My Santa is from Lancaster, Pennsylvania, the land of the Amish. I have to say that, living in the Pacific Northwest, the Amish might as well be a mythical unicorn. There are stories, but you don't really believe that they're out there. Actually, I'm sure there are at least a couple Amish communities around here, but I've never seen nor heard of them.

I did specify in my likes/dislikes that I'm not a huge fan of decorative trinkets. I live in a small space and snowglobes and what-have-you will likely end up in a box under my bed, that I will clean out three years from now, find the snowglobe, look at it, think "What the hell? Well, maybe it's important," put back in the box, find again three years later, think "Where did this even come from? I've never been to Bumfuck, Wherever...oh well, I'm sure it has some sentimental value that I don't remember," put back in the box again, repeat ad nauseum until my great-grandchildren will have to deal with it when I die, hopefully pretending that they recognize it as something special and it will live on their fireplace mantle, to be passed down through generations of my family.

Yeah, I got a little carried away there.

Anyway...my Santa is awesome, does not live in Bumfuck, Wherever and took that in to account, instead sending me an Amish cookbook.

I. Fucking. Love. Cookbooks.

Seriously. I love to bake, cook, look at recipes, and (most of all) eat. I have to admit that I'm pretty excited to note that the book has a rather extensive casserole section. My mother is from the Midwest and casseroles were a large part of her upbringing. She did not neglect to introduce them to me at an early age. I have a healthy appreciation for a good casserole and am thrilled to try some new ones.

Also, pies. Pies pies pies. Pies pies pies pies pies. Mmmmgood.