It’s been a nice Christmas Eve, despite slicing deep into two fingerpads while washing a food processor swirlyblade. I’m thankful that we didn’t have to spend tonight in the emergency room and that my cyclist fellow keeps gauze in his first aid kit.

We ate sizzling marinated baked tofu, with garlicky sauteed kale and tahini dressing, à la Isa. So yummy, especially followed up with gingerbread snappy cookies from Janet and family. (Janelle’s icing abilities rival her dishwashing prowess.) And we watched a commercial-interrupted but still awesome It’s a Wonderful Life, and I cried a lot.

I had to honor my father’s memory by asking my boy if he wanted to open just one little present tonight. My dad could never wait for Christmas morning for us to open his gifts, and probably was frustrated by my prissy propriety and desire to prolong the anticipation by waiting until The Official Day. (My brother, however, was only too happy to start tearing into things as soon as permission was granted.)

We didn’t open anything, but I wanted to conjure Steve in some small way. I miss him so much. There’s so much I want to tell him. I bet he’d be glad to compare his culinary battle scars with mine and talk about family dinners we’ve shared, pass me the Merthiolate, and try to coax me into opening just one little present.