The
Christmas Truffle Mystery
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In the early morning light, my first thought when I went out
onto my patio was that something was not right. “The Barbarians have landed,” I
said to my faithful pooch, Lola.
As everyone knows, any common, garden-variety Barbarian
comes to pillage. This Barbarian left a bag of Belgian chocolate truffles on my
table. No ribbons. No card. No note. No signature.
Not just one or two truffles. A two-pound bag of Belgian
Truffles! That’s a lot of chocolate! I read the fine print, looking for a clue (no
signature) and looking for legitimacy. The truffles shipped from Belgium.
Not only did the Barbarians invade in the dark of the night
without a sound, they had to get past the vicious, snarling, slavering jowls of
my watchdog and faithful protector and low-tech security system, Lola.
“Lola, did someone dangle a huge hunk of steak through the
gate and you left your post and let them inside? Let me smell your breath.”
Lola clamped her jaws shut and waggled her tail with a look of chagrin. “You
are no help,” I told her grimly.
While my neighbors and I often share around trays of
cookies, slabs of cake or Janet brings plates of her specialty, a loaded pizza,
as a group, we are more thrifty than gifty. We don’t do birthday and Christmas
presents.
I did what I do best. I wrote to my near neighbors, told
them pretty much the above, with the addition that maybe it was that sweet, so
friendly, white-haired man who is one of the garbage pickup crew.
Replies flew back. “Not us.” “Nor us.” “Warn’t we.” And such.
Each one latched onto my white-haired man comment with much speculation. You
can put that one to rest. Stat.
This morning Julie, who lives up the mountain a half-hour
away on bad roads, wrote. She’d come by in the evening when I was probably in
the shower. Julie is a good friend who used to live on the Rancho and Lola wagged
her the go-ahead. These are really creamy, really delicious chocolate truffles,
addictive, no doubt.
Julie suggested I go ahead and indulge in a chocolate high.
What a good idea. I think I will.
Merry Christmas to each and every one, Merry Christmas.
Sondra Ashton HWC:
Looking out my back door December 24,
2025
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