coming with you.”

So, I picked him up, put him in his car seat (yes, I’m that dog mum) and he immediately sat down, sniffing with satisfaction.

This incident came soon after the first time I took Fitz to University of Tennessee Veterinary Medical Center. Fitz hadn’t been feeling well for a while and, with the help of our incredible vet Dr. Hutchison, we got him scheduled for a brain MRI at UT. The imaging showed Fitz, just 3 years old, had a very large brain tumor, one that we subsequently had treated with radiation.

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It’s the morning of the election. Outside, it’s crisp and quiet, one of those clear days where weather feels permanent, like in a kid’s drawing with a house, a tree and a long-rayed sun in the corner. It’s a little ironic as I’m pretty sure most of us feel stormy instead, wondering what’s going to happen tonight and for the rest of the month.

I’ll admit I feel unqualified to write about the election, which is why I haven’t before. While I am a citizen, I am not from this country and feel like whatever I say will be laced with the bias of my birthplace.

And yet, how do I not write about the political landscape on this day? Do I proceed with the column about pencil sharpeners I’d had in mind? Do I pretend, as I have, that I’m bumping along happily during a pandemic, surrounded daily by political turmoil that doesn’t affect me?

That’s not honest. That would be like standing on the side of the Grand Canyon and electing not to look down. I am too tired — we all are — by the division that cuts through us to pretend.

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So, I was social distance walking (SDWing) with my friend Tina in our subdivision the other day. We’d just reached the halfway mark when a perky SUV slowed down beside us. I quickly recognized it was my extremely friendly neighbor, the same one who brings me fresh rhubarb every summer, the same one who shoots down mistletoe for me so I can use it as decoration for New Year’s Eve.

So, I was all smiles when he pulled up.

“Hey, Tara, you getting ready to sign up for Social Security?”

Confused, I social distance leaned in (SDLI).

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Are you getting ready to sign up for Social Security?”

Then he rubbed his hair with his hand.

And then, aghast, I realized he was joking. Joking about my head full of grey hair.

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This morning, I noticed my old Gourmet magazines on the bookshelf and nearly burst into tears (turns out fall and pandemics make me overly nostalgic). Then I thought of all the magazines that have influenced my life and actually did tear up.

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This afternoon, the dogs and I were in the driveway circling around the biggest box that has arrived at our house in a decade.

It is one of those packages that, even if light, you couldn’t possibly pick up because no one has that kind of arm span. It is almost perfectly square and the white pallet straps have bitten into the cardboard in a few areas. When one of the sweet neighbor boys rode past on his bike, he couldn’t help but ask, “What’s inside that thing anyways?”

The UPS man had delivered it rather stealthily and, frankly, I didn’t blame him. I can imagine with deliveries of this sort, there are plenty of requests from recipients for help, requests that start with “Do you think you could just …” and include the words “dolly” and “stairs.”

So, Tilly, Fitz and I were on our own circling this behemoth and Fitz, at least, was doubtful we were ever getting it inside.

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