Look What We Got!

DD & DIL2 arrived last night tired and a bit bedraggled from the looooong drive, but they're here and they're all ours until Monday. Yippee! And on a less happy note, we got this. Just enough snow to be annoying. Not enough to be breathtaking or even Christmas-y, it's just enough to make your shoes and hems of your jeans wet. Bah. I'm sure DIL2's HHR Hobbes is wondering what the white stuff is. He's a Kentucky car and doesn't see much snow. DS called this morning and DIL1 has to work earlier than thought tomorrow so we can have a family dinner. Good thing Durwood made a 3 lb. meatloaf yesterday, eh? (I have adopted the Canadian "eh" rather than the Midwestern Belgian "n'so"since we're so close to Canadia here in the frozen north, way closer than we are to Belgium.) Durwood is the king of gigantic meatloaves; he once made a 5 lb. one when I had the flu, the kids were in grade school, and he had to be out of town. There were gallons of gravy and a mountain of mashed potatoes to go with the VW-sized meatloaf. At the end of the week, the kids and I had a little ceremony over the garbage disposal and consigned the remnants to the Great Beyond. Too much of a good thing is just TOO MUCH sometimes. Today I'm going to battle inertia and my urge to make 5 bags of unwrapped gifts for the 5 members of my immediate family and take the pittiful, paltry pile of gifts I have downstairs and get them modestly covered for gifting. I'm battling my Scrooge-iness at every corner, folks, and I think I'm winning. I had a little gift making mishap yesterday before work but I won't be sharing that until next week. No appliances were harmed but it was a near thing.

December 21--Joseph Leyendecker, At Tea. Peter and Mason hated having to go to their mother's house for tea. Tea was such a female beverage and Tea, with a capital "T," was a feminine ritual with all its attendant rules and rites. And then there was the Inquisition that their mother subjected them too--who were they seeing and where had they been, how were their studies going and what about jobs. She never ran out of nosy questions to ask or reasons to look down her narrow and pointed nose at them. "We have to go," Mason said buttoning his collar with a wince. His face was pink from his fresh shave and his damp curls sprang away from his forehead. Peter stood in his socks frowning at his summer suit. "It's too damned hot to get togged up in this." But they both knew that Mama controlled their allowances so they finished dressing and went to earn their rent.

The men/boys looked so pained and disdainful in the painting I just knew they hated being there and hated what the prune-y middle-aged woman was saying to them. Don't you just love the image of Peter in just socks, his little willy hanging there all forlorn? Merry holidays!
--Barbara