Before we went home for Christmas, Tom and I were grabbing some dinner down the street when I asked him: “Do you think this was a good year?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” he said, nodding–then stopped and looked at me with that expression he gets when he suspects I’m setting a trap. “Don’t you?”

No trap here. I actually rather loved oh-nine, speed bumps and all (especially compared to 2008, which sort of pooped on my carpet, Todd Packer-style): I saw girlfriends in New York and Philadelphia and Ohio. We went to Mystic and Rockport and Lake George. I spent time on the deck and in front of the fire, on mountains and on beaches and riding shotgun in cars. I wandered around farmers markets, tried a CSA for the first time, and  made a lot of tasty dinners. I spoke up at work, and finagled myself a schedule that leaves me time to do the stuff I actually want to do. I wrote 50,000 words. I got a few of ’em published. I planned big plans.  2009 was a rebuilding year, for sure–and I am facing 2010 feeling, well…built.

Bring it on, universe.

I am so ready.

When I think back on Christmas and New Years 2009, I have the feeling I’m going to remember myself in the kitchen–where I spent hours at a stretch, happily mixing and chopping and rolling while friends and family wandered in and out, settling in at the table with red wine or iced coffee, helping with frosting and stealing batter out of bowls. There were cookie bags and boxes, a back to basics Alice Waters apple tart and a (cheater) Betty Crocker Christmas cake.

Particular winners this go-round included Deb’s fig and walnut biscotti (I swapped out golden raisins and they were delicious) and pumpkin muffins (used butternut squash–shocker–and made them in GIANT, delightful muffin tins) , Orangette’s chocolate chip ginger molasses cookies, and these parmesan shortbreads (which taste like cheddar goldfish but are oh-so-swank). We tried Martha’s pan roasted chicken (meh, the cook times were off) and her basic chicken soup (OH YUM). A family recipe for walnut crescents. Scrambled eggs. Snickerdoodles. Cheddar-topped cornbread. Mint brownie ice cream sandwiches. So. Much. Food.

We’re going to have to be taking it a little easier in January: we’re headed to Mexico in March, and shaving a little off the middle is tops on my list of Things to Do in 2010. Still, I had a ball making all this stuff, sharing it all with the people I love. It felt good. It always does.

Tell me what you made for the holidays.

And good morning to you, brand new decade.

It is so nice to see you both.

The holidays were lovely, full of good eats and old friends and singing in the car with my sister (my number one favorite New York activity. One of these days we are going to take our act on the road). We saw White Christmas in town with my dad. I ate the most delicious walnut and sun-dried tomato pesto courtesy of my uncle. And my mom remains the world’s best sous-chef, always one step ahead of me, always right there to help out. Thanks for a very merry, family. All things considered, you’re pretty okay.

As if that wasn’t aces enough, as soon as I got back to Boston two of my most beloved girlfriends dropped in right out of the sky, ready to drink wine and make chicken soup and shop the Semi-Annual Sale. We cuddled and baked and told secrets and watched movies and figured out how to use my new food processor (holy moly, you guys, it has a juicer) and generally spent a lot of time loving on each other. How did I get so lucky, to have so many amazing women in my life? I must have been very good somewhere along the line.

And now, ten spankin’ new years to write on. How sweet is that? There are resolutions (of COURSE there are), and delicious new recipes to tell you about, and a quick recap, before we get too far ahead, of everything that was incredible about 2009.  There are books to read and letters to write and boyfriends to kiss. There are songs to sing in the car at the top of my lungs with my sister on snowy roads.

I’m a grownup in this decade. I am facing it in my best, most hopeful, most powerful pair of grownup shoes.

Actually, right now I’m facing it barefoot in my pajamas. But you know what I mean.

Happy January, loves.

Six different kinds of cookies (details to come, but suffice it to say that 2009’s is a Very Smitten Christmas) into the office and into the mail. Bathroom is clean. Suitcase is packed (almost). Shopping is done (kind of). Books are picked out (The Mambo Kings Sing Songs of Love, The Lacuna, Shopgirl). Camera is dead (must buy batteries). One more veg pickup this afternoon, plus two packages waiting at the post office (my contacts I hope I hope). Amy at work made me the most hilarious calendar I have ever seen.  Ten thousand errands left to run. A couple of Pandora hours left to use up. Got my boots on. Need a latte.

Back next week with a 2009 roundup. In the meantime: merry, merry, merry. I’m going home.

Dear Mad Men:

I don’t care that everyone likes you, I think you’re boring and offensive. And if that’s what the sixties were actually like, I suspect I would have found them boring and offensive, too.

No love,

Katie

PS: I guess the clothes are pretty nice.

001. We are snowed in. Like, for real. We live in a city, and we’re not even plowed. 

001a. This wouldn’t be a problem except that we are OUT OF COFFEE. I’m trying to decide if it’s worth risking death by snowdrift to go remedy that. Seriously, it’s like Sophie’s Choice over here. 

002. Is Giada pregnant again? She looks like she might be. Although right now she’s making a fruit salad dressed in butter, so maybe she’s just been wandering down the hall to hang out with Paula Deen. 

003. Doughs in the fridge waiting to be turned into workplace goodies: three. Doughs still left to put together: three. Number of doughs containing butternut squash: one. But that’s only cause I made more scones yesterday. 

004. I finished Beloved last night. I cried when I got to the line about Paul D wanting to put his story next to Sethe’s. Other than that, I feel like maybe somebody needs to talk me through what happened in this book. I’m the most fraudulent Lit major EVER. 

005. Dinner with old roommates. Brunch with old friends. Crazy-lady writing jags. Presents wrapped in the funny pages. Fireplace. Naps. Peace. Quiet.

How was everybody’s weekend?

Christmas postcards, 2009. Done and done.

I cleaned my oven for the very first time tonight. It smelled something fierce, but oh man my oven is so clean now! Come over and I’ll bake you something and muck it all up again.

I have to say, it’s starting to feel pretty festive around here–Abbey’s Hannukah party was a potato-pancake filled delight, complete with apple turnovers and a Menorah lighting. I had never lit a Menorah before, you guys! Which was surprising, based on the number of Jewish boyfriends I have had in my twenty-four years, but somehow my timing was never quite right. 

And after talking about it for six years, last night we finally made it to the Holiday Pops, which was lovely in its way–a little fusty, maybe, but that’s the risk you run. We bookended the night with drinks at Top of the Hub and the end of the Moe Pope show at Church, then topped the whole thing off with some  takeout from Parish. Best part: bed by twelve-thirty. Hi, Christmas season. I am loving you this year.

Tonight: Charlie Brown,  Winter Warmers, and Italian mac and cheese.

Who has two thumbs and wrote 1400 words of fiction this weekend?

THIS GUY.

I won’t say that the drought is over, but I will say that it drizzled some.

I spent most of the weekend in front of the computer, which means that not very much else got done, although I did get some shopping in. Plus I made some disappointing butternut squash soup  that will inevitably sit in the fridge for a week until I finally admit defeat and throw it out. I told Sierra last night that I can’t figure out if I’m bad at making soup, or I just don’t like soup. Further investigation is necessary.

This week: Holiday Pops! Christmas shopping with my favorite ten-year-old. Bread pudding, walnut crescents, slogging through Beloved and trying not to sob openly on the T. Sending and receiving. Peppermint mochas with whipped cream on top of them. And maybe–maybe–some more time with the writing.

Happy holidays, kiddos.