Logan’s Awful Santa

I’m a sucker for motion-sensing devices. I couldn’t resist buying a Santa for neighbor Logan that promised Christmas cheer. It stayed in my room for several weeks before I tested it. I turned it on to hear a raucous “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!” that repeated a couple of times.

I said to myself, “Shawn and Bob are going to kill me if I give this to Logan.”

A self-threat of death didn’t stop me. I went ahead and told Shawn I was going to give it to him, with the advice that they could turn it off. A good neighbor would have had more sense than to follow through. Evidently, I’m not in that category. Logan came over to visit for a little while as we were finishing dinner. With camera rolling, I gave it to him. You can hear it by clicking here.

At the very end, Logan turned to John and said, “I have a straw.”  Later neighbor Marla mentioned that she had given Logan a straw that sings when used. I hope all our neighborhood friendships survive the Christmas season.

Meanwhile, Logan’s brain was whirling as he thought of various ways to use the toy. His final plan was to set it near the fireplace on Christmas Eve, so he will know when Santa reaches for his cookies and milk.

Watch out, Santa!

 

Good for a Laugh

I heard John say the temperature was in the 30s. 30 something seemed cool. The something must have been an 8, but I didn’t pay attention to it on this foggy day. By the time we met Marla walking Albert, I knew a sweatshirt AND a windbreaker were too heavy. Having already received permission to use their post as a coat rack, I slung the jacket and hat on the top. I made a mental note to take a photo of it when we came back, thinking it would look like the Grim Reaper, as it did several weeks ago.

The picture told a different story. There was nothing death-like about the jacket. It looked like a crazed octopus wearing a black cape. How could you be frightened by this silly thing hanging over the word “mooseltoe”? It was good for a laugh, and that’s about all.

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Decorating the Christmas Tree

John almost missed getting a real tree this year. His grandparents put up their tree on Christmas Eve, but that doesn’t work in this part of the South. People here in Western North Carolina have their trees centered in a prominent window and lit the weekend after Thanksgiving. He went tree-hunting on the 5th of December and found most of the tree farms closed for the season. He found one place still open. They were no longer cutting fresh trees but had a few available. He brought one home, moved it inside before our big snowstorm, and dragged it to the living room the day before he went to pick up grandson David.

Neighbor Shawn noticed the bare tree when she came over. She said she’d never seen any tree as intricately decorated as our past trees had been. Teasing, she said she wanted to be there to watch John decorate it. She said, “I don’t think I could bear to watch him very long. I’d have to leave.”

When John began putting the ornaments on, I texted Shawn that she could come and stay as long as she could stand it. She couldn’t come, but she laughed at the invitation. David and I went in the living room to watch. Before long, David was on the floor being drawn into the operation.

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Minutes later, he was adding ornaments himself.

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I persuaded the men to pose with the finished tree.

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I’m glad they didn’t take pictures of me. While they were decorating, I prepared the frozen salad for Christmas dinner and de-boned chicken for the main dish. We were doing well to have all this done a full week before Christmas Eve.

Spork

The day grandson David arrived, he did something many young men do. He opened the refrigerator and peered at the food. His eyes lit up when he saw the bowl of chicken and noodles neighbor Shawn had brought me. I very generously agreed to SHARE it with him.

I asked, “What do you want to eat it with, a spoon? A fork?”

David replied, “A spork.”

“OK. I have a spork,” I said, as I pulled it out of the drawer.

“I was just teasing,” he said. “I didn’t know there really was one. I’ll eat with it.”

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He made short work of that delicious chicken

The Grandson Holiday Fun Begins

John slept a couple of hours after his marathon drive to pick up grandson David. I suspect David’s eyelids drooped a bit, too. By evening they were visibly tired, although still in party spirits. Perhaps we were all three slap-happy, because we laughed at silly things. This one I remembered. David asked John to pass the crackers, and John wanted to know which of the five types he preferred.

David answered, “Club or Ritz.”

That doesn’t look peculiar on paper, but you should have heard the way it came out. David’s brisk northeast accent ran the sounds together, making it sound like an Eastern European surname.

Cluboritz. Cluboritz. Is Cluboritz here?

Though unmerited, it brought on gales of laughter.

Number One is Here!

I knew when I went out walking that John and David might arrive. Sure enough, I had started down the steep hill when a gray vehicle cruised to a stop beside me. A pair of long arms extended out of the window and pulled me into a deep hug. Number one grandson was here for Christmas. It had been 14 hours since they had dinner with David’s mom, Kate, and Michael in New Jersey. By the time I came in from the creek, they had unloaded the car. I demanded and received a full stand-up hug for the official start of our celebration. In a few more days, number two grandson will fly down the day after his school lets out. You realize, of course, that the numbers refer only to birth order. Both are number one in my heart.

Photos are sure to follow.  The travel-stained college student opted for a few hours of camera-free living.  It had been 22 hours since his last exam ended.

Walking in a Winter Colder Land

I walked one mile instead of two. Brrrr! It was 18F when I left the house. I topped jeans and a sweatshirt with my winter coat for the first time this season. At the stop sign, I did just that. I stopped, turned around, and high-tailed it back home. My nose and mouth had stopped checking in. I didn’t want that to happen to my metal knees! The house felt overly warm for an hour, after which I checked to see if the heat was still on. This is a day to keep moving!

If you are in the northern hemisphere, what are you doing to keep warm?  I’m going to make split pea soup and bake some bread.  That should keep the kitchen warm.

Celebrating Snow

The first thing I did with this December snow was to wonder at it. We probably don’t have a number big enough to estimate how many flakes fell on our property. It boggles the mind to know each flake is different. I stood outside, picked one flake as high up as I could see, and watched it float down to see where it would land. You could hypnotize yourself doing that. I wanted to ask the old oak tree, “How many snow storms have you seen? What were things like 200 years ago?”

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When the snow was almost over, I measured it and tasted it. The green ruler showed we had eight inches on the deck. You need children for snow cream, but I made do with my inner childish self. I piled fresh snow in a bowl and added sugar and vanilla flavoring. I was surprised it became icy and a bit crunchy. It would have been better if I had remembered the recipe and put in a bit of milk. I wondered what would happen if you substituted confectioner’s sugar, honey, or molasses for the sugar. Would adding Coca Cola sweeten and flavor it? Would cardamom and almond flavoring appeal to our Norwegian relatives? I could have sprinkled four spices on it and called it pumpkin spice for daughter Lise. She might have liked it flavored with cranberry/raspberry juice, too. I’ll bet the grandsons would have opted for root beer. Shrimp and cocktail sauce, anyone?

 

Eight inches
Snow and ingredients
Flavored snow

No snow storm is complete without proof of what you saw. There was a beautiful shot in any direction you turned.

 

When I tired of having my mind boggled, I ended with laughing at odd sculptures.  Even clothes pins had topknots.

 

This was a most satisfying snow, especially considering we were promised half an inch.

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First Snow of the Season

Mountain snow doesn’t mess around. Instead of gradually working up to a good storm, our weather jumped in with inches of snow. I walked Dolly before it hit its stride. The view at the top of our street sent mixed signals – autumn overlay on winter.

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I tried to get Albert with snow on his nose, but missed. The dogs were frisking in the snow, and neighbor Marla and I were agreeing about our love of white weather. We made a happy foursome!

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John went to play with trains and is missing all this wonderful weather. I’d get out there and wallow in the snow if I thought I could get up gracefully.

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Christmas Decorating the Mountain Way

I observed this metamorphosis with amazement. People who live above our walking road, removed pumpkins from the tan Halloween hay and sprayed the hay red and green. Santa jumped in with bows and a solar light. Will they recycle again? I’ll watch and let you know.

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This was my view while walking Dolly to the stop sign.

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John had an appointment, so I took Dolly out alone. She pulled me for a full half hour without choking herself to death.

I said, “Whoa, Dolly! I’m not used to cruising at 90 miles an hour with my brakes on!”

My knees thanked me for turning around when I did. I wish I’d had more stamina for her sake.