This morning, as I sit here sipping my eggnog latte, the snow falls gently to the ground. It’s a dry snow, mind you – good for those who must play the role of grownup and shovel walks and driveways, not so good for the building of snowmen. But it’s snow all the same. Even though it’s not set to last, I like to think there’s hope for a white Christmas.
Of course, snow or no, weekends remain filled with festivities. I baked Gateau Mousse au Chocolat for a party on Saturday. The chocolately goodness was more than this girl could take. Which, considering the recipe calls for a pound of chocolate, a pound of butter, and eight eggs, it’s probably a good thing (and I wonder why I can’t lose those pesky pounds).
At that very party was a certain teenager. She’s the granddaughter of a friend – and this is the second time she’s joined us. Us being the the Medieval Society. We’re a hodge-podge of intellects, backgrounds, and personalities all tied together by the intrigue of the middle ages. I know a lot of adults who would not dare to darken the door of such a gathering. But she’s joined us twice. And I do mean join. There’s nary a glare, nary an eyeroll or endless text.
I must admit, this is not what I would expect. The fact is, younger generations get a bad rap. I’m as guilty as anyone in believing it. We see one bad egg and we’re ready to throw out the whole carton. But Saturday, as I watched my friend’s granddaughter, I realized I know more kids who are great individuals, than those who are bad – or even mediocre. So that future we fret and worry over? I do believe it will be handed over to capable hands …