My friend Genevieve told me today
that every Christmas season she, her husband
and their son build a gingerbread house.
Actually, she said it's more a gingerbread sculpture,
with turrets and drawbridges and spikes and porches
and and and. They work on it for several weeks, adding
layer upon layer of nasty neon-colored candy (which we
whole-heartedly agreed is NOT food), adding rooms
and roofs and entirely new wings. Until, by January 1st,
they tire of it completely, haul it out to the driveway
and set it on fire with blow torches. She said that a lot
of the flaming candy smells really good, but some of it
smells really bad, and it sparks and flares with the most
amazing colors. Cool. My kind of gingerbread.