Calling Cupid

I see Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen, Comet and ________, and Donner and Blitzen.

What happened to Cupid? He was the one that got away. The reindeer ornament I never found at CVS. I had Rudolph, too, but he fell victim to a curious kitten and shattered into a bazillion pieces on our living room floor many years ago. No matter how many CVS locations I visited; though, I never found a Cupid.

As I type this, Studly Doright is searching eBay for the little guy. If he’s successful I might have him look for Rudolph, too. In the meantime I’m going to secure the remaining reindeer against a cat attack. The one responsible for Rudolph’s demise still resides at Doright Manor.

Peace, people!

Snapshot #270

The tree is up and lit, but I ran out of steam shortly after it reached this stage. I’m calling this one, “Tomorrow, I Decorate!”

A Good Book Day

Sometimes the garage and/or estate sale book hunt proves fruitless. I’ll go for weeks without finding something that tickles my fancy.

I am in a bit of a Harry Potter book drought. I’m currently in need of book five, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, (hard cover, used, in excellent condition) and the only one I’ve seen was a rather too well loved edition in a Tallahassee Goodwill shop. The search continues.

But I did find a couple of book gems at a yard sale outside of Havana, Florida, on Friday. While a good portion of the country’s population was out scrambling for Black Friday deals I was in a bucolic setting surrounded by a wonderful variety of goods–some antiques, some kitsch, and a whole lot of books. I bought two that I found amusing.

The first one I found is this automotive maintenance log written by my two favorite car guys, Tom and Ray Magliozzi.

Frequent NPR listeners know Tom and Ray as “Click and Clack, the Tappet Brothers.” For years they hosted the wonderful Car Talk show, dishing out humor, car maintenance advice, and good conversation about everything.

Folks called into the show with questions about their cars, and while they’d eventually get a constructive answer or solution, they’d also get good-natured ribbing, maybe a history lesson, and sometimes even relationship advice. Tom passed away in 2014, but past episodes still air on some NPR stations. It remains one of my favorite radio shows.

The book, while primarily a travel journal and automotive maintenance record, includes many of the witticisms and driving tips from the show.

I told Studly I need a new car so I can put this to use. He wasn’t moved to action.

The second book find is one I know will come in handy as I learn to be a colorful raconteur.

As always I had to first checkout any bookmarked pages:

What a terrific resource for a person who tells anecdotes in a skillful and amusing way. If only I knew someone who fit that bill.

There’s much to explore in my two new-to-me books. If you need a good wisecrack or one-liner you know who to contact. Of course time is of the essence in most cases, so I probably won’t be of much help. But in regard to car maintenance questions, perhaps I can be your new reference point.

Let’s see, “What’s the best tip for driving during a blizzard?”

Or do what I did, and move to Florida. Problem solved. I’m really good at this. Next question….

Peace, people!

Snapshot #269

Yesterday, rather than jumping into the Black Friday shopping melee, I opted to look for garage and estate sales while Studly Doright played golf. I bought a couple of fun books, but my prized acquisition was this very un -Christmasy Christmas ornament.

Folks, I’m a traditionalist when it comes to decorating the Christmas tree. I like snowflake and angel ornaments, Santas and snow people, so I’m calling this one, “There’s No Place for Han on the Holidays.”

Being a fan of all things Han Solo, though, I might have to find him a spot on the tree this year. I don’t even have a bad feeling about this.

Peace, people.

Places

Places I’ve never been

Paris, England, Reykjavik

In my dreams I see the

Towers, Eiffel and London

And the stony crags of Iceland

Chances are I’ll never have the

Opportunity to cruise the

Seine or cross the Thames

Or ford the fjords

But they call to me

Just the same.

Baking and Candy Making

My mother had a good many skills in the kitchen, and while none of her abilities were passed on to me, at least once a year I was tapped to assist in her culinary endeavors. I’m sure I did so under protest because I was such a klutz at cooking and baking and candy making, and Mom was not a patient soul.

She’d cluck and shake her head and give me looks that would’ve withered a lesser soul, but Freida Hall didn’t scare me. Okay, I was scared sh*tless most of the time while working in the kitchen with Mom, but I had no choice if I wanted to continue living under her roof. My brothers both turned out to be quite proficient in preparing food, so maybe the fault was all mine.

What did we make? Martha Washington candies, chocolate covered cherries, and divinity. We baked cranberry bread and pumpkin bread, and banana nut bread. If it was a fruity bread, we baked it. We made a pecan nut roll that defied all of Mom’s attempts at perfection and only turned out divine once in every ten attempts.

Here’s a recipe for Martha Washington candy similar to the one Mom and I used to make. You’ll be a big hit if you take these to a gathering. It’s still the candy I remember most fondly.

Peace, people.

Holiday Blahs

Ho Ho Ho, and all that jazz. It’s not quite bah, humbug, but it’s not that far off either.

My seasonal depression keeps me from fully embracing the spirit of the upcoming season, and this year feels a bit worse than any I can recall from recent memory. There’s no mystery as to why I’m feeling low–it’s knowing I won’t see my kids and grandkids at Thanksgiving or Christmas that’s weighing me down. It’ll just be Studly and me for both holidays.

The Christmas just after my mom died in late October, 1997, was worse than this, though. I still feel the weight of her loss during the holiday season more than any time of the year.

Some days it feels like a block of anguish around my neck, dragging me down, forming an insurmountable barrier to getting out of bed. Other days her absence is just a touch on my forehead, a reminder of what I miss most–my mother’s ability to make the pain go away.

The Christmas season comes with so many expectations. We should be happy and joyful, surrounded by the ones we love. But many will be alone and some will be depressed even in the midst of a happy crowd. If anyone needs a hug, I’ll send a virtual one.

Based on my previous experiences, I’ll manage to pull myself together before December 25, but until then don’t expect my happiest self. I’m just bah humbugging along for now.

Peace, and hang in there, people.

A Sweet, Suite Suit

Studly Doright and I walked into a nearly full doctor’s office waiting room yesterday. After he signed in for his procedure (nothing major, so no worries) we found seats in separate corners and made funny faces at one another for a time.

People came and went, and soon I moved into a chair next to Studly. We were right beside the registration desk and couldn’t help but overhear conversations. Most were pretty innocuous, but one made Studly look at me cross-eyed, and I couldn’t stop laughing.

An older gentleman walked in and gave his name. The twenty-something receptionist looked through her schedule and told him she didn’t have him on her list.

“Who’s your doctor,” she asked.

He looked through his paperwork and gave her a name.

“Oh, you’re in the wrong office. His office is three doors down in suit 224. This is suit 227.”

“Suit?” I mouthed. Studly made his eyes cross, and I got tickled.

“Does that mean I’d wear a suite to a wedding?” Studly whispered.

“Sweet! A sweet suite,” I nodded.

We’re just awful.

Peace, people

Totally relevant picture of a good looking man in a suit, or is it a suite? Regardless, it’s sweet.

Filling the Silence

You talk. I listen.

Words slip smoothly from your tongue

To fill up my ears

Rain beats steadily

Drumsticks on the windowpane

Filling the silence

I watched for your car

After all you claimed to be

Puddled around me

(I found the photos on Pinterest. They suited my mood, if not my words.)

Peace, people.

A Good Find

Yesterday while Studly Doright played golf I went into Tallahassee to shop at St. John’s Episcopal Church’s annual market day. I’d never been before, and I was excited to see what they offered.

There were baked goods and jewelry, kitchen wares and knick knacks.

And a great many books!

As soon as I entered the book room I saw this little paperback.

I love Billy Collins’s poetry, so I grabbed this treasure. It was the only purchase I made.

One of the poems had been bookmarked. I’m always interested to see what another reader liked so much that they wanted to mark the spot, to come back to at another time for a second or third or fiftieth reading. Maybe they wanted to share it with a friend.

Directions

You know the brick path in back of the house,
the one you see from the kitchen window,
the one that bends around the far end of the garden
where all the yellow primroses are?
And you know how if you leave the path
and walk up into the woods you come
to a heap of rocks, probably pushed
down during the horrors of the Ice Age,
and a grove of tall hemlocks, dark green now
against the light-brown fallen leaves?
And farther on, you know
the small footbridge with the broken railing
and if you go beyond that you arrive
at the bottom of that sheep’s head hill?
Well, if you start climbing, and you
might have to grab hold of a sapling
when the going gets steep,
you will eventually come to a long stone
ridge with a border of pine trees
which is as high as you can go
and a good enough place to stop.

The best time is late afternoon
when the sun strobes through
the columns of trees as you are hiking up,
and when you find an agreeable rock
to sit on, you will be able to see
the light pouring down into the woods
and breaking into the shapes and tones
of things and you will hear nothing
but a sprig of birdsong or the leafy
falling of a cone or nut through the trees,
and if this is your day you might even
spot a hare or feel the wing-beats of geese
driving overhead toward some destination.

But it is hard to speak of these things
how the voices of light enter the body
and begin to recite their stories
how the earth holds us painfully against
its breast made of humus and brambles
how we who will soon be gone regard
the entities that continue to return
greener than ever, spring water flowing
through a meadow and the shadows of clouds
passing over the hills and the ground
where we stand in the tremble of thought
taking the vast outside into ourselves.

Still, let me know before you set out.
Come knock on my door
and I will walk with you as far as the garden
with one hand on your shoulder.
I will even watch after you and not turn back
to the house until you disappear
into the crowd of maple and ash,
heading up toward the hill,
piercing the ground with your stick

– Billy Collins

Certainly a beautiful poem and worth a bookmark.

Peace, people.