Happy . . .

Today is Zeta's and M's anniversary. They went to see Cirque du Soleil on the 28th. What a great way to celebrate. I'm not saying how many years: it might be inaccurate . . .

Re-gifting . . .

Mew has some tough tissue paper that she got for Christmas. It isn't really made from paper although it rustles most satisfactorily when she jumps on it. Mew should thank Zeta. She's the person who used it for packing inside a gift box.

When the stuff is sufficiently shredded and worn, It will disappear. This happens to her own personal boxes, too. They have to be spirited away while she is occupied in another room. If she is watching when one is picked up, she is devastated. If one just disappears, she does not seem to miss it. Of course, every box that comes into the house automatically becomes her own, personal property.

We rotate her toys so she is used to the occasional disappearance. Some of 'em just don't get rotated back . . .

Do I hear five?

I haven't ridden the stationary bike since an attack of the crud fell upon us. It is time to return to it before my audio book expires. I will give it 25 minutes today.

Okay, 20 minutes.

I promise, 15.

I'll try really hard for ten and that's my final answer.

Ah - Merry - choo

Merry Christmas! God Bless Us, Every One!
. . . to quote a very tiny person.

For J and I this is our most quiet Christmas in many mango seasons. We are not sharing our recent acquisition with anyone if we can help it. All should be truly thankful.

So far, we have much to be thankful for, too. Remember: during the aftermath of Hurricane Andrew when people were saying things like, "We lost everything but we're still alive."

We can say we haven't lost everything and we are still alive, too!

Merry and Joyous Christmas

Cough. Sniff. Wheeze. J and I are each taking a Z Pak, apiece. I don't think there is enough miracle cure in them for us to join the family celebration. We will see.

Perhaps we should consider that the coming of Jesus as God's Son on earth is miracle enough. It is enough for me . . .

Production, southeastern style . . .

After a panic-inducing dry spell, the orange Hibiscus went nuts when it rained a bit. These are various views taken this afternoon. There were even more flowers than are visible in these shots. Yes, the Hibiscus are over-grown. They are supposed to be cut back in January and as this is late December, we might do it. We have yet to remove the Alligator Loppers from the box and charge the battery. No sense rushing these things . . .

The cherished CARD

The cards are ready to mail, including the one that 01 doc and I have been mailing back and forth since nineteen-seventy something. We skipped the year our mother passed away and combined 2007/08. But other than that, it has gone faithfully back and forth each Christmas. We should have started that practice with everyone we know. Think of the trees we would have spared.

That card is so faded that the front has to be held to an angle against the light to actually read it. Our personal messages to one another, sent year after year, cover both sides of the folded card and then one has to unfold it completely and read more messages on the white (now yellowed) interior. Thank heaven it has so much room. 01 doc sent it to me the first time and we both liked it so much that I returned it to her that next year. The message of that card is copied below:

THE FINAL WILD SONG
OF YOUR BIRTH-NIGHT
CAN NEVER BE WRITTEN;
THE LAST SHINING WORD OF YOUR COMING
CAN NOT BE SAID.
ROUGH, SLOW-MINDED SHEPHERDS WILL RUN,
ANGEL-DRIVEN, FOREVER,
BY NIGHT TO A CAVE
AND A CATTLE SHED.
AND YOU, BEYOND BONDAGE OF TIME
WITHOUT END OR BEGINNING
WILL WAKE IN THE ARMS OF A MAID
ON AN UNENDING NIGHT.
YOU, THE UNUTTERED WORD BECOME FLESH
AND FOREVER NOW SPOKEN
WILL BE HERE, BE OUR LIFE, OUR ACCESSIBLE LIGHT.

TONIGHT IS YOUR NIGHT,
YOUR INCREDIBLE SONG-SPANGLED STORY.
WE SHEPHERDS AND FLOCKS WAIT ON FIELDS
BEYOND BETHLEHEM PLAIN;

O ANGELS, O SHEPHERDS, O JOSEPH, O MARY,
O JESUS,
O GOD, TELL YOUR CHILDREN THE STORY AGAIN!

by Evaline Wolf

It was pretty to look at . . .

There is a braised red cabbage dish that was presented by a woman in the Netherlands who is an occasional contributor to The Pioneer Woman's cooking site. She wrote about the love she has for the dish and that she craved it when she was pregnant.

It did not seem difficult so I tried it today. J said he liked it. He came back for seconds. BigEd and I were not fond of it at all. I can not explain why one third of our number voted yes and the others voted no.

As an experiment, I offered a shred of it to Mew. She is not a Holland-ese and asked (Silently . . . she is a cat, after all.) if I were trying to drive her away from home. J saved the leftover bits. More for him.

I am going to try this one, next. But with chicken stock instead of vodka and using Dreamfields pasta. We'll see . . .

Cat's burglars . . .

Today, a resident thief stole the cat's favorite new toy. It was a large box that had to be removed from the living room while she slept. She was atop her cat condo, curled up and asleep, maybe. Looking as if she is sleeping while actually not doing it is something she has raised to a fine feline art. J gestured to the box and nodded in the direction of the recycle bin, outside. I nodded yes (we dared not speak) and held a piece of paper between her face and the thief's activities.

Long ago, when a battered box (it had been hers, but they're all hers) was being removed by J, she ran to him, reared up and put two paws over the edge of the box while meowing piteously. She could not have written him a letter and been any more clear in her meaning.

So now, to avoid heartache and pleading or feline legal action, we remove them by stealth. No cats are harmed during this process . . .

Shhh . . .

In 2006, Tom Tancredo (Republican/Colorado) termed our end of the state a "third world country." We resented his effrontery but also understood what he was trying to say even if it was an offensive way of saying it. Our own republican governor at the time resented it publicly but, hey, he was supposed to.

So, isn't it nice of the governor of Illinois to take some of the heat off of our part of the country? I mean, how "third world" an action is it to try to sell access to a senate seat appointment? It sounded almost like he wanted to auction it off.

Rod Blagojevich, that Illinois' Democratic Governor, looks so boyish and candid in his interviews. Naive? Either that or he has gotten away with so much misbehavior that it seems like the norm for him.

At any rate, even though we deplore his actions, the eyes of the media are focused elsewhere for a change.

What a pleasant respite . . .

Remembering . . .

Today is 01 doc's birthday. I am four years older than she is and I remember the day she was brought home from the hospital. The four year old me wasn't very impressed by the crown of the little head that showed above the blanket in the baby's bed. But she grew more precious to me over the years and is now my best friend as well as my sister.

How do such sea changes happen in the heart? They involve sisterly interaction and memories treasured by both of us. She loves all kinds of animals and is the best grandmother a child could have. Just ask Nathan, Matthew and Michael . . .

Good vs Evil . . .

"is there coffee left?" BigEd asked. Then he checked the pot and said that there was. "Is it the good kind or the evil kind?" he asked further.

Well, BJ's had a coupon off Dunkin' Donuts coffee. We have both that kind and Starbucks packages open. Upon being told it was Dunkin' Donuts today, he informed me that was the evil kind.

Next time, I will ask him to guess which kind he thinks it is . . .

Cuga . . .

This little sweetheart is a talking parrot named Cuga (sometimes pronounced lovingly as Cooooga). She belongs to 01 doc's family and I am positive she will outlive me. She used to live just down the street from me before she abandoned me by moving upstate. She had no choice, considering she spends her nights in a comfy cage, and had to leave when the rest of the family did.

The fingers, if you noticed them on the perch, belong to my niece who is Cuga's person. Or one of them. I think that parrots are similar to cats in that you don't own them, they have you. Aside from the niece with the two visible fingers above, I may be the only person who can say that Cuga hasn't nipped at me. I don't see her very often any more. But when I do, she lets me scratch her headfeathers after I talk to her for a while.

When she did live just down the street, she also acted as an announcer. If the family was out in the back doing the pool thing, one way or another, I only had to call Cuga and she would definitely let them know someone was at the door.

Parrots multi-task well . . .

Lets share . . .

It's amazing how alike the eyes are. If they were not in the same picture, one would think they were sharing one pair between the two of them. Susan and the little one, he's almost ready to take your picture, too.