What are you doing New Year's Eve?

I finally got a chance to check out the After Christmas sales. It was pretty slim pickings. I did buy some red and white Christmas lights for the front railings. One of my red sets burned out this year. Target had these neat sets with red, clear, and frosted white lights. Now my railings can look like candy canes too!

My collards are cooked and I made some Hoppin John, so I think we're covered as far as food and superstitions for tomorrow. I couldn't find any local farmers selling collards, so I finally just bought some from Food Lion. Dad laughed at me. "You were that determined to have collards?" "I see no point in tempting fate," I replied. Besides which, I like collards.

If I hadn't seen the Carolina football game for myself last night, I'd never have believed it. I'm glad we won, but it sure was a bizarre game. It definitely proves that it's never over til it's over.

I plan to do very little tomorrow except indulge myself. First there's the Tournament of Roses Parade which I love. Then there's the Winter Classic outdoor ice hockey game, provided it doesn't rain. You can't play hockey outdoors in the rain. Hopefully the weather will cooperate because it's fun watching them play outside and I'm a Sidney Crosby fan, even if he's not a Hurricane. Then the Hurricanes game is on tv tomorrow night.

As for what I'm doing New Year's Eve, I'm about to settle in with a book and an ice hockey game. I plan to be in bed asleep when the ball drops in Times Square. It would be really nice if no one in the neighborhood would set off fireworks. Otherwise I'll be seeing the New Year in whether I want to or not when I have to crawl out of bed to coax Dillon out of the closet.

Success!

As you can see, Dad got to Rocky Mount yesterday and they did still have the Norman Rockwell print he wanted. I had no idea it was quite so large. I asked him this morning where he planned on putting it. "Right where it is, every Christmas" was the reply. "I have no problem with it being there every Christmas, but what about the rest of the year?"

"Isn't the Christmas spirit supposed to go on throughout the year?" was his reply. "I'm all in favor of Christmas spirit, but Christmas decorations don't stay out all year." "I thought it would brighten up the fireplace during the month of January." "I'll concede it can stay up through January. I'll even let you go through Valentine's Day. But after that, it has to find a new home. Isn't it lucky you have a big storage shed out back? And why is the stocking partially covering Santa's face?" "I didn't want to upset your arrangement."

I shifted the stockings and centered the print so that Santa is now on full display and Dad can enjoy the view from his chair. "They had a different print last Christmas. It was twice as big. I don't know where people were supposed to put it." Thank goodness he realized a life-size Santa print would be too much of a good thing.

The repairman was here first thing this morning to install the new timer in my washer. Great timing because Wednesday is laundry day. I'm running my first load now. Fingers crossed that this fix will hold. Dad was a bit disappointed to realize that he was going to have to change the sheets on his bed after all.

Dad really likes the See's sugar free peanut brittle. He hasn't tried the dark chocolate walnuts yet. I wish they'd come out with a full assortment, but it's nice to find some good sugar free candy for special occasions. I ordered it on-line, but they do set up kiosks in larger malls at Christmas.

Those were the days

I liked living alone, just me and my dog. I could eat what I wanted, when I wanted. I didn’t have to stick to a schedule or worry about anyone else. I don’t know if all males are so helpless and hardheaded or just the ones that I live with, but I swear to God, it’s a wonder I’m not a lesbian. Why anyone would voluntarily subject herself to living with the male of the species is a mystery to me.

I will admit that Dad stayed in the house more than I expected yesterday. He left the job of fetching the morning paper to me. Of course, when I came back inside with only the N&O hand, he wanted to know whether the Herald was out there. Did he think I had deliberately overlooked it just to annoy him? I had already diligently searched for any unexplained lumps underneath the snow in the general vicinity of where the paper should have been located.

About mid-morning, he asked if it was okay with me if he lit the gas logs. They were his idea when he moved in. I was just fine with a real fire. I’m not a big fan of gas logs, but since he’s not adept at building or managing a real fire, I bowed to the inevitable. The logs have been a pain since the day they were installed. You don’t have to worry about real logs leaking, or the pilot light going out, causing your house to explode.

For some unknown reason, I’m guessing cost, he bought logs that have to be turned on manually instead of by remote control. Why anyone thought it was a good idea to design a product that can only be turned on and off by sticking your hand practically into the flames is beyond me. Dad doesn’t use the logs often, probably because they’re a pain to turn on and off, so whenever he does decide to turn them on, he always manages to turn the knob in the wrong direction and extinguish the pilot light as opposed to lighting the fire. Then he has to search for the instruction manual to figure out what to do next and we spend the next 20 minutes or so trying to relight the stupid things. It’s not a pretty sight.

After going through all that, he enjoyed the fire for the rest of the day. About 6 p.m., he was ready to turn the logs off. That’s a more dangerous procedure than turning them on. After they’ve been burning for hours, the metal frame around the fireplace is extremely hot so you have to be careful not to touch it in order to avoid burning yourself. That makes it even more difficult to reach into the fireplace to grasp the knob, positioned under the grate, to turn the gas off.

Dad put on his leather glove, reached in, and immediately yanked his hand back out. He couldn’t reach the knob without touching the frame. I was already envisioning another trip to the emergency room. After several attempts, he decided to place a towel over the frame. I thought that was an incredibly stupid thing to do. What was to stop the towel from catching fire? He insisted that he could do it. I starting debating whether it was better to run for a fire extinguisher or put 911 on speed dial.

Even with the towel, he couldn’t reach the knob. I was beginning to think we were just going to have to leave the stupid logs burning. He wanted me to try. I’ve never operated them because they weren’t my idea and I dislike the thought of inserting my hand into a small confined space, surrounded by flames, and messing with a knob attached to a gas line. At this point, there seemed to be no viable alternative, so after telling him how stupid it was to have gas logs that couldn’t be operated with a remote control, I was obviously channeling my mother, I sucked it up, carefully inserted my hand into the fireplace and managed to turn the logs off without going up in flames myself. Another unnecessary crisis averted.

This morning, I got up to find him sitting in his chair watching the CBS morning news. To my amazement, although he was wearing his boots, he hadn’t yet gone out to fetch the paper. I suited up and trudged out to get it. Then I had to go out with Dillon because someone was hunting somewhere along the power line right-of-way and he won’t go outside when shots are being fired. While I applaud his caution, he does still need to go out to take care of business.

After finally coaxing Dillon off the porch, he still refused to pee. He’d left one of his new tennis balls on the porch steps last night and when he went down, he knocked it off the step, back under the porch. He stood staring at the ball, which he couldn’t reach, and refused to move. I went back in the house to get Dad’s reacher tool. After I rescued the tennis ball, he wanted to play. I had to throw it a couple of times before he finally got down to business.

I went back inside looking forward to an easy day. Our office was already scheduled to be closed today for the holiday. I had nowhere to go and planned on a nice, relaxing day. I should have known better. I noticed Dad had his bag of medicine bottles out. He planned on going to the doctor’s office. That was annoying enough, but then he announced he was going to Rocky Mount. He’d seen a Norman Rockwell Christmas print at Tuesday Morning and he figured it would be on sale now.

I was so mad I couldn’t see straight. That didn’t stop my mouth. I informed him in no uncertain terms that I thought that was a stupid idea. The secondary roads and parking lots are still going to be covered in ice. 95 may be clear, but the traffic is still going to be heavy with people trying to get home after the holiday. He told me he could do it, he didn’t plan on having an accident. I pointed out that no one left home planning to have an accident.

If I’d known he was so unconcerned about his health and welfare, I wouldn’t have spent the past week coughing into my arm, practically washing the skin off my hands, and disinfecting everything I touched to keep him from catching my cold. I finished off with, “If you have a wreck or fall and hurt yourself, I’m not coming to get you, I’d not going to visit you, and I’m not going to take care of you. I don’t care if you break both legs; you’re going to have to look out for yourself.”

He went out to the garage. When he came back, he had a receipt in his hand. He said that since I was going to worry, if I called Tuesday Morning and got them to agree to hold the picture until tomorrow that he’d wait until then. After throwing myself at her mercy and laying it on thick about my elderly father, the nice girl at Tuesday morning told me that their parking lot was still icy and that yes, she’d hold the picture until then. If something goes wrong and he doesn’t get that picture, it’ll be all my fault.

I pointed out that he could have paid full price for the print before Christmas, when there was no snow on the ground, and still come out about the same by the time you add in the additional expense of a second trip to Rocky Mount. He informed me that he’d paid full price for my Minnie Mouse cookie jar, which also came from Tuesday Morning, or else he could have afforded the print. That’s not true, it just goes against his nature to pay full price for something he thinks he can get on sale later. I asked if he’d like to return my cookie jar and see if he could get it half-price. That was the only one they had or else he’d probably have tried it.

He's gone to the bank now. Maybe he needs to take out a loan to pay for my cookie jar? I’m not cut out for the role of caregiver.

Winter wonderland?

Last time I measured, we had 9 inches of snow. It looks like a postcard. I've swept Dad's car off 3 times today. About half an hour ago, I heard the garage door go up. I looked out the front window and he was scraping the windshield. Apparently my sweeping wasn't thorough enough. Since we weren't planning on going anywhere, I wasn't looking for perfection.

The next thing I knew, he was in the backyard trying to wrestle a dead limb out of a tree. It broke off earlier in the summer and had been stuck up in the tree, too high for us to reach, ever since. The dead leaves still attached to the branches made it unsightly. The snow had weighed things down enough so that he just could reach the lower tip. I went to find my boots to see if I could help, or failing that, take pictures of the action.

My boots weren't where I thought I'd left them. I searched everywhere I could think of, no boots. Then I took another look at Dad. He had on a nice looking pair of black boots that came up almost to his knees. I looked a little closer. They were a really nice looking pair of black boots.

I went out on the porch and started yelling and gesturing, "Are those my boots?" Why yes, they were. His weren't tall enough, so he commandeered mine, without even asking. I stood looking out the den window fuming until he got back inside.

"I didn't hurt them," he said. "They'll probably never fit the same," I replied. "Besides, I was going to come out and help, except I couldn't without my boots." He just laughed. "It was tough getting that limb down." "Yeah, I kept expecting you to fall on your butt. Then I'd have gotten frostbite coming to your aid since you had my boots." He doesn't understand boundaries.

My jolly ole elf

He looks quite festive, don't you think? Those are Santas and Christmas trees on his suspenders. He's also wearing red socks with Santas at the ankle. By tomorrow, he'll have broken out the All I got for Christmas was this stupid hat cap. Santa was very good to us this year. Dad got a universal remote garage door opener, See's sugar free peanut brittle and chocolate covered walnuts, a subscription to BookPage magazine, and flannel drawers.

I got a Minnie Mouse cookie jar to join the Mickey that Santa brought last year. Plus a really cute Christmas ceramic travel mug featuring Mickey and Minnie. Then there was a collection of Royal Doulton bird figurines for my kitchen windowsill. Dad said he had to go to Wilson and Rocky Mount to get the complete collection. He thought they'd be nice for the summer.

I also got a couple of cookbooks. Do you suppose he's trying to tell me something? I had to laugh when I opened one of the books and the recipe was for Vietnamese Chicken Salad. I can imagine the look on his face if I tried to serve that.

Dillon is very happy with his new tennis balls. They actually bounce, so when I threw the first one down the yard, he had to pull an Air Jordan move to catch it. Of course, he was also very interested in the Hershey's kisses Santa brought. They're now on top of the entertainment center, well out of his reach.

They're still calling for major snow here, so I made a quick run for more milk. I've never seen so many people at Walgreen's. We should be all set now. We've got plenty of food, medicine, toilet paper, and books. All the necessities of life.

Merry Christmas?

As you can see, Santa did pay us a visit last night. The last thing Dad said before he went to bed last night was that he hoped the big man with the white beard would stop by. Of course, we still don't know if he left us good stuff or only switches and coal. This is not a "before" picture. Our presents are still waiting beneath the tree. Dad is at the emergency room trying to get his prescriptions.

Thursday night, the weatherman was calling for around an inch of snow. Last night, he'd upped the stakes to 2-4 inches. This morning, he's saying we may get 5-9 inches of snow tonight and tomorrow. If it snows 5-9 inches, Dad's doctor will not be open on Monday and possibly not even on Tuesday. Even if he could get a prescription, the pharmacy's may not be open. It was time to go to plan B.

I knew the emergency room would be open. Thank goodness we live in a town with a hospital. Walgreen's is open 24 hours a day, but I wasn't sure if they'd have a pharmacist on hand on Christmas Day. I called at 7:15 a.m. and a cheery voice answered the phone, "Walgreen's pharmacist." I asked if they'd have a pharmacist available to fill prescriptions all day. He assured me that they would. Now all I had to do was convince Dad to follow my plan.

After wishing Dad, "Merry Christmas!", I asked him what the medication that was about to run out was for. Prostate. That's what I was afraid of. You don't mess around with his prostate medicine or there are severe repercussions. I told him he could do what he wanted, but if it was me, I'd go to the emergency room, get them to write him a prescription to hold him until he could get back to the doctor and then go to Walgreen's and get it filled. I didn't think the emergency room would be too crowded if he went fairly early on Christmas Day. Then I went to fix breakfast.

After we finished our cheese and biscuits, he announced that if it was okay with me, he was going to the emergency room. "You had a pretty good idea," he said. Gee, it really is the season of miracles. I figured I'd have to issue increasingly dire threats as the day went on before he'd see the wisdom of my suggestion. If we get a big snow, this town will shut down and then we'll be in a real mess. I suggested he try to get a prescription for each of the medications he's low on instead of risking running out.

He took a book and has been gone for about an hour. He said if they wouldn't give him the prescriptions, he'd say he felt a heart attack coming on so they should admit him. I told him if he did, to call me and I'd come check on him after I opened my presents. Hopefully everything will go as smoothly as possible and he'll still have some Christmas spirit left when he gets back. He looked like a Christmas elf in his plaid flannel shirt and Santa suspenders. Since everyone usually raves about what a cute little man he is, the elf look should work in his favor.

I'm still hoping for a Merry Christmas.

Update: 10:11 a.m.

Dad just returned with a bag full of medicine bottles. He said everyone couldn't have been nicer. He was the only patient in the waiting room and they got him in and out quickly. Hooray! Now I can stop worrying and just enjoy the holiday. I'm getting ready to put the turkey in the oven and take Dillon for a walk.

Merry Christmas!

Christmas Eve

Waiting for Santa-1961

In the true spirit of the season, here are my favorite poems for Christmas Eve.

This poem is said to record a Christmas incident of the year 687.

A Christmas Service

Eddie, priest of St. Wilfrid,
In his chapel at Manhood's End,
Ordered a midnight service
For such as cared to attend.

But the Saxons were keeping Christmas,
And the night was stormy as well.
Nobody came to service
Though Eddie rang the bell.

"Wicked weather for walking,"
Said Eddie of Manhood's End.
"But I must go on with the service
For such as care to attend."

The altar lamps were lighted,
An old marsh-donkey came
Bold as a guest invited,
And stared at the glittering flame.

The storm beat in at the windows,
The water splashed on the floor,
And a wet, yoke-weary bullock
Pushed in through the open door.

"How do I know what is greatest?
How do I know what is least?
That is my father's business,"
Said Eddie, Wilfrid's priest.

"But three are gathered together,
Listen to me and attend,
I bring good news, my brethren,"
Said Eddie of Manhood's End.

Then he told the ox of a Manger
And a stall in Bethlehem.
And he spoke to the ass of a Rider
That rode to Jerusalem.

They steamed and dripped in the chancel,
They listened and never stirred.
While, just as though they were Bishops,
Eddie preached them the word.

'Till the gale blew off the marshes,
And the windows showed the day,
And the ox and the ass together
Wheeled and clattered away.

And when the Saxons mocked him,
Said Eddie of Manhood's End,
"I dare not shut his chapel
On such as care to attend."

-Rudyard Kipling


The Oxen

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
‘Now they are all on their knees,’
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
‘Come; see the oxen kneel,

‘In the lonely barton by yonder comb
Our childhood used to know,’
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.

-Thomas Hardy


Christmas Promise

This message from the Loma tribesmen of Liberia translated by a missionary tells us something about the true spirit of Christmas.

Whoever on the night of the celebration of the birth of Christ
Carries warm water and a sleeping mat to a weary stranger,
Provides wood from his own fire for a helpless neighbor,
Takes medicine to one sick with malaria,
Gives food to children who are thin and hungry,
Provides a torch for a traveler in the dark forest,
Visits a timid friend who would like to know about Christ,
Whoever does these things will receive gifts of happiness
Greater than that of welcoming a son returning after a long absence,
And though he live to be so old that he must be helped into his hammock,
And though his family and friends all die
So that he stands as a trunk stripped of branches,
Yet life will be sweet for him, and he will have peace,
As one whose rice harvest is great, and who hears his neighbors
Praise the exploits of his youth, So will you receive happiness
If you do these acts of love and service
On the night of the celebration of Christmas, the birth of Christ.

Merry Christmas!

Go ahead and add my name to the naughty list

Because if Santa can read my mind, there's no doubt about where I belong. I have a bad cold leaving me with a nose as red as Rudolph and sounding sort of like he did when his parents made him wear the fake black nose. The runny nose and constant sneezing makes cooking a real pain. I've lost count of how many times I've had to stop to sneeze, cough, or blow my nose and then wash my hands to hopefully prevent the contagion from spreading.

My washer decided to go on the fritz again last night. It started making that same buzzing noise it did before and wouldn't advance to the spin cycle. Dad stayed in the den until the washer cut off, apparently to confirm that it was in fact broken again, and then instructed me to call the repairman as he walked out the door to go watch tv. He made no offer to help wring out the towels so I could put them in the dryer.

Given that I'm the only one of the two of us who knows how to operate the washer and who will use a telephone, I didn't see why he had to stand around and wait for the end of the cycle to give me instructions. I had already figured out for myself that I was going to have to call the repairman. I didn't need instructions or permission.

Despite those minor annoyances, I woke up this morning determined to retain my Christmas spirit. I should have known Dad would find a way to severely tax it. He went to the doctor on December 16th to get all of his prescriptions renewed. His insurance uses one of those mail order pharmacies, so the doctor was supposed to call or fax the prescriptions directly to the pharmacy. Dad waited until this morning, when he was down to 3 pills in one prescription, to have me call the pharmacy to see if they'd shipped his order.

After wading my way through their damn automated phone system, I informed him that they had no outstanding orders to fill for him. Then he got mad and started complaining about the doctor. He's complained about her since the first visit and I've reminded him repeatedly that he's free to find another doctor. Only he'd rather bitch than switch. Switching requires an effort on his part.

When he came home from his last doctor's visit, he claimed he was going to wait a few days and see if his prescriptions came, then he'd double check. On what calendar does 8 days count as a few? Particularly when you're looking at a holiday weekend and the possibility of snow?

Needless to say, the doctor's office is closed today and won't reopen until Monday. Something a normal person would have taken into consideration, but came as a complete surprise to someone who's been retired for 20 years and forgotten how the world of work functions. So now we get to spend the next few days fretting about his medication. He has exactly enough to last through Sunday.

The new blanket we ordered for him came in to JCPenney yesterday. He went and picked it up this morning. When he came in the door carrying the bag, he said, "I thought it was supposed to be tan." "Well, what color is it?" I asked. He dropped the bag at my feet. The blanket looked tan to me.

"That's tan. What color did you expect it to be?" "Some shade of brown." "Tan is a shade of brown. A light shade of brown. I showed it to you on the computer and you said that was the color you wanted. What color did you want?" "It's fine." Clearly it was not. "Well obviously it's not what you expected. What color did you expect?" "It's fine." He had me all riled up and now he wanted the conversation to end. Fat chance.

I followed him back to his bedroom and helped him take it out of the bag and put it on the bed. "The blanket is tan. It matches your carpet. Frankly, it looks better than I expected it to." "It's fine." "Brown would have been ugly. Nothing in your bedroom is brown." He pointed to the bedpost. "What about that?" "The furniture doesn't count. You're not trying to match the furniture."

I still don't know what color he expected. I got the blanket in iris, which is what they call lavender, and I like it. I tried to convince him to get candlelight which was a cream color, but he wanted the tan. Well, obviously he didn't want tan, he wanted brown. Why is beyond me and brown was not one of the choices to begin with.

He asked me yesterday when I wanted the baskets to go to the cemetery. "Before Christmas," I replied, exasperated. I've had them ready for days. I don't know what he's been waiting for. "Do you want to go with me?" I never go with him and I didn't particularly want to go this time either, but I said I'd think about it.

That was yesterday, before he started chipping away at my Christmas spirit. By this morning, the last thing I wanted to do was be trapped in a car with him for an hour. Besides which, he didn't need me sneezing all over him and I still had food to fix for tomorrow. After lunch, I reminded him again that he needed to take the baskets to the cemetery. "You're not going?" "No. I have things to do and Dillon needs a walk."

I made him go out on the back porch with me so I could point out which baskets went where. The ones that go to Littleton don't always make it back, so I'm particular about which baskets go where. If it's something I want to re-use next year, it goes to Cedarwood cemetery instead of to Littleton. I went out with him and pointed to the two that went to Littleton and the two that stayed in town.

We went back inside and he repeated which baskets went where. He had it exactly backwards. How does he do that? I went over it again. While he went down the hall to get ready, I decided to be nice and carry the baskets to his car. We went over which baskets went where one last time. I offered to label them, but he said that wasn't necessary.

I started handing the baskets to him, warning him that two were very heavy and two were very light. "What's different about them?" "They came from different nurseries. If you hadn't dumped some of my baskets, I could have used all light ones. Remember that next year." He just shook his head.

I know, it's the happiest time of the year. I bet Mrs. Claus has a wonderful Christmas Eve. She's finally got that old man out of her hair for a few hours. Is there any doubt which list I'm on now? I thought not.

The holly and the ivy

Christmas is not all color and music, bells and candles, and gifts. It's not all tradition and memories and the delight of introducing very young people to something glittering and lovely and new to them. It is also a moment of quiet meditation, of remembering in a very personal way those who will not stand again at the door, laughing, or sit with us at the table.

-- Faith Baldwin


I've been trying to get the baskets of greenery made for the cemetery. Dad claims that he has nothing on his schedule, but if I don't have the baskets ready when he suddenly decides it's convenient for him to go, we have a minor crisis on our hands. The project began simply years ago when Mom would fix a basket to put on the Edwards' family plot. Then we began fixing one for Dad to take to Littleton to put on his family plot. The number of people missing from around our Christmas table continued to grow, the number of baskets required increased, and I found myself left in charge.

Since we have a natural wooded area in the back of our yard, it's not difficult to gather the greenery. Except when Dad decides to prune in the fall. I pointed out that he'd taken some of my potential basket material to the curb. He denied that he'd cut down anything I might have used. Since he'd cut down a magnolia, I beg to differ.

I use the hanging baskets leftover from summer to make my arrangements. The dirt provides a nice base in which to insert the greenery and the handle makes it easy to transport. Despite repeated warnings, Dad had once again dumped the dirt out of several of my baskets. I told him that if he didn't leave my baskets alone that next year I was going to be making a Christmas basket to put on top of him. He gave me a hurt look and wandered off.

I have four baskets completed. Three is the bare minimum required. Last year I made six. My skills are improving. I've learned to leave the basket sitting on the porch floor when I'm making the arrangement. It's easier on my knees to work with the basket on a table, but since they're all going to be viewed sitting on the ground, it's better to work from that position. I'm trying to resist the urge to use too much holly as filler. Although I'm feeling a bit prickly, it really wouldn't be very charitable to subject Dad to physical as well as verbal barbs.

Oh yes, we need a little Christmas, right this very minute!

Searching for Christmas

Dad reported that there were lots of shoppers in Rocky Mount yesterday and he was glad to get back home. A Santa figurine I didn't recall seeing before appeared on the chest in the hall. "Did you buy that today or is it something you've had packed away?" I inquired. "Do you like it? I got it to replace the one I put out last year. You put that one away somewhere and I can't find it."

First off, I don't remember a Santa being on the chest in the hall last year. Second, I don't put away his decorations. That's a chore I dislike and I only put away my own. I told him I hadn't done anything with his Santa last year. He insisted that I had. I pointed out that his credibility was in doubt since he also claimed he hadn't put away the candy cane lights until I found them and then he remembered packing them away. He claimed that one instance shouldn't completely discredit him.

We're still searching for Christmas.

Now that's a white Christmas I can appreciate

How pretty is this tree? I'm not generally a fan of white trees, but this picture makes me think maybe those little white and colored trees I saw at Big Lots the other day aren't so tacky after all. What I love best is the presentation. The tree is sitting in an urn, placed on a serving platter, that's resting on a silver tray. The bow and ornaments scattered at the base totally make the look. I never think of things like that on my own, but boy, is it pretty.

What we have here is a failure to communicate?

Recently, I started noticing a loud vibration when my car idled. It seemed to be getting worse, so I parked it when I got home on Friday and decided to take it to the Toyota dealer first thing this morning. I had planned on going to Rocky Mount over the weekend to see if there was anything in the stores calling my name, but I didn’t think getting stranded on the side of the road was going to put me in the Christmas spirit, so I didn’t risk it.

I told Dad last night that I wanted to take my car in this morning and I’d need him to pick me up. Apparently, he had planned to go to Rocky Mount to do a little shopping today, but he agreed to change his plans. He slept late this morning and was just coming down the hall at 8:25. I told him I’d go ahead and go and he could follow when he was ready. “No, I have a candy bar in my hand. We can go now and I’ll eat breakfast when we get back.”

I headed for the garage and he went out the front door. I paused at the end of the driveway to make sure the garage door went down properly. The sensor sometimes makes it open back up. I saw Dad at the top of the steps and assumed he was on his way to the car. I headed off to the Toyota dealership.

I explained to Marshall what the car was doing. He asked if I needed a ride home. I assured him that Dad was picking me up. Only Dad wasn’t there yet. I waited and waited. Still no sign of Dad. I was starting to get worried. What if he’d fallen down the steps or the car battery was dead or he’d had a wreck? I did give him enough credit not to think that he’d forgotten where we were going.

Marshall asked if I was sure I didn’t want a ride home. It had been at least 20 minutes. I tried calling the house, but just got the answering machine. I called Marvin. He was out having his morning coffee with the guys at a nearby convenience store. He came and got me and drove me home. We made sure and went by way of Dad’s normal route. I kept a watchful eye out for wreckers, police cars, and flashing lights.

We started around the circle to the house. There was still no sign of Dad and the car wasn’t in the driveway. “Isn’t that his car in the street?” Marvin asked. Sure enough, there was Dad, stopped by the curb with the car idling.

Marvin pulled into the driveway to let me out. I walked over to Dad’s car. “Where have you been?” I asked. “Waiting for you,” he replied. “I’ve been to the Toyota dealership,” I answered in frustration. “I was waiting there for you to pick me up.” “I didn’t know you’d left yet,” came his reply. “I almost finished reading my newspaper while I sat here.”

Marvin went home. Dad pulled back in the driveway. I went in the house where it was warm. He’d been waiting in the street all that time because he thought I hadn’t left yet. Apparently, he didn’t see me drive out of the garage, pause at the end of the driveway, and then drive off down the street. Even allowing for that level of inattention, don’t you think he might have gone back inside to check on me at some point instead of just sitting in the car in the road? Needless to say, it’s all my fault. I’m just relieved that he didn’t need a wrecker, Triple A, or an ambulance.

Marshall called and I have a broken engine mount. My car should be ready by 11. Dad decided maybe he’d have time to go to Rocky Mount after all. “That’s fine, but you don’t go anywhere until you take me back to the Toyota dealership,” I said firmly. I didn’t want there to be any more miscommunications this morning. I don’t want to walk to work.

When I shared the story with my parents’ former neighbor in Baltimore, she just laughed and laughed. “Your mother and father went through that kind of thing all the time,” she told me. “I know that, but it’s frustrating,” I said. “At least your life isn’t dull since your father moved in.” “My life wasn’t dull before my father moved in, but it was less stressful,” I informed her. When Dad and I got in his car to go get mine, he commented, “Well, at least this time we’re starting out together.” “Let’s see if we can arrive together too,” I said sourly.

Run, Run, Rudolph

I have no idea why Blogger insists on positioning this picture in the portrait vs. landscape position, but since I can't figure out how to change it, you'll just have to cock your head sideways. Or pretend that Rudolph is leaping into the air practicing for Christmas Eve. These are the Rudolph-shaped apple cinnamon flavored dog biscuits I made Dillon for Christmas. He doesn't understand why he has to wait. Patience isn't one of his virtues. He stood wagging his tail and drooling when I took them out of the oven and was putting in them in the cookie jar.

We Need a Little Christmas

It takes a real man to wear a holly tie to work! Dad has always enjoyed the trappings of the season. He took me and Linda shopping for a new ornament every year as we were growing up. It was our holiday tradition.

Mom never decorated the tree. That was always Dad's job. Mom claimed he was too picky when he insisted that each icicle be placed on the tree individually. In her family, you stood back and threw handfuls at the tree. Dad was in charge and our tree was done his way. We almost staged a revolt the first year he switched from colored lights to white. We did have pretty trees though.

The picture above was obviously taken after the icicle manufacturers changed the material they made the icicles out off. Dad didn't like the newer version, claimed they didn't hang right, so he stopped using them.


This picture of my mother was taken at my grandmother Edwards' house in 1956. I don't know who did the decorating, I'm sure it wasn't my father, but the tree looks pretty good to me.

I never realized until I read the lyrics how poignant We Need a Little Christmas is. The snappy melody fools you into thinking it's a light, cheerful song.

We Need a Little Christmas by Jerry Herman

Haul out the holly
Put up the tree before my spirit falls again
Fill up the stocking
I may be rushing things, but deck the halls again now

For we need a little Christmas
Right this very minute
Candles in the window
Carols at the spinet

Yes, we need a little Christmas
Right this very minute
It hasn't snowed a single flurry
But Santa, dear, we're in a hurry

So climb down the chimney
Turn on the brightest string of lights I've ever seen
Slice up the fruitcake
It's time we hung some tinsel on that evergreen bough

For I've grown a little leaner
Grown a little colder
Grown a little sadder
Grown a little older

And I need a little angel
Sitting on on my shoulder
Need a little Christmas now

For we need a little music
Need a little laughter
Need a little singing
Ringing through the rafter

And we need a little snappy
"Happy ever after"
Need a little Christmas now

All I Need is a Reindeer

I'm not usually a fan of cartoons, but How The Grinch Stole Christmas is the exception. I think it's brilliant. So when I saw this figurine of one of my favorite scenes, I wanted it. Dad likes buying ornaments and I had a coupon for $5 off any Hallmark purchase, so I called our local Hallmark to see if they had it in stock. Luck was with me. They had one left and put it behind the counter for me. Dad picked it up yesterday afternoon. It's now sitting on my kitchen windowsill, surrounded by Disney mini-snow globes, spreading Christmas cheer.

My copy of A Family Christmas arrived yesterday as well. I really like it. The 50's era artwork in simple red, green, and black gives the book a wonderfully nostalgic feel. Dad looked at it and said, "Well, it's different." I was going to offer to let him read it, but he's plainly not interested. His loss.

I just downloaded the audio version from the library again to share with a couple of friends with long commutes and I broke down and ordered the audiobook from HighBridge Audio. It's on sale for $5.99 and with media mail shipping, my total came to less than $10. Now I'll have bookmarks so I can stop and start at different chapters. Merry Christmas to me.

I'm a huge fan of audiobooks. A good narrator brings a whole new dimension to a story and the collection of narrators on A Family Christmas is terrific. The Puppy Who Wanted a Boy by Jane Thayer is a simple Christmas story for children, but the narrator's expressive voice really brings it to life.

Okay, that's the end of my endorsements for today.

A little Christmas story

I first heard this story when I was still at the mall overseeing all things Christmas. Being of a similar bent, one of my Santas shared it with me. After I stopped laughing, I informed him that I didn't have an angel on top of my Christmas tree. My tree topper is an antique St. Nick. I've always loved that St. Nick, but after hearing this story, it's even more perfect. Enjoy.

A little Christmas story…

When four of Santa's elves got sick, the trainee elves did not produce toys as fast as the regular ones, and Santa began to feel the Pre-Christmas pressure.

Then Mrs. Claus told Santa her mother was coming to visit, which stressed Santa even more.

When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two others had jumped the fence and were out, Heaven knows where.

Then when he began to load the sleigh, one of the floorboards cracked, the toy bag fell to the ground and all the toys were scattered

Frustrated, Santa went in the house for a cup of apple cider and a shot of rum. When he went to the cupboard, he discovered the elves had drunk all the cider and hidden the liquor. In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the cider jug, and it broke into hundreds of little glass pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found the mice had eaten all the straw off the end of the broom.

Just then the doorbell rang, and an irritated Santa marched to the door, yanked it open, and there stood a little angel with a great big Christmas tree.

The angel said very cheerfully, 'Merry Christmas, Santa. Isn't this a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me to stick it?'

And so began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree.

Holiday Pretzel Treats

My handbell group performed at a dessert concert at church last Sunday night. Not only did we play, we also supplied the desserts. I made these Holiday Pretzel Treats. At least 6 people asked me how to make them. Of course, one lady also gave me a superior look and said, "Oh, I see you went the no-bake route." Excuse me, I turned the oven on. How does she think I got the chocolate to melt?

I took them to work as well and everyone there likes them too. They're super easy and fun to make. I've printed the recipe below. I used Hershey's Kisses, Hershey's Hugs, and Rolo caramel-filled candies. I put pecans on top of the first Rolo-topped pretzels, but then I switched to M&M's for those as well. I couldn't really taste the pecan, so I saw no point in wasting them when the M&M's are prettier and cheaper. Click on this link to go to the original recipe, complete with comments.

Holiday Pretzel Treats

Ingredients

* Bite-size, waffle-shaped pretzels
* Hershey's Kiss or Hershey's Hug
* M&M's candy

Instructions

1. Heat the oven to 170F. Set a number of bite-size, waffle-shaped pretzels (one for each treat) in a single layer on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper, then top each pretzel with an unwrapped Hershey's Kiss or Hershey's Hug.

2. Bake for 4 to 6 minutes (the white chocolate will melt more quickly), until the chocolates feel soft when touched with a wooden spoon. Remove the cookie sheet from the oven and quickly press an M&M's candy into the center of each Kiss.

3. Allow the treats to cool for a few minutes, then place them in the refrigerator to set, about 10 minutes. Place handfuls of the candies in clear plastic bags and tie on colorful ribbons.

You'd better be good

Yesterday was my last Reading Buddy session before Christmas. When I arrived at the classroom, I noticed that all of the children were wearing antlers made of construction paper on their heads. The teaching assistant was standing at the front of the room with a bottle of red paint in her hand instructing the children not to wipe their noses after she painted them red because the paint would smear all over their faces and then they wouldn’t look like Rudolph. Good luck with that one.

I had bought a Rudolph Merry Maze toy for Jamie. It has a maze with 3 little metal balls at the top and the handle is filled with red, green, and white gumballs. It was only $1 and I thought it was cute. When I arrived to pick up Jamie yesterday, the teacher asked if I’d mind taking a second little boy too. I didn’t mind adding another child, but that presented me with a bit of a problem. I couldn’t give Jamie a toy and not give Lance one too. They’re first graders and I doubted that Lance would understand why he was being left out.

I gave some thought to holding Jamie back when I returned them to their class and sneaking him the toy. That was before we started our reading session. Lance tried really hard. He’d identify the first letter in a word and sound it out for me. Jamie barely even looked at the page. I decided his behavior didn’t merit a treat, so I kept the Rudolph Merry Maze hidden in my purse. Santa isn't the only one who keeps track of who's naughty and nice.

I’m not quite sure what I’ll do with it now. Dad’s a little past the age for mazes and when I try to play with it I just get frustrated because the balls don’t go where I want them to. I wonder if the gumballs will petrify if I try and save it for next year?

Brrrrrr!!!

Dillon’s been following me around like a lost puppy all morning. It’s 24 degrees and windy here. Too cold for woman and beast to walk as far as I’m concerned. Obviously, Dillon begs to differ. He doesn’t think dusting is nearly as much fun. Neither do I, but at least it’s productive and I’m avoiding frostbite. Plus, when it’s windy, branches tend to fling themselves from the trees to the ground. Since the Canal Trail is lined with trees, a big part of its charm, and I don’t own a hardhat, I figure it’s better to skip the walk this morning.

Dad obviously did a superior job staking my grapevine deer to the ground. The flimsy little metal stakes that come with the deer are about the size of cooking skewers. Last year I had to put my outdoor metal chairs on either side of the deer to keep them erect. This year, Dad bought tent stakes. Of course, now that I’ve seen how firmly they’re anchored, I asked if I was going to be able to get them up after Christmas or if they’ve become permanent fixtures. Dad gave me a smug smile and said it depended on how strong I was after Christmas.

My tabletop arrangement blew over yesterday. I forgot that last year there were rocks in the bottom of the bucket. The good news is that I had stuck the branches down into a dirt-filled basket inside the bucket and they were still in place. I took the arrangement off the table and put it in one of the chairs for safekeeping until this wind blows itself out. My other creations, the wreath and swags on the front lamppost and shepherd’s crook, have survived so far. Given that I just tied them together with string and fishing line, I’m pleasantly surprised.

Let it snow

We had the perfect snow this morning. There was a faint dusting on the ground when we got up. It snowed like a picture for about 30 minutes and then it stopped. No shoveling required. I will have to sweep off the porch and steps so Dad and Dillon don't break a leg, but no further effort is required on my part.

So why did I take a picture of my porch? This shot shows all of the Christmas decorations in my backyard; the wreath and arrangement I made this weekend, my grapevine deer, the colored lights wrapped around the porch railing, and Dillon is even in the background on the left. Granted, it's not a great shot of any of them individually, but it gives you a sense of my view. It was so beautiful and peaceful while I was shooting. I love the shushing sound of falling snow.

Update: Remember to click on the picture if you want to see it larger.

I shouldn't have swept the back porch steps. They were covered with a thin coating of ice underneath the snow. Dillon only knows one speed, full steam ahead, so I've placed towels on each of the 3 steps to try and give him some traction and avoid a potential trip to the vet for the broken leg(s) I'm envisioning.

Christmas stories

One of my favorite parts of Christmas is reading Christmas stories. Over the years, Dad has given me assorted Christmas anthologies. I joined in an on-line Barnes and Noble Christmas reading group a number of years ago and added more Christmas favorites to my collection. My newest addition is A Family Christmas by Caroline Kennedy. Although it's new to me, it was published in 2007. Meaning there are plenty of new and used copies for sale on Amazon at amazingly low prices. I just ordered one for myself.

I've been listening to the audio version which is wonderful, but felt the need to own the print version as well. I downloaded the audio from the library and burned it on CDs. I listen as I'm drifting off to sleep every night. The problem is that I miss parts of the stories and since I burned my own disks, there are no bookmarks. You have to listen to each disk from beginning to end. I could solve that problem by buying the audiobook, which would have bookmarks so I could start at any point on the disk, but I'm cheap.

The parts that I have heard are terrific. Kennedy made great choices and included a variety of stories, poems, and songs. Some are old favorites, some are completely new to me, which was a delightful surprise as I thought I'd read most of the best Christmas stories.

With the print version as backup, maybe I won't have to lay in bed in the morning hoping the disk ends before it's time to get up. If I wake up during the night, or too early in the morning, I hit the play button on my bedside CD player and listen. This morning, I heard Mr. Edwards Meets Santa Claus (from Little House on the Prairie) by Laura Ingalls Wilder and A Chaparral Christmas Gift by O. Henry. A nice change of pace from The Gift of the Magi, the more famous of O. Henry's Christmas stories.

Here's a link to the table of contents if you're interested. When you get to the linked page, look below the picture of the bookcover for the table of contents link. For some reason, I can't get the link to go directly to the table of contents. Who knows, you may discover some new family Christmas favorites yourself.

What caught my eye this morning

This Christmas cactus was a gift to Mom, from one of her nephews and his wife, years ago. Somehow I managed to keep it alive, these plants obviously thrive on benign neglect. It wound up on a table in the living room quite by accident, but obviously loves the location. After years with no blooms, it's bloomed every Christmas since I placed it there. Isn't it lovely?


Dillon snoozing in the sun this morning.


The golden angel and star echo the gold frames and family Bible for a pretty tabletop display. The picture on the far right side of the table is of Dad in his Christmas finery, complete with holly-shaped bow tie!

Music to my ears

My washing machine is spinning its little heart out. The repairman called at lunch time, came right over, and spent about 45 minutes working on my washer before he pronounced it fixed. It was the timer. Two of the contacts were sticking. He used a piece of fine sandpaper to work on one of the points and voila, my machine once again worked its way through the cycles like it was supposed to.

Dad told Ron, the repairman, that his price was very reasonable. I told Ron that he'd made my day. I didn't want to have to resort to filling up the bathtub and beating my clothes against a rock to get them clean. He laughed and agreed that didn't sound like a very appealing prospect. If the contacts stick again, he can order me a new timer, but he says this fix usually works. You can't beat that.

I'm a happy camper. I have a whole new level of appreciation for my washer. I never realized how many features it had that I didn't want to live without. I know, I'm becoming an old fogey who resists change. I'm all for change that improves things, but I don't consider forgoing 3 speeds, infinite water levels of my choice, and delicate, handwash, and handwash plus cycles an improvement.

The word of the day is hooray!

The sound of silence

Wednesday is laundry day at my house. Usually by this time of the morning, you'll hear the sound of the washing machine agitating, spinning, and rinsing its way to clean clothes. Today, there is only silence. My washer died on Sunday. It started agitating at a furious pace during the wrong time of the cycle, then when it got to the spin cycle, it spun and rinsed at the same time, finally coming to a stop and leaving a sopping pile of clean clothes at the bottom of the tub.

My first thought was, sh#t. I'm a real fan of clean clothes and have been known to run a load with only 3 or 4 items if I need a particular item clean before Wednesday. My second thought was, yippee, a new washer for me. That was before I started researching. I've been scouring the reviews on the Sears, Lowes, Home Depot, and Best Buy sites. I've studied the reviews and ratings at Consumer Reports. I've quizzed everyone I know about their washers. I've actually ventured into the brick and mortar Sears and Lowes stores to take a look at the machines. As one poster on the Consumer Reports site wrote, "I'm now paralyzed. I don't know what to do."

No washer does everything I want. Every washer has people that hate it or love it with equal passion. There are 3 different types of washers out there now, front load, high efficiency top load, and conventional top load. Do you realize that it's now practically impossible to find a machine that lets you select the water level for yourself? The machine now thinks it knows more than you do and uses auto-sensing technology to fill the machine with the absolute minimum amount of water required to do the job. That brings to mind low flow toilets that required repeated flushing or the electric typewriter at work that insists on dinging and automatically returning to start a new line when there's still a box on the line I'm currently working on that needs to be filled in. The machine doesn't always know best and I don't want to be stuck with the results of its misguided actions.

After going around in circles trying to figure out what to do, I've finally decided to call the repairman and see if my washer can be fixed. I think it's just the timer. Even though I've never loved my washer, it lets me choose my own water level, and has 3 speeds which gives me hand wash and delicate cycles that seem to be missing in action on most new machines. If that doesn't work, I'm going to buy the conventional top load Maytag. I love my new Maytag Centennial dryer. It's a plain jane without all the bells and whistles and works just fine.

In the meantime, Dad seems to think that no washer means we just keep using the same sheets and towels. He wanted to know if he should strip his bed. I pointed out that we have extra sets of sheets and towels, so we may not be able to wash at the moment, but we can still be clean. It just means we'll have more variety. Last time he used the rose print sheets, he complained that he felt like he'd been planted. I guess we both like what we're used to.

If we're washerless for too much longer, I'll put a handful of quarters in my pockets and go knocking on the doors of friends and family. Maybe I could consider it research. It's nice to see the shiny new machines in the store, but I'd feel a lot better about buying one if I could actually see it in action.

Pretty good if I do say so myself

I'm feeling pretty good about my day so far. My grapevine deer are in place in the back yard and make me happy every time I glance out in their direction. My new lighted ice sculpture deer is flanking the front steps across from last year's lighted ice sculpture snowman. Even Dad admitted it looked nice.

The fruitcake cookies are done. I also made a double batch of party mix which is now cooling. A pot of homemade soup is simmering. And I washed and prepared 5 pounds of collards to cook tomorrow. The ones we had for Thanksgiving were so good that I've been craving more.

Dillon and I had a peaceful, uneventful walk this morning. In between all of my chores, I managed to catch the second half of the Carolina basketball game. We won. The Hurricanes won last night and are on tv again tonight at 8. Not a bad day.

Another cookie, anyone?

I'm going to devote much of this weekend to baking. I have peanut brittle, party mix, and fruitcake cookies on the list. I just finished chopping the candied fruit. I'm saving the chocolate crinkle cookies for next weekend.

We have to bring a finger food dessert to the handbell concert at church next weekend. I threatened to lace mine with a sedative so people would be too drowsy to notice my musical mistakes. There was dead silence from the rest of the group. I assured them that I was kidding.

I forget that not everyone appreciates my humor. Jane, the music director, laughed nervously for several minutes afterward. She's a very nice lady who would never, even for a minute, consider drugging an audience. Maybe instead of chocolate crinkle cookies I should be searching for a recipe for bourbon balls.

Good King Wenceslas is still kicking my butt. If you want to hear how it's supposed to sound, you can listen here. When you get to the linked page, simply click on the yellow bell on the left to play the clip. The rhythmic drum beat sound that you hear in the background in certain parts of the song is what's giving me so much trouble. I just can't seem to get that part right. Hopefully no one in the audience will know how it's supposed to sound when played properly. Or they'll be too busy sampling the dessert table to care.

Oh, Sh#t!

Dillon and I started off on our daily walk yesterday morning. It was sunny and still warm. The high temperature yesterday was around 70 degrees and occurred in the morning. It was downhill from there. We had barely started walking when Dillon paused to sniff enthusiastically at something along the side of the trail. The next thing I knew, he had flung his body to the ground and was vigorously rubbing his neck against something. That gesture is like a huge warning sign for disgusting things ahead.

I jerked the leash and dragged him away. I bent over to give him a quick sniff, hoping I’d stopped him in time. Then I got a good look at the side of his neck. It was covered in gray goop that stunk to high heaven. He was a really happy dog, tail up high, proudly walking along. I was about to lose my breakfast.

We immediately turned around and headed for home. I knew I didn’t have a prayer of getting into the house without him if I went in through the back door. I detoured around to the garage door and started banging for Dad to let me in. I squeezed through the opening and warned Dad not to let Dillon, who was now barking at the door, into the house for any reason. Then I went in search of dog shampoo.

I grabbed the shampoo, paper towels, regular towels, and filled a couple of plastic milk containers with water since the outside hoses have been unhooked for the winter. Then I stripped off my sweater and, wearing a short sleeve shirt and dirt brownish-gray cargo pants pretty much the same color as Dillon’s newest accessory, went out to give Dillon a bath.

The first step was to remove his collar, which was thickly coated with the gross, smelly, disgusting mess. I was really wishing I had rubber gloves at that point. Once I had the collar off, I was without a handle to grab to hold him still. Thankfully, he was now frozen in place looking abused and betrayed.

I lost count of how many times I scrubbed his neck and shoulders, but I know it was at least half a dozen times. I’d scrub and rinse and sniff, realize the odor was still there, and start all over again. If I’d had any tomato juice, I’d have doused him in that for good measure. It’s hard to imagine skunk smelling any worse than what he’d rolled in. Thank goodness, it was still warm yesterday morning because otherwise we’d have both turned to blocks of ice before I finished.

I don’t know if his collar will ever be wearable again. I wiped off as much as I could and then threw it in a bucket of hot water and Lysol to soak all day. When I got home last night, I put it in the washing machine along with the towels I’d used on him. When it came out, I think I still caught a faint whiff of something nasty. There are a lot of crevices that were embedded with the foul gray goop and I’m not sure even the washing machine was capable of flushing them all out.

We’re walking in the opposite direction this morning. It’s cold outside today. If Dillon rolls in anything else rotten, he’s going to have to be a yard dog because it’s too cold for outside baths and there’s no way I could get him into the bathtub. Dad thinks Dillon is the greatest dog that’s ever been, but I doubt his goodwill extends to sharing his tiled shower stall. Even if it did, the thought of a repeat performance is enough to have me seriously consider asking Santa for a treadmill.

Serendipity

We replaced the front door over the summer. The old door had an eye hook for hanging wreaths. Dad asked if I wanted one put in this door, but I told him I'd just use a wreath holder. The first one I tried was a clear plastic one from Big Lots. I had bought two, one for the front door and one for the back. It wouldn't fit the back door at all. It was a tight fit on the front door, but it seemed to work. Until I walked out into the entry hall later and found a piece of plastic on the floor. The back of the wreath holder had snapped off.

I bought a metal wreath holder from Dollar Tree that fit the front door, so my red Christmas ball wreath is hanging there. Dad has put up a metal Merry Christmas sign on the garage door where my multi-colored Christmas ball wreath normally hangs. Since the wreath holder wouldn't fit on the back door, that left me needing a place to hang that wreath. I went looking for a door that the plastic wreath holder would fit.

The only door in the house that I could find that the wreath holder would fit over was the closet door in my study. That closet has accordion folding doors that span most of the back wall. At first it seemed an unlikely place to hang a wreath, but I absolutely love it. It's the first thing you see when you walk into the room and it's so bright and colorful that you can't help but feel happy just looking at it. Serendipity is a wonderful thing.

Candy Cane Lane

Since this was supposed to be our last warm day before the cold weather comes to stay for a while, I decided to get the lights put out front. The railings needed to be wrapped in red lights, the small boxwoods covered with green lights, and the candy cane pathway lights stretched from the steps to the driveway. It's easier to do that in bare hands as opposed to fumbling with all those cords and plugs while wearing gloves. I got the railings and boxwoods done and the wreath up, then went to ask Dad where he put the candy cane lights last year.

I found him in the garage decorating his small tabletop tree. While I was pleased that he had the Christmas spirit and was decorating his space, I informed him that his timing was off. He needed to save inside decorating for a cold day. His answer was that he didn't expect to be doing any outside decorating. I quickly disabused him of that notion. The candy canes are supposed to be his responsibility. I told him I'd put them out if he'd just tell me where they were. He denied any knowledge of their whereabouts.

We spent the next 20 minutes looking for them. They weren't in the shed or the basement. I finally moved my car out of the garage so that I could get to his shelves, where he was sure they weren't, and immediately located them in a plastic bin on the bottom shelf. Then he remembered that he was in fact the person who put them away last year. We had just enough time to line both sides of the walkway before lunch.

I'm not putting the icelight snowman or reindeer out until after the storms that are forecast come through tonight. The weather forecast is for possibly severe thunderstorms and high winds. No point in putting decorations out that are only going to get blown over. Poor Dillon is already anxious. He's a better weather forecaster than the meteorologists on tv.

Speaking of tv, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is on tonight. I never get tired of that show. Rudolph and How the Grinch Stole Christmas are my favorite Christmas specials. So naturally the networks scheduled them to be on at the same time tonight. Fortunately both will be rerun and I own the Grinch on DVD. I'm not normally a big fan of cartoons, but that one is so brilliantly done.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

My weekend began on Wednesday afternoon. It got off to a great start when I caught my foot in a cable blocking access to the Canal Trail from the power line right-of-way. The cable is strung about 24 to 36 inches high. Dillon goes under and I go over. This time I didn’t lift my back foot high enough. I went sprawling onto the concrete poured at the base of the fence.

Luckily, nothing was broken or ripped, but I twisted one knee, bruised both, and scraped one forearm. The twisted knee meant I couldn’t kneel or squat for the rest of the weekend. Which made getting the roaster out of the bottom kitchen cabinet, and assembling and decorating the Christmas tree, an interesting experience. I felt like a toddler trying to lower myself down and finally just plopping down onto my butt. Getting back up was equally awkward.

Despite that, I managed to get a lot of decorating done. At one point, there were pilgrims, jack-o-lanterns and Santas all in the same room. It was festive, but looked sort of like the discount bin at Big Lots. When I finished the tree in the den, Dad commented that it had so many ornaments on it that it looked like the trees at Cracker Barrel.

We use retail displays as our guide. When it comes to Christmas decorations, our guiding philosophy is that more is better. We try to stop just short of tacky. I love all those elegant minimalist displays in magazines and on HGTV. I just can’t seem to recreate them in my own home. We’ve spent years collecting this stuff and it seems wrong not to display it.

The living room is almost finished. I just haven’t decided whether I’m going to put up a tree in there and Dad needs to finish putting candles in the windows. He’s got 2 candles in the smaller window and none in the big window. This is the first year he’s put candles in the windows and I think he ran out of multi-plug outlets. He asked me the whereabouts of one we used last year. I pointed out that if it was used last year, it wasn’t going to be available this year. It’s not like we’re deleting anything. We just keep adding.

Frankly, I don’t think the candles are necessary, but I don’t want to discourage him. Although I am going to have to put my foot down and demand that all the bulbs match. One candle has a traditional white nightlight bulb and the other has a flickering orange flame-type bulb. I don’t care which he uses, but I would like them to match.

Although I readily acknowledge that we have enough Christmas decorations for every family on the block, many never get unpacked, I can’t seem to stop myself when a new one catches my eye. Yesterday I bought a zebra, a giraffe, a snow owl, and a skating Victorian boy. What I lack in sophistication, I make up for in variety.

It's definitely the season of miracles

When Dad brought the paper inside this morning, he complained that he needed a cart to carry it. I'd never seen so many sale circulars. He started separating them into 2 piles. One pile was for circulars he didn't think I'd be interested in. I informed him that I wanted to look at all of them. "Even Walmart?" he asked skeptically. "Just because I don't shop there doesn't mean I don't want to see the circular," I told him. "We all know that if a price is good enough or an item isn't available elsewhere, my principles are flexible." He laughed and started reading the circulars himself. An hour later, he was still looking at circulars and hadn't even gotten to the actual news in the paper.

Our Thanksgiving feast was wonderful. The collards were cooked just right and the sweet potato casserole was wonderful as always. It's Dad's favorite. I had bought a new bottle of celery seed so it would be nice and fresh. Unfortunately, I let it intimidate me and didn't shake quite as much as I should have into the dressing. Mom always shook until the surface of the crumbled bread was black and then said when it looked like enough, you should shake some more. I'll make up for it at Christmas. It was still good.

After having seconds of everything, Dad apparently had plenty of Thanksgiving spirit. He cleared the table while I sliced the rest of the turkey off the bone. He thought Dillon might like the serving spoon that still had dressing clinging to it, so he put the spoon on a plate that was already on the floor for Dillon to lick. The spoon rattled and that scared Dillon, who backed away. Dad reached down, picked up the spoon, called Dillon to him, and proceeded to hold the spoon like a lollipop so Dillon could lick it clean. He did the same with the spoon that had served the sweet potato casserole. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself.

Dad then proceeded to put the leftovers in the refrigerator while I washed the dishes. When he finished that, he looked at the dishes and volunteered to dry. I usually just stack everything in the drainer, but Dad dried about half of the them. He's never done any of that before. I'm still in shock. It's definitely the season of miracles.

It seems more like Labor Day

I'm thankful that Thanksgiving only comes once a year. Don't get me wrong, it's my favorite holiday. I love the food and the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade, reading the sales circulars, and the excitement and anticipation that mark the beginning of the holiday season. What I don't love is the preparation. It was so much easier growing up when all I had to do was set the table, watch the parade, and then sit down to feast on the fruits of Mom's labor.

These days, I'm the one laboring. Our office was only open until noon today. Since then, I've been preparing food for tomorrow pretty much non-stop. The collards are done. The congealed salad is congealing. The pumpkin pie is cooling. The sweet potato souffle casserole is mixed and in the refrigerator waiting to be topped with the streusel mixture and baked. That just leaves the turkey and dressing. The cornbread and biscuits are already crumbled for the dressing, so that won't take too long.

I love Thanksgiving dinner. All that yummy food. I have a whole new appreciation for it now that I'm the one preparing the feast. I plan to savor every bite. After the parade of course. Right now, it's time for hockey. My timing worked out perfectly. I just washed the last dish 5 minutes ago. The puck drops in just a minute. Something else to be thankful for!

Hooray!

I have some exciting news to share. I passed the North Carolina Certified Paralegal Exam given by the NC Bar Association. I am now officially a North Carolina Certified Paralegal. Certification is voluntary. You can work as a paralegal in the State of North Carolina without being certified. However as the NC Bar Association Certified Paralegal website explains:

"Certification demonstrates your commitment to the paralegal profession and provides recognition that you have met high professional standards. Since certified paralegals are required to take continuing education courses, it helps you stay current in the legal field which, in turn, enhances the quality of legal services you provide to attorneys. For potential employers, it makes the hiring process easier – your credentials are already verified."

The test consists of 150 multiple choice questions covering Civil Litigation, Commercial Law, Criminal Law, Ethics, Family Law, Legal Research, Real Property, and Wills, Trusts & Estate Administration. You have 3 hours to complete the exam. I took it in September, but just got the results yesterday. Frankly, on the day of the exam I was convinced that I hadn't passed, so I was thrilled to receive the letter and my certificate in the mail.

I even got a lapel pin about the size of a nickel, but I think I'll pass on flaunting my new status in that way. It doesn't really match any of my earrings. I guess I could frame the certificate and hang it on the wall with my other hard-earned certificates, the ones given for passing Dog Obedience classes with Holly and Katie. I've never hung a diploma of my own on the wall before, but then again, I've never worked this hard for one before outside of dog obedience classes.

I can't deny that I'm both proud and relieved. I studied really hard for that exam. I started in July and worked my way through all of my class notes and exams and read several of my textbooks again cover to cover. I don't ever want to have to do that again. I much prefer reading a good novel. Maybe I'll throw in a legal thriller every once in a while as continuing education.

-Nancy
North Carolina Certified Paralegal

Don't overlook salvation

The church is apparently doing an outreach campaign and trying to convince members that they haven't seen in a while to attend services. My phone rang Sunday evening and a gentleman introduced himself and explained the purpose of his call, then he asked if I was still a member. I assured him that I was. "Do you attend services?" he asked. "Not as often as I should," (more like never) I replied. "But I am a member of the handbell group." "Well, it's good that you're part of the handbell group, but I wouldn't know you if I saw you," he said. "We'd like to have you in church too." I assured him that I'd try and do better.

Dad just switched his membership from Baltimore to the local church. The secretary insisted on introducing him to the minister while he was there. The minister shook Dad's hand and asked if they'd be seeing him on Sunday morning. Dad said, "Probably not," with absolutely no shame. I think he only switched his membership so the minister would feel obligated if he needed someone to preach at his funeral and because I'm playing handbells and we have a performance coming up at a church function in December.

Pretty soon they'll be including us on their prayer lists. They're probably convinced that we're part of the great unwashed. I generally introduce myself as a backslider. I feel like I'm making progress though, at least playing handbells has me back in the building.

Bow-tie Lasagna

I made this on Saturday. Dad gave it a skeptical look and put a small spoonful on his plate. He went back for seconds and then for thirds. It doesn't taste exactly like lasagna, but it's awfully close and very good. When you're looking for a hearty meal that's ready in 30 minutes, this recipe is a winner.

From the Pioneer Woman's Tasty Kitchen blog.

Ingredients

* 1 pound Ground Chuck
* 5 cups Bow Tie Noodles
* 3 cups Spaghetti Sauce (or Pizza Sauce, Whatever You Prefer)
* 1 Tablespoon Olive Oil
* 1 teaspoon Salt
* ½ teaspoons Garlic Powder
* 1 teaspoon Italian Seasoning (or More, Make It To Your Taste)
* ½ cups Mozzarella Cheese
* ½ cups Sour Cream

Preparation Instructions

I am a “make it and taste it as I go” cook. I made this in a hurry tonight, and was amazed at the results; my girls could NOT get enough of it. (I love that kind of response, don’t get it as often as I wish.)

Fry ground chuck in small pan. Meanwhile, cook noodles according to package directions.

After noodles are cooked, drain and drizzle with olive oil. Mix in your spaghetti sauce. (I can’t guarantee your results on this, because I’m spoiled; I am a “home canner” and have the BEST sauce on my shelf, a home canned marinara sauce that I use for lots of stuff—pizza, spaghetti, and of course, THIS.)

Add your fried hamburger, seasonings, cheese, and sour cream. Fold together and allow it all to combine and melt together, over low heat, for about 5 minutes, or until cheese is melted.

Serve to your family and be prepared to have it disappear before your very eyes.

Gathering Leaves

Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.

I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.

But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.

I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?

Next to nothing for weight;
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.

Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?

by Robert Frost

Looks like I'll be gathering leaves soon. For right now, most are still attached to their trees creating a glorious view out the den window.

That's what a recipe does

Yesterday I tried a new recipe, Shrimp Scampi Bake. Dad loves shrimp and it sounded good. When I put the casserole dish on the table, he gave it a skeptical look. "It's baked Shrimp Scampi," I announced. "There's shrimp in there?" he asked. Gee, since the entire top of the casserole was covered with shrimp, I thought that was pretty obvious. "Yes," I said firmly.

He dipped up a spoonful. "There's an awful lot of rice in there," he complained. I explained that not every person eating a shrimp dish expected the entire thing to consist of nothing but shrimp. The point was to enjoy the shrimp, but also stretch the amount used to serve more people and provide the inclusion of more food groups. Dad thought that was a complete waste. Why would anyone want to eat anything other than just shrimp?

"Did the recipe tell you the proportion of rice to shrimp?" he asked. "Yes, that's the point of a recipe, to tell you what quantities of ingredients to use," I snapped. Honestly, what kind of a stupid question was that? "How many people is this supposed to serve?" was the next question. "Four." He looked incredulous. "Normal people, eating a serving of the entire casserole, not just scraping the shrimp off the top, could easily get four servings out of this dish," I assured him. I swear, it's like explaining to a child that yes, you do have to eat your vegetables.

After dinner he admitted that it was pretty good, but he wasn't finished obsessing about the amount of shrimp. "How much shrimp did the recipe call for?" "One pound." "Did you use that many?" "There's the bag right there. It says one pound and I used the whole thing." Talk about beating a dead horse.

I don't think he believed the package weight. Given that he'd eaten the majority of the shrimp, making sure that the only thing left in the casserole dish was a lot of rice and asparagus, I guess he didn't want to admit that he could possibly have eaten 3/4 of a pound of shrimp all by himself. It would contradict his constant claims that, "I can't eat a serving that big." Obviously he can if the serving in question is shrimp.

The rice and asparagus mixture was delicious. I assured him that he hadn't seen the last of it. I plan on serving it as a side dish with another meal. He made a face. Maybe I just serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or fish sticks. Don't all 2-year-olds like those?

Here's the recipe if you'd like to give it a try. It's from the November 1, 2010 issue of Family Circle magazine.


Shrimp Scampi Bake
Makes: 4 servings
Prep: 20 minutes
Bake: 20 minutes
Cook: 24 minutes

Shrimp Scampi Bake
Ingredients

* 1 cup uncooked white rice
* 1/2 teaspoon salt
* 1 package (9 ounces) frozen asparagus cuts, thawed
* 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
* 4 cloves garlic, chopped
* 1/2 cup dry white wine
* 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
* 1 teaspoon cornstarch
* 1 pound fresh or frozen cleaned shrimp, thawed if frozen
* Pinch of black pepper
* 2 tablespoons seasoned dry bread crumbs

Heat oven to 375°. Coat four 16-ounce baking dishes (or one 2-quart dish) with nonstick cooking spray.

In medium saucepan, combine rice, 2 1/4 cups water and 1/4 teaspoon of the salt. Bring to a boil over high heat, then cover and reduce heat to medium-low. Cook 20 minutes. Uncover and stir in asparagus pieces. Cover and set aside.

Melt butter in medium saucepan over medium heat. Add garlic and cook, stirring, 2 minutes. Meanwhile, whisk wine, lemon juice and cornstarch together in a measuring cup or bowl. Add to saucepan and cook 2 minutes, until thickened and bubbly. Stir in shrimp, remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt and the pepper. Remove from heat.

Divide rice mixture among prepared dishes. Top with shrimp mixture. Sprinkle each dish with 1/2 tablespoon of the bread crumbs. Spritz bread crumbs with nonstick spray. Bake at 375° for 15 to 20 minutes or until shrimp are cooked through.
Nutrition Facts

* Servings Per Recipe 4 servings
* Calories406,
* Total Fat (g)8,
* Saturated Fat (g)4,
* Cholesterol (mg)187,
* Sodium (mg)528,
* Carbohydrate (g)48,
* Fiber (g)1,
* Protein (g)29,
* Percent Daily Values are based on a 2,000 calorie diet