[Subject line from Alison Luterman's "Driving Through Heavy Fog"]

The doctors who specialize in end-of-life care are among my heroes. This New York Times article by Anemona Hartocollis delves into some of the challenges they must deal with. It's an unusually long article for the Times (in the print edition, it took up part of the front page and an inside double-spread) but one of the most e-mailed over the past 24-hours, according to their stats.

(For new/sporadic readers of this space, this entry will give you some background on my own experience with the issue so far.)

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Last week was a mix of grim and happy. Grim included learning about one friend's diagnosis of cancer and more surgery being scheduled for another; happy included participating in several celebrations, and doing a fair amount of cooking and baking: my pie mojo is completely AWOL at the moment (the attempt at cream pie was a messy failure (*), and my quiches were passably edible but decidedly not giftable), but bacon-wrapped dates turn out to be quite easy (**) and leftover beef bourguignon - nom, nom, nom.

(*) The meringue sure looked pretty, though. Sigh.
(**) The recipe I used was basically this: wrap pitted dates in half-slices of bacon, bake 10-15 minutes at 350 F. It turned out to need more like 30 minutes, and next time I'll probably set the oven to 400 F or even to "broil." And I'd whipped up a plate of deviled eggs beforehand, so the guests were fine with the extra wait, so all was well.

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Recent bookmarks:

Alison Luterman
on being Jewish during the Christmas season (among other things). Specifically:

I don't feel particularly resentful about Christmas this year. In fact, what I feel mostly about Christmas is a big sense of relief; here is a holiday that I don't have to "do." I get to just sit back and watch. Pretty lights, some nice music, some shmaltzy and unbearable music, but I am free--free most of all from expectations.

December twenty-fifth doesn't have to be magical or fulfilling or anything for me. it's okay if it's ordinary. I can enjoy a walk around the lake or a movie or just a grilled cheese sandwich as much or more than people who have made a big fuss. I love the un-fussiness of my December 25th compared to the extreme fuss that the culture at large seems to need.

Paula on holiday greetings.

At this year's Yuletide fanfic fest, there is a 1000-word story called POEM, which is about Edward Gorey and Frank O'Hara taking a road trip together in 1948. Its opening paragraphs:

Listen, Ted. Enough. Enough with the alphabet already. We believe that you know it. Friday night, six inches of snow. (But that's CAMBRIDGE IN DECEMBER.)

There has to be a party somewhere. Something that doesn't involve tiny detailed black and white drawings of people who don't actually exist.

GLEE!