One of my great aunts was a real character. In a family of Boston Globe readers, of readers of history and politics and serious authors, she read The Record American, Boston's sleazy tabloid that decades later merged with the far classier Herald, using the up market name but keeping the tabloid ethos and sleaze. My grandfather, her brother, would listen to her expound on the latest sensations found in the rag, only later to shake his head and say, "She is such an ignorant woman." She was also addicted to gangster movies which she watched on TV up into her late 80s, keeping the doors and windows locked as she relished the thrills gotten from that kind of stuff.
We all loved Aunt M., dearly, she was a real character, though she wasn't the deepest thinker in our family. She was a great cook, she'd worked as a professional cook, picking up some interesting methods and ingredients from families of various ethnicities and she was a spectacular seamstress. She could look at a garment someone was wearing and reproduce it just from that, without a pattern, which is a form of genius, it's certainly applied geometry of a very complicated variety. I guess that's where she put her efforts.
The reason I'm bringing her up is that every year she would give up candy for Lent, but every year she would eat fudge, reasoning that "Fudge is fudge, not candy". So, you see, fudging on Lenten resolutions is a bit of a family tradition with us.
On the other hand, there are still more than 300 days left in the year to keep your New Years resolutions. Worth restarting that effort. Or that's what I'm telling myself this morning.
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