This morning I found a post in my drafts folder from almost exactly this date last year. There was only one sentence in this post, just a note I had jotted down:
Simone points and exclaims “Look! It’s Chocolate Santa.”
You see, last year was the first year Simone noticed Santa, and when she first made his acquaintance he had taken the form of a hollow cocoa-based confection. “It’s a chocolate Santa,” we’d told her. And so for the rest of the season whenever she saw Santa’s likeness in a Christmas book or on a bit of holiday decoration, she would get very excited and call him by his name, which she understood to be—you guessed it—Chocolate Santa.
She doesn’t do this anymore, and I had forgotten she ever did until I opened that post draft. This is why, or part of why, I will keep writing here, even when I am tired and hungry and have leftover risotto calling to me from the kitchen, when it is 10:45 and I still haven’t had dinner and I’m right at the denouement of the mystery I’m reading.