I went out in early November and gathered pine cones and dead branches. I painted pine cones with pearlex. I made a beautiful succulent planter for school with a tiny fox and a tiny bluebird.
I made pretty little tapletop moss gardens.
I painted branches silver and stuck them down in glass pots with broken glass shards to hold them up.
Beautiful pomanders.
Made cookies for all of Centennial people: moose tracks, peanut butter chip, peppermint bark and dipped pretzels. (These have subsequently been packed into the freezer downstairs, with lovely little Hallmark “doilies” of holly, greenery and pinecones laid on top of red plates, and the whole deal slid down into quart-size freezer bags. We couldn’t get them to school, because school was cancelled!)
Went to Mrs. Wallace’s house for brunch and she gave presents to the kids.
Andy and I ushered at the Nutcracker for YIA.
Tremendous snowstorm December 20.- 21. Three snow days, the last days before Christmas break. Nice bonus. Am trying now to use them productively and joyfully- of course prone to sleeping during unexpected and unplanned time off.
The blizzard upset our plans for having Jackie-Jack and Muth, and Shelley and Dan over on the 23rd. Yes, that’s right! Two days later, abandoned vehicles were still being towed, and last-minute shopping trips were dicey as the plowed snow towered over our cars, limiting visibility and complicating navigating the already slippery, rutted, splashy roads.
So. I guess they’ll come on Tuesday the 26th. Meanwhile, Martshal is coming tomorrow, Christmas Eve.
We’ll have:
Pasties with cranberries and orange sausage.
Crumb cake
Orange/cran relish
Cheese spread
Grapes, oranges
12/25/06
Martshal did come over and stayed until 3:00 or so. We played a modified version (questions only!) of Trivial Pursuit.
He brought mead- which Peter was a little supercilious about, but Martshal and I tried. It was OK. I think he really got a kick out of his disappearing Bill of Rights mug, plus we gave him lots of food, and two tickets to the DMNS.
I made this adorable Rudolph, who makes me chuckle, and whom I will be giving away to my sister.
We rescheduled the meal of the 23 until the 26, and then decided that the 26 was also going to be premature, as it is still 4-wheeling conditions in our neighborhood.
I got:
humidifier
2007 state parks pass
Pretty little vintage-looking fruitcrate shadow boxes from Andy
Gifts to charity children
Christmas:
12/24
I had been aggressively pursuing the 100 mark for Jazzercise classes attended- until I realized that the payoff (my photo on the wall at the studio) was not worth the pain in my knees and family stress. It was actually, ironically, an UNHEALTHY choice. I believe I will make it to around 85-90.
12/25/06
This story is burning up the Internet- and rightly so, I think. A good way to think about “the Santa question.”
Is there a Santa Claus?
An Old Christmas Story
I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma.
I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my
bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the
bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even
dummies know that!"
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I
fled to her that day because I knew she would be
straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the
truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a
whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her
"World-Famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they were
World-Famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be
true.
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm.
Between bites, I told her everything.
She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" She snorted...
"Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been
going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain
mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go."
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even
finished my second World-Famous cinnamon bun. "Where"
turned out to be Kirby's General Store, the one store
in town that had a little bit of just about
everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma
handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those
days.
"Take this money," she said, "and buy something for
someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car."
Then she turned and walked out of Kirby's.
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping
with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything
all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full
of people scrambling to finish their Christmas
shopping. For a few moments I just stood there,
confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering
what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought
of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my
neighbors, the kids at school, and the people who went
to my church. I was just about thought out, when I
suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with
bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me
in Mrs. Pollock's second grade class. Bobby Decker
didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went
out to recess during the winter. His mother always
wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough,
but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a
cough; what he didn't have was a good coat.
I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing
excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled
on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked
real warm, and he would like that. "Is this a
Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the
counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby." The
nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby
really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any
change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again,
and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in
Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From
Santa Claus" on it (a little tag fell out of the coat,
and Grandma tucked it in her Bible.) Grandma said that
Santa always insisted on secrecy.
Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house,
explaining as we went that I was now and forever
officially, one of Santa's helpers. Grandma parked
down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I
crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front
walk.
Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa
Claus," she whispered, "get going." I took a deep
breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present
down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to
the safety of the bushes and Grandma.
Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for
the front door to open. Finally it did, and there
stood Bobby.
Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments
spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's
bushes.
That night, I realized that those awful rumors about
Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were:
ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on
his team. I still have the Bible, with the coat tag
tucked inside: $19.95.
May you always have LOVE to share. And may you always
believe in the magic of Santa Claus.
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