Eddi's Service by Rudyard Kipling

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

Eddi, priest of St. Wilfrid,
In his chapel at Manhood 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 Eddi rang the bell.

"Wicked weather for walking,"
Said Eddi of Manhood 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 guttering 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 Eddi, Wilfrid's priest.

"But three are gathered together,
Listen to me and attend,
I bring good news, my brethren,"
Said Eddi of Manhood 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,
Eddi 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 Eddi of Manhood End,
"I dare not shut his chapel
On such as care to attend."

The Oxen

I love this poem with its aching melancholy and yearning for the lost beliefs and faith of our childhood. It was written in 1915, in the midst of WWI, a time when miracles were in short supply. The legend the poem is based on was that cattle – descendants of the beasts that knelt in reverence at the stable in Bethlehem – would kneel each Christmas Eve at midnight.

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 coomb *
Our childhood used to know,’
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.

Thomas Hardy

* barton is a farmyard and coomb is a valley

Winter Birds

You can download the printable of these sweet little birds at artist Rebecca Kallum's blog, here.

The fir tree

The night of the Saviour's birth, all the living creatures, both flora and fauna, came to Bethlehem with gifts. The olive tree brought its fruit and the palm its dates. But the little fir tree had no gift and was so tired it couldn't resist when the big trees pushed it into the background and hid it from view. But then a nearby angel took pity and commanded a cluster of stars to come and rest on its delicate boughs. When the Baby Jesus beheld this lovely lighted tree, He smiled and blessed it, declaring henceforth that fir trees should always be filled with lights at Christmastime to please little children.

Candy Cane Kisses

I've just discovered a new holiday favorite, Hershey's Candy Cane Kisses. They are sooooo good. They're creamy and sweet and just divine. They taste like the Hickory Farms' melt away mints, only better. I'm in love.

I bought a bag yesterday because I thought they'd be pretty melted on top of my holiday pretzel treats. The Candy Cane Kisses are red and white swirls. Before I made the pretzel treats, I thought perhaps I'd better taste a Kiss. Just because they were pretty didn't necessarily mean they were going to taste good.

I ate one and was hooked. I almost didn't want to use them on my pretzel treats. Another trip to the store was definitely in order. I had to be at church at 9:40 Sunday morning to practice with the bells and choir, but if all went according to schedule, I'd have time for a quick run back to Lowes foods to clean out the rest of their stock of Hershey's Candy Cane Kisses before the service.

They only had 2 bags left on the shelf. I grabbed them and got in line. The downloaded internet coupon for $1 off wouldn't scan. After the cashier tried for the 5th time, I asked couldn't she just key in the numbers. No, they can only scan internet coupons. I finally told her I'd just pay full price. I didn't have time to keep fiddling around and I wasn't about to walk out without my candy.

My route back to church passed by CVS. I still had a few minutes to spare. I made a quick detour and hit pay dirt. I grabbed 2 more bags. Dad thought I was going overboard. "Aren't you going to get tired of them?"

Given that I can't eat just one, I don't think that will be a problem. "They only make them at Christmas," I informed him. "It'll be a whole year before they sell them again."

That's a long time. I may need to add a few more bags to my supply.

But I’m not ready yet

Christmas is next week and my decorating is still a work in progress. The tree and mantel and yard lights have been done since Thanksgiving. The living room is mostly done if you overlook the fall arrangement that I took off the table, set on the floor, and then promptly forgot about. But shortly after that, I got sidetracked. There were Christmas treats to make, shopping to do, and handbell practices and performances.

Yesterday it was so warm outside that I was inspired to start putting together the Christmas greenery. It’s easier to do when your fingers aren’t encased in bulky gloves. Of course, bare fingers may be more nimble, but those holly leaves will stick the fool out of you. Even the lacy looking cedar will scratch you if you’re not careful. But our holly is full of beautiful red berries and I love the delicate look of the cedar, so I risked it.

The wreath is now up on the back porch and the hunting horn is festooned with greenery and hung on the shepherd’s crook. That was all I had time for before lunch. I did those first because I can enjoy them when I let Dillon out or am standing at the sink washing dishes. Of course, Dad’s first question was whether or not I’d finished the baskets to go to the cemetery. Heck, I haven’t even started on the baskets for the cemetery. Or the greenery for the front light post. Perhaps I should put on my miner’s light and work at night?

I’ve come to the conclusion that we have too many Christmas decorations. There are boxes that never even get opened. Every year, I think I’m going to decorate a tree in the living room with all the beautiful glass ornaments that aren’t safe around a lab’s wagging tail. Then I realize that Christmas is next week and by the time I get the tree up and decorated, it’ll be time to take it back down again.

I love decorations. I just don't particularly enjoy the work of decorating. I need elves.

Christmas bells

I try to watch as many Christmas specials as I can. I watch everything from animated cartoons to Christmas concerts. Several years ago, I stumbled across The Raleigh Ringers Holiday Special on PBS, One Winter Evening at Meymandi Hall. It was this performance that inspired me to say "Yes" when invited to join our church's bell choir.

The Raleigh Ringers is one of the preeminent handbell groups in the country. Their members have to audition for their spots every year. One of the highlights of my short time playing handbells was participating in a clinic conducted by David Harris, the director of The Raleigh Ringers. I wrote about it here.

One Winter Evening at Meymandi Hall is being shown on WUNC-TV on Thursday, December 15 at 10 p.m. If that's not past your bedtime and you're in search of something to watch, you might want to check it out. The music is beautiful and the performance is very entertaining.

Read me a story

I love audiobooks. I listen to them in the car while driving since my radio reception varies from poor to nonexistent. I listen to them at night to still my mind and fall asleep. In the spirit of the holidays, I’ve been listening to Christmas stories for the past couple of weeks.

A Child’s Christmas in Wales is read by Dylan Thomas himself. Such a lyrical story and simply wonderful. I’m glad I have the print version as well because Dylan Thomas’ narration can be a bit difficult to follow at times.

Caroline Kennedy’s A Family Christmas is terrific. It’s an anthology of Christmas songs, poems, and stories ranging from the secular to religious. Some are old favorites, some completely new to me. I love this collection so much that I have both the audio and print versions. Last night, I fell asleep to Truman Capote’s A Christmas Memory. I’ve always loved that short story, but listening to it is an even richer experience. The narrator is perfect, the accent and phrasing are just wonderful and bring Sook’s character to life.

Mary Kay Andrews' Blue Christmas definitely qualifies as fluff and will never rise to the level of a classic. But I enjoyed listening to it last week on my way to the mall for some Christmas shopping. And it absolutely helped calm my nerves while navigating the traffic in the parking lots.

I just finished listening to The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. I’ve read the story before, as with most of the others I’ve listed here, I own both the print and audio versions. Once again, the narrator adds something extra to the experience. It was a hoot as well as thought provoking and inspiring.

I just started on David Baldacci’s The Christmas Train on the way home last night. I haven’t read that book and it's one of the few I’ve listed that I don’t own. I hope it’s as good as the rest have been. Skipping Christmas is still waiting in the wings.

If you haven't tried audiobooks, you really should. Some libraries have on-line collections available for free download. Our library has a collection of cassettes and CD's available. I listen to more books than I read these days. It's amazing how many books you can go through even with a commute as short as mine.

Frosty the Snowman

Like father, like daughter

Last night at church, when Nancy came over to invite Dad to join her table, she commented that we had the same build, so she could tell we were related. Today at work, Carol said how much she enjoyed meeting my father. “You have the same dry wit,” she remarked. Dad and I aren’t sure which of us should be flattered and which insulted. The one thing we agree on is that people thinking we’re that much alike is scary.

A Joyful Noise

We had our Christmas bell concert at church last night. Last year, I told Dad he didn’t have to come and he took me at my word, stayed home, and watched a basketball game. I have to admit to privately questioning his priorities. It seemed slightly unnatural to prefer a televised regular season basketball game to watching your daughter play in a concert, however amateurish. My feelings weren’t hurt and it was actually pretty funny, so no harm done.

This year, we had two pieces that just weren’t coming together. Jane scheduled two extra bell practices, I referred to them as emergency bell practices, to try and whip us into shape. After our last practice, she said that the two carols were beginning to sounds like “pieces” instead of a jumble of random notes. That sounded like faint, but hopeful praise. Jane is wonderful, never gets outwardly frustrated, is quick to laugh, and always stays positive.

I spent Sunday baking chocolate crinkle cookies to go with my pretzel Hershey kiss treats for the dessert table. Dad asked again what time the concert began. He planned to attend. I guess there wasn’t an interesting basketball game on tv this year. I told him he didn’t have to come, but I thought it was a nice gesture on his part.

We had a nice little crowd. Dad looked spiffy in his Pendleton plaid shirt, sweater vest and sport coat. The temperature can be chilly at our church, so he was dressed for warmth. A very nice member of the congregation who also sings in the choir, Nancy, came over, introduced herself, and invited Dad to join herself and her husband at their table. I left him in their good hands.

At the last minute, Carol, from work, arrived with her husband. Carol knows my bell buddy, Leigh, from when they both worked at the ESC. I’d been sharing my horror stories about our practices, so Carol wanted to hear us in action. I thought she was both thoughtful and brave.

Our two difficult pieces went very well. I even managed to nail the one page turn I was responsible for in Angels We Have Heard On High. Then for some unknown reason, I completely lost my place and didn’t play another note until I figured out where we were about a page later. Jane had reminded us prior to the concert, when she read a prayer for handbells, that if you get behind, it’s better to be quiet than late. I didn’t dare ring until I was sure of my place. The audience didn’t seem to notice although I’m sure Jane did.

At the end of the concert, we handed out bells and songbooks to the audience. Our victims got a chance to play our version of bells for dummies while we all sang along. It was wonderful and I must admit, gave me the most genuine feeling of Christmas spirit I’ve had all season. There’s something about a group of people joining together to sing Christmas carols that can’t help but get you in the spirit of the season.

When I joined Dad at the conclusion of the concert, his newfound friends claimed to have thoroughly enjoyed his company. Being Dad, he was slightly confused as to their identity. During the intermission, I had brought him over to introduce him to Carol from work. She enjoys my Life with Father stories, so I wanted her to meet Dad. We also have another Nancy at work. That Nancy is not the same Nancy that was at church last night. Naturally after meeting Carol, from work, and being introduced to Nancy at church, who clearly knew me (from Chamber of Commerce functions over the years), Dad thought church Nancy was work Nancy. I hope he didn’t confuse church Nancy too badly.

Dear Mrs. Claus

Click on the cartoon to see the entire thing.

Now that's a smart kid!

A pain in the neck

I applied a Band-Aid to Dad’s neck for what I hope will be the last time this morning. He’s been applying hot compresses to the cyst on his neck at least 5 times a day for a couple of weeks now. A new Band-Aid was required after every compress. He applied his own compresses, but heaven forbid he should have to stick on his own Band-Aid.

At first, we were using gauze pads and tape. Monday, trying to be helpful, I told him that it looked to me like he could just use a regular Band-Aid. I was sort of hoping that he’d be able to put on a regular Band-Aid without my assistance. I should have known better.

He promptly went shopping for Band-Aids. I warned him not to buy anything he couldn’t remove himself because we’d already reached the limits of what I was willing to do. No way was I going to have to rip Band-Aids off while he howled. I might have been tempted to rip his head off while I was at it.

He bought the biggest Band-Aids he could find. I really thought a normal size Band-Aid would do the job and have the added advantage of having less sticky surface to pull off. He’d been complaining that his neck was getting sore from removing all the tape. Obviously, I had underestimated Dad’s perception of the size of his boo-boo.

Given that the cyst has shrunk to practically nothing and is no longer oozing, I thought it was silly to keep applying Band-Aids, but I kept my mouth shut and just stuck on the Band-Aids that he handed me. This morning when he handed me the Band-Aid, he announced that he thought that one would be the last. I wanted to do a happy dance, but I restrained myself and just said a low-key “good.”

His brother called Wednesday to say he and his friend, Joan, were going to stop by and see Dad today. That meant I had to clean house this morning. I do just enough to try and avoid having the topic of conversation on their return trip be whether or not a call to the health department and/or social services is in order.

I told Dad I was going to dust, vacuum, and clean the bathroom and his contribution was to go pick up lunch for the two of us so I didn’t have to cook. He gave me a pained look. I thought I was being generous. I could have stuck a duster in his hand.

When I came home tonight, I noticed an Old Fashioned glass I never use on the kitchen counter. Last time Uncle Thomas came to visit and wanted something to drink, Dad just pointed at the kitchen cabinet that holds the glasses. It was summertime, but Uncle Thomas wound up with a Season’s Greetings Christmas glass that probably had dust in the bottom because it hadn’t been used in about a year. This time, there was a newly washed Season’s Greetings glass on a tea towel on the counter and another clean one in the cabinet. It would certainly have been appropriate and festive to use either one of them.

“Why didn’t you give him a Season’s Greetings glass?” I asked in frustration. “I didn’t give him a glass. He asked where we kept the glasses and I pointed at the cabinet.” “You need to be a better host. You’re supposed to get him a glass. That glass hasn’t been used since I put it in the cabinet when I moved in 20 years ago. He probably had to blow the dust out.” Dad just laughed.

“I swear, why do I bother trying to clean when you just go and ruin my image by letting people go through the cabinet and use dusty glasses?” I pointed at the dishrag lying on the counter. “I left the dishrag draped over the faucet. How did it get on the counter?” “I don’t know,” Dad replied. “I didn’t move it.” “Uncle Thomas probably used that to wipe the dust out of the glass,” I said in disgust. Dad just kept laughing. He can be such a pain in the neck.

Where to put the tree?

When I was at the mall, Christmas was the most stressful time of the year. Getting all the decorations up while listening to customers complain that we'd started too early, apparently they believed there really were elves who could do it all in one night. Hiring Santa's Helpers who understood that yes, you did have to work on Christmas Eve day and it would be nice if you didn't come to work dressed as if you were getting ready to wash your car. Dealing with screaming children and frustrated parents who had long ago forgotten that Christmas is the season of peace on earth, good will towards men. And most stressful of all, scheduling Santa and then washing his beards, mending his clothes, and humoring his whining and complaining when things got on his nerves so that at least one of us was merry and bright.

I was constantly in search of a little bit of Christmas spirit or a good laugh. The story below is one of my favorites as it fit my mood exactly. After reading it, you'll understand why I was even more amused that the figurine on the top of my personal Christmas tree is a beautiful Santa Claus.

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.

Why Christmas Trees Aren't Perfect

This is a very sweet Christmas story and the illustrations are wonderful as well. I just might have to add a copy of the print book to my collection. In the meantime, click here for a link to the story online and enjoy!

Kitchen Kapers

Yes, I do know that capers doesn't really start with a k.

I planned to get started on my Christmas cooking today. I had to make a trip to the grocery store for some HE Tide to try out my new washer and figured I’d pick up the ingredients for party mix and fruitcake cookies while I was there. It wasn’t until I got back home that I realized I’d forgotten to buy pineapple juice which is one of the ingredients for the fruitcake cookies.

I thought about going back out to the store. Food Lion is right beside McDonald’s and I’ve been wanting to try one of Mickey D’s new peppermint mochas. Two of the women at work say it’s really good. In the end though, I decided to make the party mix first and hit the grocery store again tomorrow.

Since the party mix has to cook in the oven for 1-1/2 hours and requires stirring every 15 minutes, I took advantage of the wait time to chop the pecans and candied cherries and pineapple for the fruitcake cookies. That’ll make them seem like less work tomorrow. Dillon loved when I had to stir the party mix because despite using my biggest roaster, since I was making a double batch, I still managed to spill a couple of pieces of cereal on the floor each time.

I use Mom’s recipe for party mix. Luckily, she copied it off a cereal box back in the late 50’s, early 60’s. Today’s versions just aren’t the same. I read the back of one of the Chex cereal boxes today and they had a version they claimed was the original. Please, it had no cheerios and called for bagel chips. I don’t think there was any such thing as bagel chips when the original recipe was developed. The new version was also missing celery salt, which was Mom’s favorite ingredient. The new original recipe may be good, I wouldn’t know as I don’t waste my time preparing it, but it definitely isn’t the genuine original recipe.

My laundry room is right off the kitchen, so I was able to monitor the first load in the new washer while I was cooking. So far, so good. Everything seemed to work as it’s supposed to. There are lots of flashing red lights on the dash. The bulbs had better be long lasting because if they ever go out, I won’t have a clue what cycle the machine is set for. A timer shows the minutes remaining for the load to finish. The machine is quiet and when it finishes, it plays a little tune.

I spent some time staring at the wash through the glass top. It was interesting for a while, but after I saw how the agitation and spin worked, the novelty soon wore off. That’s okay. I just want it to clean my clothes; it doesn’t need to entertain me as well.

Oh, Christmas Tree!

I've just discovered Thymes Frasier Fir fragrance. It's amazing. It smells like there's a fresh cut Christmas tree in my house. Candles are $26, but I went for the reed diffuser, $48, so I could enjoy the fragrance all day long. Yes, it's pricey, but this is a splurge that I'm really going to enjoy. You can purchase on-line from Thymes, or Amazon, or do a store search on the Thymes site and find a local retailer near you.

I found a local retailer because even after reading the glowing reviews, I wanted to smell Frasier Fir for myself before making what for me was a major purchase. I never spend that kind of money on home fragrance. I always seem to be disappointed with the candles I purchase after I get them home and start burning them, so I was dubious of the claims that this scent was really better than all the rest.

But every Christmas, when I put up my faithful little artificial tree, I think wistfully of the fragrance of a live tree perfuming the house during the holidays. As soon as I smelled Frasier Fir, I was hooked. It's so much better than anything Yankee Candle or Bath and Body Works are selling. If you want the fragrance of a live tree without the hassle of dealing with watering and shedding, check out Frasier Fir by Thymes.

Real Simple

If you're a fan of Real Simple, and I am, Amazon has a great price on 1-year subscriptions going on now. $12 for one year, while supplies last. Make sure you don't check auto-renewal. Go for the regular one-year subscription.

Source of agitation

I heard on a tv show years ago that when it comes to giving gifts to the women in your life, one rule is very important; if it has a plug, it’s not a gift. We’re getting a new washing machine. It’s being delivered this Friday. I hastened to point out to my father, just in case there was any doubt, that the new washer is a household appliance and is definitely not part of my Christmas.

“I don’t know why not. Just think how much harder it would be if you had to do laundry by hand,” he said. “Just think how hard it would be if you had to do your own laundry,” I countered. “It would probably be gray,” he agreed.

I’ve been resisting the idea of replacing my old Kenmore. It’s only around 10 years old. When the timer broke, we replaced it. Then all these little flecks of brown crud started appearing in the tub. We had the repairman back. He didn’t know what it was or where it was coming from.

He removed the agitator cover and scrubbed the post. That didn’t help, but the quantity of brown flecks decreased and sometimes there wouldn’t be any. They don’t stain. If you wait until the garment is dry, they brush right off.

Still, the whole point of doing laundry is for things to come out cleaner than when they went in. But every time I read the appliance reviews, I was paralyzed with fear that I’d wind up with something worse than I already had. Better the devil you know.

Then a week or so ago, I used the soak cycle in an attempt to whiten some old blouses. Then I used the handwash cycle to wash them. I don’t remember the last time I tried to use either of those cycles. When the load was finished, I was horrified to discover everything was covered with thousands of brown flecks. Apparently, the unfamiliar cycles had triggered a new rash of disintegration. It was time to face the unavoidable fact that the problem wasn’t going away.

I once again started reading reviews on every site I could find. I don’t know why I bother because I usually still wind up with an appliance that I don’t like as well as the one it replaced. I thought I’d decided on a bare bones, basic, old-style Maytag that still lets you choose your water levels and has an agitator. But there were lots of complaints about Maytags and noise and waiting for replacement parts.

I started seriously considering the Samsungs. At first, I had my doubts about buying an appliance from a Korean manufacturer. Then it occurred to me that I won’t buy an American-made car, so perhaps I should reconsider. The Samsung toploader has glowing reviews. It’s rated #1 by Consumer Reports. It was on sale for 33% off at Lowes. Still, I dithered.

I made at least 3 trips to the store to see the machine. I talked to the salesmen. I measured. I did more loads of laundry to see if they would come out clean or covered with brown flecks. I asked Dad’s advice. He said to do whatever I wanted. I really didn’t want to buy a new washer. The sale was scheduled to end on Monday. My last load had a few brown flecks. I bit the bullet, grabbed Dad’s credit card, and bought the Samsung.

If the positive reviews are to be believed, this machine will do everything except fold your laundry and put it away. It even has a glass top so you can pull up a stool and watch it in action if you have nothing better to do and are desperate for entertainment. Frankly, the new high efficiency machines scare me to death and all the bells and whistles are just more things to break. Crossing my fingers and hoping I made the right decision.

Dad better not try to stick a big red bow on top. No matter how flashy the machine is, it’s still not part of my Christmas. I pointed out to him that if the machine is as smart as they say, he could do the laundry. Then I might actually be willing to consider it a present. He just laughed and shook his head.

Not for the squeamish

Dad has been faithfully applying the hot compresses to the golf ball-size cyst on his neck. He started seeing results when the cyst started to open up and bleed. Surprisingly enough, and luckily for me, he’d been dealing with it all himself. Then on Sunday morning, before we left for breakfast, he wanted me to take a look at it and see if it looked like the core was beginning to come out. It was.

It was almost just about the most disgusting thing I’d ever seen. I was glad I hadn’t eaten yet. He wanted me to put a big piece of gauze over it before we went to breakfast. His reason was to prevent it sticking to his collar. My reason was to shield the sight from all of the other poor people trying to enjoy their breakfast.

On the way to Oscar’s, the tape started to come loose. Luckily, I was prepared. Before we left, I’d put the tape and scissors in my purse. I slapped some more on and we went in to breakfast. “Be careful how you treat me or my head might fall off,” Dad told the waitress in a shameless bid for the poor babies he wasn’t getting from me. She just laughed.

In the car on the way home, he started in with, “If I knew anything about cysts, I’d have you get the tweezers and try pulling the core out.” Gross! “Let me tell you something. Unless we’re stranded in the middle of the desert, days away from help and in danger of imminent death, the only medical care I’m administering is slapping a bandage on something and only then when I can’t avoid it,” I informed him. I don’t understand why he hasn’t gotten that concept through his head yet. “You’re not going to do any nursing?” he inquired. “Absolutely not,” I said definitely.

He tried to discuss the cyst some more. “I just ate and I don’t want to talk about,” I told him. When we got home, he wanted to take the gauze off so he could apply another hot compress. The tape had practically worked itself loose, but I was the one that had to pull it off. I yanked quickly and dropped it in the trash. “Was it bleeding?” he asked. “I don’t know, Dad. I tried not to look,” I said in disgust. For heaven’s sake, if he wants to know all the gory details, he should take his own bandages off and use a mirror.

He made me call the doctor first thing Monday morning to get him an appointment. The doctor said it was doing fine and to keep applying the hot compresses. That’s probably not what Dad wanted to hear. He’s still searching in vain for his poor babies.

Mom would be so proud

Unfortunately for Dad, I’m not my mother and I was mad as hell. Mom was always after Dad to lock the doors. He was bad about leaving one unlocked and she was concerned that some criminal would be roaming the neighborhood and take the unlocked door as an invitation to come on in and rob them blind. On several occasions when I’ve found the front door unlocked, I’ve brought it to his attention myself.

Dad asked me to tape the Carolina basketball game for him since it didn’t start until 10:00 p.m. last night. Although I have an extra DVD-VCR player, he’s never bought the cables to hook it up to his tv. Instead of making him watch the game on the 20-inch set in the den, I decided to be nice and let him watch it in my study. I got the tape ready to go and showed him which buttons to press on the remote.

“Isn’t the sound going to bother you?” he asked. “No because I’m going to be doing other things,” I replied. I planned on taking advantage of the nice weather to do some decorating outside, out of range of the tv. When Dad cranks the volume up, the only safe place to be is outside. He settled in to watch his game and I went outside to get to work.

I wrapped the multi-colored lights around the porch railing last night. Now I needed to put the lighted deer out in the backyard. I dragged the extension cord across the yard. Carried the deer out of the basement and set them in place. Hammered the hooks into the ground to anchor them. Then I wrapped an old tomato cage, that Dad had placed to protect something he planted, in green lights to camouflage it as a tree. Everything lit up and worked just as it was supposed to. I was a happy camper.

Until I tried to go inside to turn off the lights. The back door was locked. I had noticed Dad come out and go down to the basement at one point, but hadn’t thought a lot about it. I don’t know why he came outside in the middle of the game, but whatever the reason, he obviously didn’t notice me and when he went back in, he locked me out.

I don’t react well to finding myself on the wrong side of a locked door. It infuriates me. I had a lot of things I wanted to get done today and being locked out was going to screw up my schedule. Plus, there are no bathroom facilities in the backyard. Since this isn’t the first time he’s done this, I did have a spare key hidden outside. I went to retrieve it, cussing my head off. Trust me, I’m now definitely at the top of Santa’s naughty list.

I found the key and went to let myself in. The key didn’t work. It would go in the lock, but absolutely would not turn. I cussed some more as I headed for the swing. I had a can of WD 40 out there from spraying the chains to keep them from squeaking. I sprayed the key with WD 40 and tried again. Still no luck.

Banging on the back door wasn’t going to get Dad’s attention since he was still in my study watching the game. My best shot was going around to the front door. The only problem with that idea was that all of the gates were locked, so I had to climb the fence. That was easy when I was a kid. Now, my tennis shoes don’t seem to fit into the holes in the chain links. I finally managed to boost myself up, but in the process of trying to go over, I snagged one of the pockets of my jeans. Fortunately, it came loose before the fabric ripped.

Once safely back down on the ground, and still cussing, I headed for the front door. I rang the bell about 20 times in a row. Then I beat on the door with my clenched fist. I opened the mail slot and shouted. No response. I resumed my ringing and beating. I was pounding so hard I could see the door vibrate.

Finally, Dad came and opened the door. “Why did you lock me out?” I asked him furiously. “I didn’t know you were out there,” he replied sheepishly. I stormed into the den, heading for the back door to let Dillon in. The back door was standing open. Apparently, when he heard the beating and ringing, he first went to the back door. Why? I have no idea. There is no doorbell out back. Maybe he was going in search of me so I could deal with the crazy person at the front door?

Luckily for Dad, it was still an hour or so until lunch. He went back to the game. I went back to my decorating. I calmed down by the time we sat down to eat. Until I can get a new spare key made, I’m going to keep my dog-walking set in my pocket. I’m not sure the front door, or my wrist, can survive a repeat performance.

I Believe

Yes, there is a Santa Claus and he still brings presents in the middle of the night when I'm fast asleep in my bed.

When I was at the mall, I used to collect the Disney mini-snow globes that JCPenney gives out to the first shoppers on Black Friday. Maintenance and Security had to be there when Penney's opened their doors, so they'd get me a snow globe before the supply ran out. I line them up on my kitchen windowsill at Christmas.

After I left the mall, I lost my inside connection. I certainly wasn't going to get up at 4 a.m. just for a snow globe. Dad knows I like them and he sometimes wakes up early but will stay in bed until it's time to get up or he falls back asleep. He told me last night that if he woke up, he'd go get me a snow globe. I told him that wasn't necessary, I have more than I can fit on my windowsill already. He insisted if he was awake, he'd go see if he could get me one.

I was in bed fast asleep somewhere around 5 a.m. when Dillon started barking like the Hound of the Baskervilles. He settled back down and I just turned over and went back to sleep. When I got up at 7 a.m., Dad's bedroom door was closed, he wasn't in the den reading the paper, and his car was in the driveway. Obviously he was still in bed. So much for my snow globe.

Then I noticed that his coat was on the hall chair. That's a sign that he's been somewhere. I looked at the chest of drawers beside the chair. Sure enough, there was a new Disney mini-snow globe. He'd gotten up, gone to Penney's, and then come home and gone back to bed.

He came out of his bedroom about 30 minutes later. I thanked him for the snow globe. "I heard Dillon bark when I came back this morning," he said. Since he'd obviously gone back to bed after his excursion, I had a sudden picture of him wearing his pajamas to the store. "You didn't go to the store in your pajamas, did you?" I asked. "I thought about it, but I was afraid I'd be cold," he replied. Thank goodness.

He earned huge brownie points for going to all that trouble. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus and he lives in North Carolina.

Giving Thanks

We had a very nice Thanksgiving. I had done a lot of prep work for the meal in advance so I didn't have to spend all morning in the kitchen. Dad informed me that the sweet potato casserole was wonderful as usual and the dressing was the best I'd made so far. I finally shook enough celery seed in to make it like Mom's. I prefer recipes that have exact measurements to follow. With Mom's dressing, you go by what looks right. It's not easy for me to tell what looks right, but I do my best.

Here's the recipe for the sweet potato casserole. It's a healthier version, but we think it's just as good as the original that was loaded with fat and sugar. It's Dad's favorite. He claims it's as good as dessert.

Praline Sweet Potato Casserole

2 cans (16 ounces each) sweet potatoes or yams (about 4 cups) (I don't use canned. I bake sweet potatoes, let them cool, pull off the peeling and mash.)
1/2 cup Splenda sweetener
4 egg whites or 1/2 cup liquid egg substitute
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup brown sugar or brown sugar substitute (I use Splenda brown sugar)
1/4 chopped pecans
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons light tub margarine
Butter-flavored cooking spray

What to Do

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Lightly grease (or spray with cooking spray) a shallow 2-quart baking dish.

2. Combine the sweet potatoes, sweetener, egg whites, salt, and vanilla in a food processor or blender and process until smooth. Spoon into the baking dish. (I use a potato masher and just mash everything together or use a hand mixer just like making mashed potatoes.)

3. Stir together the brown sugar, pecans, flour, and margarine in a medium bowl. Lightly sprinkle over the sweet potato mixture. Spray the top with butter-flavored spray and bake until lightly browned, about 30 minutes. (I forgot to spray the top yesterday and I coudn't tell any difference.)

Serves 12

Nutritional Information
Per serving: 150 calories, 3 g protein, 27 g carbohydrates, 2 g fat, 0 g saturated fat, 0 mg cholesterol, 2 g fiber, 172 mg sodium

Christmas spirit

I've had my eye on this rattan snowman at Target since I first spotted him well before Halloween. I love lighted decorations. After the Christmas decorations come down, January seems so dreary. I try to counter the gray days and long dark nights by leaving snowman-themed decorations, that don't have obvious holly and candy cane embellishments, up until Valentine's Day. This fellow looked like a perfect addition to my collection. When he went on sale last week, admittedly for only $8 off, I decided he was coming home with me.

Dad is once again trying to make me buy my own Christmas presents with the "I don't shop as much as I used to and I don't know what to get you" speech accompanied by the poor, pitiful me look. When he saw the snowman, he decided it could be part of my Christmas. "How much did it cost?" he began. "It was $31.99 plus tax," I replied. "So $32.00," he summed up, reaching into his wallet.

I started punching buttons on the calculator. "Actually, it was $34.06. You have to include tax," I lectured, "but I'll spot you the $.06. Is assembly part of the deal?" I inquired. "No," he said quickly. "Some Santa you are. In the old days Santa presents came assembled," I complained.

"Do you have $6?" he asked, holding out two $20 bills. I scrounged around and found him change. Do you see why I don't like buying my own Christmas? It sounds good in theory, but it becomes an exercise in commerce that takes all the joy out of experience. Still, come January my snowman is going to look very cheery shining brightly at the end of the hall.

My skeleton windsock is still floating around on the shepherd's crook in the backyard. I asked Dad yesterday if he thought I could stick a Santa hat on it and call it the ghost of Christmas past. He suggested I look into hooking up an audio recording of A Christmas Carol to carry out the theme. That sounds like too much work, but he gets points for joining into the spirit of the conversation instead of just giving me one of those looks.

Chrome

I'm no expert on computers. My needs are fairly basic and I know just enough to surf the net safely and handle word processing tasks. For years, I used Internet Explorer as my browser. Then when I was taking on-line classes at the community college, I started using Mozilla Firefox because Explorer would crash whenever I had to take a timed exam on-line.

I'd been very happy with Firefox until the last couple of weeks when it started taking forever to load web pages and I kept getting the page is not responding messages all the time. I finally got so frustrated that I decided to give Chrome a try. If it passed muster with Brian at Krebs on Security, I figured it was worth a try.

I've been using Chrome for about a week now and I really like it. Web pages load much faster and so far, no annoying freezes, crashes, or error messages. Hooray!

What's up, Doc?

Dad has had a knot about the size of a small marble on the side of his neck for years. The doctor said it was a cyst and nothing to worry about. It’s gotten bigger recently and started bothering him, so he went to the doctor yesterday. I was anticipating that the doctor would refer him to someone who would want to slice and dice and remove the cyst, leaving me to once again play Nurse Nancy. Happy Thanksgiving to me.

Last night when I got home, I asked if the doctor had given him a referral. “No,” Dad said. “Well, what did he do?” I asked. “He’s not going to do anything. He says to put a hot compress on it THREE times a day,” Dad replied in disgust. “Well, that sounds like something you can do yourself,” I said in delight. Dad looked even more pained.

Please, there’s nothing to running hot water over a washcloth and holding it to your neck. He’s perfectly capable of doing that himself. From his tone, you would think he was disappointed that major surgery and long term follow-up care isn’t called for. Given my absolute refusal to adopt the poor baby standard of care giving he’s obviously seeking, you’d think he’d be relieved that we’re not going to have to fight that battle again.

They also managed to screw up his prescriptions. He needed new prescriptions for 3 drugs he takes on a daily basis. Dad always likes to try and get prescriptions with enough refills to last him for a year. Actually, he’d be really happy if they just let him refill the prescriptions forever without the necessity of another doctor’s visit. His insurance requires that he use a mail-order pharmacy. For some reason, when the doctor wrote the one-time prescription having to do with the cyst, which he sent to the local pharmacy, he also sent the prescriptions for the other three drugs to the local pharmacy as well and only allowed for 1 refill.

“How do they think that’s going to last me for an entire year?” Dad griped. “And wouldn’t you think the local pharmacist would have realized that wasn’t enough pills for a year?” “I’m sure they just filled the prescription without realizing that you take the pills every day and the prescription was supposed to last you for a year,” I replied.

Really, he thinks people have unlimited time and pay attention to every detail. He’s been out of the workplace for too long. It wasn't the pharmacist's mistake, the fault lies with someone at the doctor's office. The doctor that Dad chose, so he can no longer blame me when things don't go to suit him.

“Now I’m going to have to go back to the doctor and wrestle with them to get this straightened out,” he complained. “Well isn’t it nice that you’re retired and have plenty of time to take care of it,” I said. He was still muttering when I left the room.

Open wide

When I had my root canal and got my temporary filling last week, the hygienist warned me not to eat anything sticky. I tried to follow instructions. My jaw had stayed sore most of the week, so I’d been eating mostly soft foods. Saturday night we had egg salad sandwiches. A tiny piece of eggshell that I’d missed got caught between my teeth. I flossed to get it out.

Later that evening, I had a brownie. I took my first bite and crunched down on something hard. My crown had come off. Wonderful. I was relieved to see that the tooth and filling still looked intact. Now I’d really be eating soft foods until I could get to the dentist first thing Monday morning.

To make things even better, I was scheduled to play handbells at church on Sunday in front of the congregation. Thank goodness, it’s a back tooth because I’d have been mortified to have to get up in front of everyone missing a front tooth. And no way could I not go. It’s not like missing a member of the choir, when a handbell is missing it’s really obvious and throws everyone else off.

Sunday morning, we went to Oscar’s for breakfast as usual. Before we left home, I told Dad that my crown had come off. I figured the scrambled egg, grits and hash browns were safe. I wasn’t planning to test my luck and eat bacon. Oscar’s puts 3 pieces of bacon on the plate and I always eat 2 and take 1 home for Dillon. Dillon looks forward to his bacon and he wouldn’t take kindly to doing without.

I told Dad he had a choice to make. I was going to order 2 eggs to make up for no bacon. He could either pay the extra and I’d take all my bacon home for Dillon or I’d leave the bacon off my order and he’d have to give up half of one of his pieces of bacon for Dillon. He looked pained, but told me to do whatever I wanted. I decided he could give up half of one of his pieces of bacon. When his order arrived, I made him fork over the piece of bacon before he started eating so he wouldn’t forget and eat it all. He looked even more pained, but handed it over.

Dillon greeted me at the door, barking and sniffing, eager for his treat. When I handed over the half piece of bacon, he woofed it down and sniffed my hand for more. He looked disbelieving when I told him that was all there was. If he’d been given the choice, he’d definitely have chosen the 3 pieces of bacon.

Handbells went fine. I ate soup, oatmeal and pudding for the rest of the day and tried to tell myself I wasn’t really hungry. Soft food doesn’t do as good a job of filling you up. I presented myself at the dentist’s office promptly at 8 a.m. this morning. They worked me in and since my tooth was doing okay, they went ahead and put in the permanent filling before replacing my crown. That was good except that it meant more drilling and pushing and prodding than I was anticipating.

I did more praying this morning in that dentist’s chair than I did yesterday in church. My jaw wasn’t happy. I heard it crack several times when I went to close my mouth, and it’s sore all over again. I guess I’ll be eating soft food for a little longer. At least by Sunday I should be ready for bacon again. That will make Dad, Dillon and me very happy.

Arghhhh!!!

Dad has started parching his peanuts in the microwave. He did it that way for years in Baltimore, but hasn’t done it much here. He burned the first few batches. I know this only because I smelled it when I came home from work. This morning, he parched a batch while I was in the shower. He got these right, so the smell was pleasant as opposed to making me think I needed to call the fire department.

I was not happy however, when I went into the kitchen to mix up the cornbread and discovered that he’d parched them in my mother’s perfectly seasoned, metal biscuit pan! You don’t put metal in a microwave and you definitely don’t mess with my mother’s seasoned cookware. I could have killed him.

I marched into the den and informed him that you don’t put metal in a microwave and he should NOT be using my biscuit pan for his peanuts. His round PLASTIC pan is in the cabinet beside the sink. He had better remember or I swear, I’ll start unplugging the microwave whenever I’m not using it. Of course then he’d probably try putting plastic in the oven which would create an even bigger mess.

You can generally always count on my father to get it backwards.

There are no atheists in foxholes or doctors’ offices

It’s been a long week and it’s only Wednesday. Monday I had to get up at 5 a.m. to be at Duke by 8:30 for my annual mammogram and checkup. Falling back to eastern standard time made that a little easier, but Dillon practically levitated out of his bed when the alarm went off. I don’t usually have to set an alarm, so he wasn’t prepared when a Christian radio station blared out at that ungodly hour. I don’t listen to Christian radio by choice. It’s one of the few radio stations that I can tune in on my radio. It does encourage me to get up and slap the off button as opposed to lingering and listening as I used to do when I was able to tune in NPR.

I don’t like mammograms. The radiology tech may claim she’s not trying to hurt you, but there’s really no way around it. Then when they’ve got you in that vise, they tell you to hold your breath. I’m not someone who could ever pass the SEAL test of swimming from one end of the pool and back on one breath. So I always feel as if I’m going to die if I can’t take a breath, but I definitely don’t want to move and screw up the x-ray because that will only lead to a retake. So I hold my breath and pray for the ordeal to be over.

Then when you’re finally released to go back to the waiting room, you sit there hoping for the best and trying not to think about the worst. That’s when the praying gets really serious. The last words you want to hear are, “We need to take a few more shots.” After repeating the whole process, it’s back to the waiting room.

Then I got called into the ultrasound room. More praying while waiting for the radiologist. When she finally entered the room, the first words out of her mouth were, “There’s nothing wrong.” Gee, they couldn’t have told me that 20 minutes earlier? Fortunately, what they’d spotted were cysts and she wanted to map them for future reference.

That should have been cause for celebration. It was, but in the back of my mind was the fact that my root canal was scheduled for the next day. I tried to live in the moment and enjoy the good news, but it was tempered by the fear of the dentist’s drill in my not too distant future. I kept telling myself that I’d had a root canal before and it hadn’t been that bad.

Tuesday morning the alarm didn’t go off until 6 a.m., but it still took Dillon by surprise. I was in the dentist’s chair by 8 a.m. Root canals have changed since I had my last one. Or maybe it’s just that this was a much bigger tooth. Whatever the reason, I didn’t like the process at all. The dentist should have added a prescription for Valium to go along with the penicillin he started me on Friday.

After two shots of Novocain, the hygienist clamped something around my tooth that prevented me from closing my mouth completely. Then she put a rubber shield around the tooth. It covered the entire lower portion of my face. She assured me I would still be able to cough and swallow. She didn’t say anything about breathing. She may have thought that was a given, but I wasn’t so sure.

After she had all that paraphernalia in place, she went out to tell the dentist we were ready. She didn’t come back for a very long time. You really shouldn’t just walk out and leave someone like that. It’s not a pleasant feeling. I prayed for them to hurry back and start before the Novocain wore off, my jaw locked, or I completely lost my nerve and ran screaming from the room.

The dentist came in, immediately was called to another room, and then finally returned and started drilling and drilling and drilling. I couldn’t believe how long it took. It was only one tooth, not a tunnel to China. I have a small mouth, which gives them a limited amount of space in which to work. On top of that, my jaw wants to lock when I open my mouth too wide or keep it open too long.

Nothing the dentist did to my tooth hurt, but my jaw ached and got really tired. I was terrified that it was going to get stuck. I kept praying they’d hurry up and get finished. Maybe that’s another reason for sticking all of that stuff in your mouth. It prevents you from jumping out of the chair and running from the room when you decide halfway through the procedure that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

At one point, the hygienist asked if my jaw was getting tired and if I wanted her to place some type of guard in my mouth that supposedly allows your jaw to rest. It sounded like one more thing that was going to force my mouth open and wouldn’t be under my control. I emphatically grunted what was supposed to be a “No!” It didn’t really sound like no because it’s hard to speak when your tongue is numb and the dentist is working in your mouth with power tools, but maybe the touch me and die look in my eyes got the message across because she didn’t try to put anything else in my mouth. Until they needed to take an x-ray.

Now I’m all for them being thorough and doing it right the first time because I don’t want them having to do any part of the procedure again. But I was not thrilled when the hygienist told me to open my mouth even wider so she could insert a green paddle about the size of a soup-spoon sideways into my mouth. It didn’t go in easily. Surely, they must have a smaller size. Don’t they x-ray children’s mouths? And as if once wasn’t bad enough, they did it three times to check their progress. Between the mammogram yesterday and the dentist Friday and Tuesday, I’ve had so many x-rays in the last week that it’s a wonder I don’t glow in the dark.

They finally finished up by putting in a temporary filling. I get to go back in two weeks for the permanent filling. The hygienist said they don’t normally even have to numb patients for that procedure. Since my lip was still numb on the left side making me look like a stroke victim that sounded good to me. But Novocain or not, God will be hearing from me again as soon as my butt hits the dentist’s chair.

Pilgrims Progress

Dad gets very indignant when retailers try to skip right from Halloween to Christmas. He thinks Thanksgiving isn't accorded enough respect. Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays too, so we've started collecting pilgrims, Native American Indians and turkeys to decorate the house for Thanksgiving. We have them in all shapes and sizes from the bobble-head pilgrim above to the more refined figurines below.





I even found a couple of really vintage pilgrim and turkey candles that Mom had stored in the secretary. I'm thinking she probably used them for bridge club in Charlotte in the 50's.

I'm starting to crave pumpkin pie. I baked Dillon's latest batch of dog biscuits in the shape of turkeys. No one can say that I don't give Thanksgiving it's due.

It'll be nice not to wake up in the dark every morning, but I swear when the time changes back to eastern standard time, it seems like the first Sunday lasts forever. I've walked the dog and wrestled him to the ground in an attempt to clip his nails, charged and added minutes to Dad's phone, done laundry, mowed the grass, straightened up and decorated the house, and it's still not even 4 o'clock. Dillon thinks I've been behind all day. His internal clock takes a while to reset.

Pillow talk

This is my newest holiday purchase. The reindeer games pillow from Pier 1. I wanted it last year, but made the mistake of waiting for it to go on sale. They sold out at my local Pier 1 before I got there. I was delighted to discover that Pier 1 brought the same pillow back again this year.

I try to learn from my mistakes. This time I bought the sucker even though it was full price. I figure if I've thought about the pillow wistfully ever since last Christmas, it's worth it. I just love it. The North Pole scene is embroidered on the pillow and those are bright red jingle bells at each corner. It makes me smile every time I see it nestled in Granny's old platform rocker in my study.

I haven't seen the poinsettia pillow in person, but on-line it looks like it would be beautiful on the red velvet Victorian loveseat in my living room.

Houndstooth

My deal of the day! I picked up a great houndstooth scarf from JCPenney. Between the sale and my $10 savings certificate, it cost me a grand total of $3.19. It looks sharp with my black winter jackets.

I used to scoff at people wrapped up in scarfs. I rarely ever even button up my coat. But last winter, I discovered that wrapping a scarf around my neck was cozy and fashionable. I have an old red tartan plaid that's great for weekends when I usually wear my dark green corduroy shirt under a black leather jacket to run errands. The houndstooth will be a more sophisticated look for work days.

Heath Bar Blondies

These are fabulous. I made a batch last weekend. I ate the last one Thursday and have been craving more ever since. There's another pan in the oven baking right now. Yum!

Heath Bar Blondies

1 stick butter
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
1 egg
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup Heath bar crumbles (Bits 'O Brickle Toffee Bits)
1/2 cup roughly chopped walnuts

Preheat your oven to 350 and butter an 8-inch square pan.

Brown your butter by melting it over medium heat on the stove until it becomes a golden caramel color. Be careful not to burn the butter - you only want to brown it. This will take several minutes and it's easiest to keep swirling the pan with your hand while it browns.

Pour the browned butter into the bowl of a mixer and add the brown sugar. Beat for about four minutes, until creamy. Add the egg and beat again. Then, add the flour, salt and vanilla extract. Beat until combined.

Fold in the Heath bar bits and chopped walnuts. Spread out mixture in your buttered pan and bake for 25 minutes, or until edges begin to pull away from the sides of the pan.

Let cool before slicing into squares. Makes 12-16.

We need to WHAT?

I cracked a tooth earlier this summer and had to have a crown. When I went in for my routine 6-month cleaning a little over a week ago, I asked them to check the crown because it felt like it was taller than the surrounding teeth. Since I grind my teeth at night, I was experiencing some pain in my jaw. The dentist worked on the tooth and my bite felt more normal.

Only the pain in my tooth didn’t go away. It seemed to be increasing. It’s not excruciating, but it’s reached the level of a very low-grade throb that seems to increase when exposed to heat or cold. I went back this morning and had an x-ray. Then the dentist poked, prodded, and tapped. Finally, he leaned back against the wall and announced, “I think we need to….” His final words weren’t completely clear, but it sounded like he said, “I think we need to rip it out.”

“We need to WHAT?” I asked. I wish I could have seen the expression on my face because I was horrified. “We need to do a root canal,” Dr. Arthur repeated. “Oh, thank God. I thought you said we needed to rip it out,” I told him, greatly relieved. “That’s what I go to the dentist to prevent!” Dr. Arthur and the hygienist both burst out laughing. When Dr. Arthur recovered the power of speech, he apologized and assured me that wouldn’t be necessary, a root canal should solve the problem.

He asked me if I’d ever had a root canal. I had one many years ago, performed by a different dentist, and don’t remember it being all that bad. Dr. Arthur described the procedure. When he finished, I informed him that anything sounded like a piece of cake after hearing that your tooth needed to be ripped out. He and the hygienist started laughing again and he once again apologized for scaring me to death.

After the hygienist scheduled me for Tuesday, she said, “Well, you gave us our laugh for the day.” “I’m glad because you gave me my heart attack for the day,” I laughed in return. In hindsight, I’m sure that if my tooth actually needed to come out, Dr. Arthur would have phrased it more clinically and professionally and used a word like extraction as opposed to rip it out. Regardless, I’ll be brushing extra thoroughly from now on.

Oh, my goodness gracious

I’ll miss Halloween. It’s really one of the best holidays. Chocolate is required and cobwebs are decorations not a sign of poor housekeeping. It was cold and rainy here, and I had bell practice, so all of the mini Twix candy bars I bought are left for me. Just the way I planned it.

I wore black from head to toe accented with Mom’s Halloween scarf featuring witches and pumpkins and ghosts. I received many compliments on the scarf. I accented it with my jack-o-lantern earrings, jack-o-lantern pin, and one of Mom’s old acrylic bracelets, bright orange with orange rhinestones. I loved the flash of those “jewels” each time I moved my arm. I really need to see if I can find the perfect, fashionable witch’s hat before next year. I’m thinking purple and orange sequins.

When I let Dillon in from his last bathroom break of the night, and we headed back down the dimly lit hallway, I noticed something about an inch big on the floor. I bent down to pick it up. It was soft and squishy. Not what I’d expected. And it moved. Definitely not what I expected. I thought at first that maybe I’d simply pushed it. I reached back down and it jumped.

There was a tiny frog jumping down my hall. “Oh, my goodness gracious,” I exclaimed, reaching for the light switch and trying to keep my eye on the frog that was hopping as fast as his little legs would propel him. I don’t understand why I turn into a Victorian spinster when I’m startled. I never say things like “Oh, my goodness gracious.” When I’m mad, I swear like a sailor, but when I’m startled, I suddenly turn prim and proper. It’s weird.

I hurried down the hall after the frog, Dillon at my heels. After several attempts, it was sort of like trying to catch a cricket; I finally managed to capture the little guy between my hands. I started walking quickly back down the hall towards the back door, thinking I’d set him free outside, hopefully unharmed.

It’s not easy to turn a round doorknob when both hands are cupped tightly together to cage a frog. I tried nudging the knob with the heel of my hand. It didn’t move. I stared hard at it trying to figure out what to do, mind over matter didn’t work either. I finally took a chance and freed one hand while quickly cupping the other closed. I was afraid the frog would either jump free and I’d have to chase him around the den, or worse yet, I’d squish him which would be sad and gross.

Thankfully, the frog stayed put and I quickly opened the door, opened the storm door, and tossed the frog out onto the porch. I hope that he landed unharmed and hopped back home. I didn’t linger to watch. I slammed the door shut and headed back down the hall. I had already missed the first 10 minutes of Hawaii 5-0, a show that makes me think “Oh, my goodness gracious” for a completely different reason.

Raindrops keep falling on my head

It’s cold and rainy here today. The kind of that morning that makes you glad you pee inside and read the news on-line. Unfortunately, if you live with Dillon and Dad, you still end up outside in the rain. Dillon associates the sound of rain with thunder and lightning, which he is convinced will strike him dead. Getting him to go out in the rain to take care of his business is not easy.

I tried standing on the porch and telling him he’d be okay. He looked at me doubtfully and started heading for the door. I walked towards the steps as if I were going out into the yard, getting my fuzzy slippers wet in the process. He ran down the steps, immediately turned around and ran back up, heading for the door. He still hadn’t peed and I couldn’t coax him back out into the yard.

I finally went inside, put on my shoes and raincoat, and grabbed a big golf umbrella. I went out in the rain while Dillon stood on the porch and watched. I called him and he ran down the steps, ran halfway down the yard in a big circle, and ran back up on the porch, never once slowing down long enough to pee. I made him come back down and finally, he lifted his leg and got down to business.

I let Dillon back into the house. Dad still hadn’t finished his morning ablutions. I decided there was no point in both of us getting wet, so I headed out front to pick up his newspaper. I hung it on the front doorknob so he couldn’t possibly miss it and then started my coffee, filled Dillon’s food ball, and went into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.

When I emerged, Dad was in the den opening the newspaper. I told him it was the kind of weather that made you glad you peed inside and read the news on-line, but since I had to go out with Dillon, I’d fetched his paper as well. He looked up, glanced out the window, and said in wonder, “It’s raining.” It’s too bad Dillon isn’t as oblivious as Dad to the sound of rain pattering on the roof. It would be much easier on his nerves.

Forks on the left

Dad’s responsible for setting the table at lunch. It’s about the only domestic chore he’ll do. He’s gotten so he waits until the last minute, which annoys me because if you’re not cooking, you shouldn’t be in my kitchen when I am. I was putting the food on the table and noticed that the fork at my place looked shorter than normal. Closer inspection revealed that it was not a dinner fork, but a dessert fork.

I informed him that while we were having chicken potpie for lunch, the fact that the word pie was included in the name didn’t mean it was a dessert and that a dessert fork was therefore not the appropriate utensil. “I thought maybe it would grow overnight. It’s been on the table since yesterday.”

We had Chick-fil-a yesterday, which didn’t require the use of utensils. “For future reference, that plan doesn’t work,” I told him as I got up to get a dinner fork. Right or wrong, he only sets the table once. After that, you’re on your own.

Those were the days?

When I went out to tell Dad his sandwich was ready, he was watching some old Western. I asked if there was a World Series game today. “Yes, but it doesn’t start until 8:00 p.m.,” he groused. That’s right around his bedtime on a normal night. “I remember when I was growing up, they played baseball at a decent hour, in the afternoon,” he continued. “That’s because when you were growing up they didn’t have lights,” I reminded him. “Or tv,” I finished.

“There was a barbershop on the Avenue that wrote the innings out in front of their store in chalk,” he reminisced. “They had a radio and every inning they’d come out and post the score. That’s how people kept up with the game. I don’t know how many haircuts they got out of it, but they did it for several years. I never got my hair cut there.”

“Where did you get your hair cut? Or did someone do it for you at home?” I asked. “There was a dry cleaners and a laundry where Oscar’s is now. There was a barbershop in front, Tickel’s Barber Shop was the name. I never paid more than a quarter for a haircut.” And that was back when he had a head full of hair! “Did they have a radio?” I asked. “If they did, I don’t remember ever hearing it.”

I asked if people stood in front of the other barbershop waiting for the score to be posted or if they brought lawn chairs and settled in. “They came and went, but no one brought chairs or just stood there for the entire game,” he said. He sounded nostalgic, but if he had to wait for a score to be posted in chalk on a shop window these days, he’d be very upset. This is the man that is still lobbying for satellite tv and more sports channels.

No fringe benefits

I fixed corned beef hash for lunch on Friday. While opening the can of corned beef, I managed to slice my thumb on the edge of the can. Lunch was delayed for a few minutes while I performed first aid and tried to staunch the bleeding. It took 2 band-aids. I had to wear one of Mom’s old rubber gloves to wash the dishes.

At supper that night, Dad noticed my band-aids. “What did you do to your thumb?” he asked, obviously thinking I'd injured it at work and always ready to cast aspersions on my job. “I cut it on the corned beef can at lunch,” I replied. “And I still washed the dishes instead of making you do it.”

He didn’t say another word. If he’d cut his finger, I’d have been expected to play Nurse Nancy and he wouldn’t have gone near a sink full of dishes. Not that he’ll wash a dish when he’s not injured. I should have asked for workman’s comp.

Where everybody knows your name

Shopping is one of my favorite recreational activities. Talbots and Target are my favorite stores. Unfortunately, neither is located in Roanoke Rapids so I can’t just drop in on a daily basis. Since I don’t have to cook lunch on Sundays, that’s when I’ve scheduled my recent shopping expeditions.

Yesterday, I had 2 bounce-back coupons good for 40% off any regular priced merchandise at Talbots. I wasn’t about to let them go to waste. Dad was on his own for lunch. He still has plenty of Vienna sausage.

As I was wandering around the store picking out things to try on, Crystal, my favorite sales associate, breezed by acknowledging me with a “How are you doing today?” Then she came to an abrupt stop and did a double take.

“It’s not Sunday,” she said. I explained that I was there to use my coupons. “There are certain people I always see on Sunday or who call in every Sunday. I get concerned when I don’t see them. You’re a Sunday person.”

Cheers!

But they're so cute!

I told myself a couple of years ago, no more Christmas-themed clothes. I have enough already. Last year I told myself, no more flannel pj's. I have enough already. Then yesterday I was in Target and saw a pair of adorable Nick and Nora flannel pj's with vintage Santas. There's even a little golden brown dog. Now I ask you, how could I possibly pass them up?

I could hear my mother whispering in my ear, try them on. Of course after I tried them on, she'd have said, "I'll buy them for you." She gave me a new pair of pj's every Christmas. She'd have loved these pajamas. I decided that despite my no new Christmas-themed clothes and no new flannel pj's policy, these were an exception. I didn't even risk waiting to see if they'd go on sale. They only had 1 pair in my size, so I bought them.

They make me smile. I did an internet search hoping to be able to find them online so I could share a picture. I had no luck finding this year's pair, but it turns out, Nick and Nora come out with new Santa-themed pj's every Christmas. The picture below is from their 2010 collection. The Santa and dog are the same, but my pair has naughty and nice lists instead of Christmas trees and fireplaces. I think I just started a new collection.


And yes, I do realize that Santa-themed flannel pj's are a bit juvenile for a 53-year-old woman. At least they're not footed pajamas. It's not as if I plan on wearing them out in public. I'll look very festive curled up in my chair with a mug of hot chocolate watching all the Christmas specials. Does anyone else hear sleigh-bells?

Here comes the bride

Today would have been their 59th anniversary. Dad was 26. Mom was 20. Mom's wedding gown was beautiful and so classic. It's never looked dated or out of style.

When hell freezes over

Well, Dad has been absolved of fault. Apparently, he wasn’t responsible for everything in the freezer thawing out last month. The same thing happened again on Friday. I know the freezer door was firmly closed because since the last incident, I push on it to make sure it’s closed every time I go by. But Friday, when I went to get ice for lunch, I found myself standing in water. Sure enough, I opened the freezer door and everything inside had thawed. The thermometers in the freezer and refrigerator were both in the red zone. Dad went and got ice and I transferred the contents to coolers.

Saturday, it was working fine again. But obviously I can’t just ignore the problem. I hit Lowes and Sears to take another look at refrigerators. None of the models on the floor had all of the features I wanted and I’m really not happy about the new colors. They come in a sleek, shiny finish and the choices are black, white, or stainless steel. My current Kenmore has a textured bisque finish. I like it. It matches my counter tops. Black and stainless steel show every fingerprint and there aren’t enough magnets in the world to cover up all of that shiny white. It would be like living in the middle of the Alaskan tundra. You’d be in danger of developing snow blindness.

When listing my set of required features for a new frig to the saleslady at Sears, I mentioned the problem with my current frig. She said it sounded like a defroster problem. After a quick internet search, I decided she was right. When it thaws, it thaws fast. Then it goes back to working just fine. So it’s not the compressor. I called the repairman to see if there’s an inexpensive fix. When my frig works, I’m happy with it.

Even though it is ten years old, I’d like to see if it will keep working long enough for them to go back to making a color that I like and a model that doesn’t have major ice-maker issues. All of the Kenmores have now gone to one paddle for both ice and water through the door. That’s a deal breaker for me. I want separate dispenser paddles. The Whirlpool I’m most interested in has tons of negative reviews about the ice-maker. Apparently the waterline freezes. Whirlpool does have a less expensive model that I’m considering, but it only comes in white or black.

One of the Whirlpool models does come in bisque, but it would take 58 days to arrive. I think that’s a bit unreasonable. And what if I don’t like it? It’s not like there are more models in bisque readily available. They do make a metallic color that’s not stainless steel and supposedly won’t show fingerprints and it’s not bad. There’s a newer model out with LED lighting that is really cool. If I can hold off for a couple more years, LED will the norm and I won’t have to pay hundreds more for it. Plus, I like them to have time to work the kinks out of the newer models before I buy.

I hate appliance shopping. Given a choice, I'd only do it when hell freezes over. Unfortunately, some days hell is the only thing freezing in my house.

*Update* 12:30 p.m. Monday

Fingers crossed that the problem is fixed and my frig will keep cooling and freezing for years to come. The repairman just left. The compressor had a bad contactor, which controls when it turns on and off. The repairman said he was surprised the compressor was able to come on at all. Maybe I'll be lucky and nothing will thaw again anytime soon.

Rainy day ramblings

My Hurricanes are off to a slow start. They’ve lost their first 3 games. This doesn’t bode well for the season, but never let it be said that I’m a fair-weather fan. I’ll keep tuning in and hoping things improve. Dad’s baseball season ended the same day hockey season began. His Yankees didn’t make it past the first round of the play-offs.

The way they keep extending sports seasons is bordering on crazy. Ice hockey goes into the summer and baseball goes practically to Thanksgiving. Of course, it looks as if pro basketball may not be starting at all this year. No great loss in my opinion. The only professional sport I follow is ice hockey. Maybe it’s because so many of the players are Canadian or Scandinavian, but they don’t seem to have the egos and attitudes of so many other professional athletes.

It’s a rainy, dreary day here. It started pouring down while Dillon was having breakfast. He took his food-dispensing ball and retreated to the bathroom. I have a decent size bathroom, but the ball still kept running into walls and the commode. He’d pick the ball up in his mouth and head back out into the hall in search of more room to roam only to retreat back into the perceived safety of the bathroom. There’s been no thunder or lightning, but he’s cautious and even the sound of rain makes him anxious.

Spooktacular

I found the perfect skull and bird for my dining room at Michael's over the weekend. I'm really pleased with the final result. Target has a wonderful 40" tall glow-in-the-dark skeleton that would look great sitting on my velvet loveseat. Unfortunately, it's priced at $40. It wouldn't look that wonderful. But if it goes on sale, that sucker is coming home with me.

I love this cute and clever Halloween display at Inspired by Charm. My blogger template is cutting off the right-hand side of the picture, so you'll have to click on the photo if you want to see the entire thing.

Fall Saturday

The leaves are just beginning to turn. Our backyard will be stunningly beautiful in a few weeks. Then the raking will begin. Best not to think that far ahead. Fall also means that I wake to the sound of gunshots every morning. Some idiot across the lake starts shooting at ducks or geese every morning around 7 a.m. Poor Dillon has a hard time getting his first bathroom trip in between rounds.

The Mitchell brothers got the downed trees out of our yard yesterday. Dad thinks they’re practically magicians with a front end loader and a chain saw. He claims that Dean is akin to Superman given the speed with which he works. They’re also very thorough. They rake the ground when they finish and they dug up and replanted a couple of plants that were growing along the fence that had to come down temporarily to make room for their truck. I have to say they’re the most cooperative and attentive contractors I’ve ever worked with. They not only did a good job, they provided Dad with an entertaining couple of days.

Once the trees were lifted off the fence, we had to figure out a way to secure it until it can be repaired. Without the weight of the trees, there was a huge gap between the bottom of the fence and the ground. Dillon could just walk right under. Dad planned to leave it alone last night and work on it this morning. “But then I’ll have to put Dillon on a leash when he goes out tonight,” I complained. I’d already had to do that Thursday which confused Dillon and inconvenienced me. “Well then, you’ll just have to put him on a leash,” said the man who wasn’t going to be inconvenienced.

I started pulling at the fence and moving some old wooden fence posts. “Stop that. I’ll fix it tomorrow,” Dad said. “I want it secured tonight,” I shot back. He gave me a disgusted look, but found some old chicken wire and attached it to the fence, covering the gap. It wouldn’t work for an escape artist like Katie, but it’ll work just fine for a homebody like Dillon.

It’s good that we got that taken care of last night because Dad has a busy Saturday planned. I was pouring my coffee this morning when he came into the kitchen. He got his banana and started fixing his bowl of cereal. “You’re eating before you get your paper?” I asked. He usually begins his day reading the newspaper. “I’ll get it on my way out to the yard sales,” he replied.

Then he started outlining his day. “I’m going to the yard sales. Then I’m going to the Fall Bazaar at Galatia. I’ll pick up a country ham biscuit while I’m there, so you don’t have to fix me lunch. You don’t like ham biscuits do you?” “I like ham biscuits,” I said quickly, jumping at the opportunity to eat something I haven’t prepared myself.

“I’m not trying to upset your schedule, but you do know that Carolina and Wake Forest are both playing football at noon today, right? And both games are on tv,” I reminded him. “I knew they were probably playing sometime today. I was going to check once I got the paper.”

“You just made my morning easier,” I informed him happily. “I was trying to figure out how to have lunch ready by 11:30.” (A trip to the grocery store is overdue, but that would take too much time.) “If you don’t come home with ham biscuits, you’d better come home with something. Stop at Chick-Fil-A if you have to,” I instructed. He just laughed.