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Gingerbread Witch. Photo credit: Karen Kao

Shanghai Noir

I'm feeling quite wicked these days so I must be back to normal. This witch stood in the window of a pastry shop in Zurich, one of many many Christmas delights on display that day. She looks like she might be edible though Hansel and Gretel are clearly not. Perhaps all for the best.

Christmas menus, decorations, groceries, and presents. Yuletide dinners and drinks with all my writing groups. Soon to come: house guests and family feasts. 'Tis the season.

My in-laws have a Christmas tradition involving a hammer and a chocolate house not unlike my witch's home. It used to be that the youngest grandchild had the honor of the first whack. But now that the youngest is well into puberty, it might be the old folks this year who end up grappling for the chance to bring the roof down.

This will be our first Christmas without my mother-in-law. Already, my memories of her are getting fuzzy. For example, I can remember her whizzing around the living room like a witch on a broomstick, eagerly serving us food and drinks. But I have no recollection at all of any of us getting out of our comfy armchairs to help her out. I doubt that we were grateful enough, then or now. 

Memory is one of the topics of this week's blog post. It's also about autofiction which, normally speaking, has nothing to do with cars. It's All About Me is, well, about me. In this case, it's about writing something that might be fiction or might not and not being able to tell the difference. Maybe the witch knows.

Lady Bankers
Fork & Knife
Maps of China
Chain Reaction

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