Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Happy New Year Y'all!

From the kid in the house and his peeps,
we wish all of you the best new year ever!

Monday, December 23, 2013

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Singing the Blues

Although this version of me was singing a solo: "Away in a Manger"
today's ME is singing the blues....

...because it's the first official day of Winter and it's HOT outside!

I swear, swatting at mosquitoes in December
is not a festive activity.

But I will try to maintain my Jolly.
Maurcheen...kindly sing us towards Christmas.

Saturday, December 21, 2013

Seriously?!

What do you mean today is the shortest day of the year?
How am I suppose to settle down for a long winter's nap
if I don't have a long enough day?

Hmmm.  I'll figure out something.
Let me sleep on it.

Saturday, December 14, 2013

The Wee Tree

Ah, here is the little fella, wearing his Christmas best.  
And yes, I've dubbed him "Charlie".

I was a little worried at first as we put the star on the tree...
and five minutes later it died.
Then we dug out the old Angel topper and five minutes later...
she was singing with the other discarded Christmas angels.

So we got a new angel and she shines, holding a star in each hand.  
Sort of the a reminder of those tree toppers which have gone to the land of Misfit Toys.
(And yes, that is the Burl Ives' snowman character with his back to you)
So of course, we're calling her Charlie's Angel.

As you can see, Bou's stocking is like a little kid's. 
 If you can't read it, it says,
"Dear Santa.  Let me explain."
 And yes, that other stocking says Walter...for our Security Mockingbird.  
Because as much as he sits on the front porch to sing, 
I'm pretty sure he looks in the window to see what we're up to.  
I didn't dare leave him out.  
After all. I have to go past his security post to get to the car and go to work.

So, got any silly traditions of your own?

Thursday, December 5, 2013

No. That's Not Right

The little kid in me will always want a REAL, fresh Christmas tree.  To me that smell IS Christmas.  I know, I know.  But I think of it as helping a small business owner, who is planting a tree for every one which is sold.  Besides, living near a lake system, here old trees are sunk in the lake after Christmas to serve as beds for fish, giving the fry a place to grow and hide until they're big enough to go out on their own. 

Traditionally, Hubby and I get a tree together but this year, tradition got scrambled by schedules...and a failed attempt to locate one this past Sunday.  So Hubby suggested a five to six foot tree, no bigger, and I found one at lunch.  Granted, it didn't feel very Christmasy because the weather has suddenly turned exceptionally warm when a week ago it was below freezing at night.  There's something very wrong about perspiring while selecting a Christmas tree.

I can only imagine the picture I made, all 5' 1" of me trying to one hand a tree a foot taller than me by holding it out at arm's length to check for symmetry and the knowledge that limbs will unfold to look natural, not one sided.  At least the "excessive needles falling" check was easier; grab and shake.  With the tree about 2 feet from my face, it LOOKED fine to me. So the tree and I tangoed to the register...which, of course, was as far away from the trees as possible. Carry two, three, four and rest two, three, four.  I'm sure we entertained anyone in sight.

At the register the young cashier looked at the tree and shook her head. "Nope, I need a tree bigger than that!" she huffed.  "Least 7-9 feet."  

I kindly explained that by the time you put the tree in the stand and added the topper, my tree would be close to 7 feet.  She agreed that hadn't crossed her mind.  So the tree was bagged in netting and a very nice man, realizing I was on a solo mission, told me to bring the car around and he'd load it.  Ah, mission accomplished!

When I drove in, Hubby was coming around the corner of the house and not seeing a tree tied to the roof, thought I had failed the mission.  He looked skeptical when I told him it was INSIDE my Jeep Patriot, as I reminded him of his 5-6 foot requirement.  I'd measured beforehand and knew I could get a 6 foot tree inside.  Just barely.  He opened the back and seemed pleased.  I went inside to do the annual rearranging of the furniture...which amounts to moving a rocking chair into an adjoining room to free up the "Christmas Tree Corner."

Task completed, I went on the front porch.  Hubby had finished the requisite trimming of the bottom of the tree, so I helped tighten down the bolts holding it in the stand...yet another Elf service rendered by those born low to the ground.  Hubby stood it up and claimed it was just the right size. 

Taking a step back I thought, "Good grief, I bought a Charlie Brown tree!"

Actually, it's a perfect little tree, with emphasis on little.  Sure it fit perfectly in the corner and I know when we decorate it tonight I will be pleased.  But in that moment, on the warm front porch with no evening breeze and mosquitoes buzzing in my ears, I felt a twinge of grumpy Grinch.  

One of the good things about being married to someone for a long time is they know what you're thinking without you opening your mouth.  I was feeling rather dejected about my choice.  It's autumn and I was hot.  There were stupid mosquitoes running around in December!  And worst of all, it didn't feel like Christmas.  My confession?  I am not an adult this time of year, I'm a kid at heart.  Not even an overgrown kid. An elf sized one who doesn't try to peek into packages but awaits Christmas with all the wonder and awe of a six year old.  And if that ever stops, plant me in the ground.

Hubby was in the kitchen cooking when I walked in.  He hugged me as I muttered with a sigh, "I bought a Charlie Brown tree".  Laughing, he said he liked it and it really was the perfect little tree.  I stated in no uncertain terms that I was never, ever going solo tree hunting again. I got another hug. The combination of his understanding and reassuring hug might've been the best way to bring my Christmas spirit back to life. A perfect gift.

Then again, smashing that mosquito which followed us into the house might've helped.   :)


Monday, December 2, 2013

Scottish Sheep & an Unlikely Santa

As I was telling the Chef,
the only Scottish Sheep I've ever encountered
came courtesy of two young red headed twin Scottish lads
who sent me one to sit upon my desk. 

In this festive season Mr. Sheep 
(who really needs a proper Scottish name)
 has been joined by Opus,
a cartoon Penguin who never understood he couldn't fly.

Because he always tried.

I know how he feels.
So we're working off the same desk this month.