In a pleasant holiday note, my publisher said I deserve a break and that I should take it easy for awhile. I thanked him and said Id try to take his advice.

So far, so good. Its Christmas morning, and all Ive done is write up a short recipe for the lentil soup I made yesterday evening, and had a brief chat online with a friend on the East Coast who is also a publisher and editor and, like me, loves to work. To top it off, she also made lentils yesterday, although she said she used a touch of cumin, which I use only when making my rambunctious chili. Generally Im not a big fan of cumin. But it certainly belongs in some dishes; for instance, a lot of Mexican food would seem strange without it. My wife also uses it in her tasty ten-bean soup.

But of course were not having lentils or ten-bean soup for our Christmas dinner, as satisfying and sensible as that would be. Were having the twenty-pound turkey our son received from one of his employers, along with candied yams, a mountain of pilaf, a salad, and two or three other side dishes. No cumin there, either. And my loving bride is busy making pumpkin pies this very moment.

In keeping with my publishers suggestion, Im trying not to add to my main work-in-progess, Songs and Letters. Instead, I think I might type a few more Scottish terms and their definitions into the Robert Burns glossary Ive been working on. But I did look at some of my most recent additions to Songs and Letters just to see if they were still there, I guess. And I suppose I have been thinking about the book a bit. Or maybe its been thinking about me. Sometimes its hard to tell. I say I am writing the book, but it often seems the book is writing me, and I honestly believe that isnt far from the truth.

Other than that, Im not doing a thing. The presents are wrapped and waiting for our adult children to arrive and tear into them just like they did when they were kids. We have a little dry firewood handy, so after awhile Ill build a nice fire. Someone, I trust, will bring a camera. And, as always, I will take as many mental snapshots as I can, even though Im still sorting through those I made when I was a kid.

Also by William Michaelian

Winter Poems

ISBN: 978-0-9796599-0-4
52 pages. Paper.

Another Song I Know
ISBN: 978-0-9796599-1-1
80 pages. Paper.

Cosmopsis Books
San Francisco

Signed copies available

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