Here’s the Good News I Promised!

I always have mixed feelings about the winter solstice — on one hand it means winter is officially here, but on the other hand it’s the beginning of the end of winter. I know, it’s confusing to me, too.

But today? Today is good.

Remember the awesome news I promised you today?

Christmas Fudge and Misremembered Snow Cream

Do you recognize that font? Because you should recognize that font. That is the font of The New York Times. And that’s my name right there. My byline.

It’s been an interesting ride to this point. I first wrote this piece nearly three years ago — way too late to submit anywhere for that winter. Last year, I remembered it just after Christmas and submitted it to the editor at The New York Times, hoping it was “winter” enough to not be too late. She wrote me back immediately saying that she loved it, but that it really should have run just before Christmas. So, I saved it for this year, and in September I sent it to her again. She replied quickly and said, “Oh yes! Let’s do this!!”

The amazing thing is that while we were working on edits, it snowed a foot in Durham and the snow was still there on the 20th anniversary of my granny’s death. So what had been pegged to a snow three years ago was updated to be current, and only served to make the piece better.

And yes, we did make both sorts of snow cream. I preferred the kind I thought was our tradition — sweetened condensed milk over snow. Lorelei liked that one best, too. Rowan called them all “sugar” and just wanted more of whichever I’d give him.

I have been wearing my granny’s gloves for 20 years. There are very few things I have kept up with for 20 years and nearly as many moves. Are there people who fix gloves? If not, I suppose I can sew the fingertip back together a patch on the worn out part on the palm.

I got basically no sleep last night. I wasn’t sure what time they would put it up, so every time I woke up I checked my phone. I had stress dreams all night about things going wrong. That there was a terrible photo instead of art drawn for the piece. That the whole thing was completely different than how I had written it. That Marie snuck in and stole the hard copy so I could make edits, but then I was worried we’d get in trouble for that.

A lost night’s sleep is totally worth it. And I knew it was coming — I even wrote a parody poem about it yesterday evening.

Twas five nights before Christmas, the edits were done
Anticipation ran high, too anxious for fun
Oxford commas removed, I can’t even care
Though it does feel mistaken, flawed, and unfair
Tonight I will nestle all snug in my bed
While visions of misfortune dance in my head
All that could go wrong, that could mess up my big day
And my brain will worry that this good luck will not stay
What time will they post it, maybe midnight or six?
Will there be any typos I’ll ask them to fix?
Away to my browser, I’ll fly like a flash
There in the New York Times, my childhood rehashed
We go by memories but we never can know
Which milk do we pour on the new-fallen snow?

Of course, this sort of thing always begs the question… now what?