Day 2 - In Which I Wonder, What To Say

Now that I’ve committed to the Holidailies challenge, I’m wondering if I have that much to say.

The noise you just heard was my family falling on the floor laughing. They know the problem isn’t that I don’t have anything to say. The problem is I don’t know when to stop.

For example, when someone asks, “Do these pants make my butt look big?”

If one says, “Do you think it’s the pants?” One has said too much.

If someone asks, “This gravy isn’t too lumpy, is it?”

One should not reply, “Gravy? I thought this was crunchy peanut butter.”

Occasionally, the shoe gets placed on the other foot.

I just joined the local Volunteer Fire Department and am studying to be one of my communities’ EMTs. In a burst of pride, solidarity or dementia, my Loved One gave me a pair of Fireman Boots. Such as these are ordered specially from the Policeman and Fireman Supply Catalog which holds a multitude of items that someone with an active imagination shouldn’t be allowed access to, but I digress.

The Fireman Boots have thick soles for standing a long time on hard surfaces. Rugged lug treads for climbing slippery slopes. High tops to protect fragile ankles. A broad width across the ball of the foot, so one’s toes don’t get squished. In other words, when Dr. Frankenstein bought footwear for the Monster, he shopped in the Fireman’s Supply Catalog.

I said to my Loved One, “These shoes make my feet look enormous.”

And he said, “Are they warm?”

“I can’t even cover them up with my pant leg,” says I.

“And they’re warm,” says he.

Discretion, the better part of valor, also makes for long marriages.

So, I ask you, dear reader, do these boots make my feet look big?
I know they're warm.

Day 1 Holidailies 2006

So, I decided to join in this year because it sounded like fun and all the cool kids were doing it.

If you haven’t heard, Holidailies is a free community writing project. All 2006 participants promise to update their personal web sites every day from December 1 to January 1.

Fifty words or a picture. Post every day. The point? Repetition creates habit. Not that I think posting everday to the blog is a habit worth cultivating, but writing every day is.

But check back about Day 10 when I’m down to a dog story and a cat picture.

Cry Me A River

is what they should have called THE FOUNTAIN.

Three In One Week

In the last week, I've seen three movies.

A Good Year - made me want to learn French, go to France, sit in a sidewalk cafe, and, I don't know, just be. Plus it stars Russell Crowe. Parlé vous, yum?

US vs John Lennon - I learned three things.

1. Richard Nixon was more paranoid and insane than we knew.
2. John was hipper than we realized.
3. Yoko was, dare I say it, not as bad as we thought.

Infamous

Even though Phillip Seymour Hoffman's acting couldn't be topped, Infamous is a much better film. It offers a kinder treatment of Capote, and a reveal in the story the audience did not see coming.

Post #91In Which I Make A Terrible Confession

Alas, this secret has weighed heavy on my soul for many years. A few knew the truth, but like other scandalous family baggage, never divulged it in public. The shame of it drives them undercover every year about this time.

I write Christmas letters. And not only that. I love them like the last kitten in a box.

Usually, after Thanksgiving Dinner, I sit somewhere comfy with a glass of wine and compose my yearly missive which I then print on holiday stationary after digitally affixing xmas gifs from all over the Net. If those Christmas cards bearing my annual Christmas letter aren’t in the mail day after Thanksgiving, something has gone dreadfully wrong at my house.

Over the years, I’ve treated Friends and Relatives to various news tidbits and stories, which, even if I do say so myself (and I do) have never been the little-Earlene-graduated-1st-in-her- class-of-1,247-plebes type.

One year, the first year we spent as urban homesteaders, I wrote about the wonders of caprine reproduction as we bred our first livestock for homemade milk and cheese. In other words, goat sex.

Then, there was the year I took up archery to join Earl elk hunting, and since elk are sensible creatures, avoiding humanity if possible, we never saw any elk. Spent the whole long trek up the mountain and back discussing elk “sign,” the whys, wherefores and such which ended up as a Christmas letter story. Yes, I included in my holiday missive that year, a lengthy discussion of poo.

Of course, between animal husbandry and wildlife biology, there were graduations, moves, promotions, and the occasional trip, but nothing to compare to the year everybody and the dog got pinkeye just before Thanksgiving. I remember writing, At least I’m not pregnant.

When that familiar urge came upon me that is was time to decide if I had any news worth throwing at the family tree, it felt oddly fresh and familiar. Why’s that, I wondered? It felt the same as when I sit down to –

BLOG.

Now, I’ve read those important essays about the burgeoning web-writing culture being a reaction to social ills from too many Republicans to the death of individual responsibility.

Baloney.

The blogsphere is a Christmas letter, from everyone, to everyone, every day, of every year, 24/7. Merry Christmas.

Dear Friends and Relations,

Little Earlene would have won 1st prize in the rock-throwing contest for the third time in a row if she hadn’t stopped to watch a goat with pinkeye have sex with an elk.

So, what have you and yours been up to this year?

Happy Holidays.