Is there anything more wonderful than a Christmas Eve spent with grandchildren?
Studly Doright and I basked in the glow of our Illinois grandkids’ excitement. What a wonderful night spent exchanging gifts and remembering Christmases past! Lots of laughs, smiles, and exclamations of joy filled the night. I’m such a lucky girl.
Peace, people.
On Saturday Studly and I traveled the second leg of our Christmas journey, driving from Clarksville, Tennessee, to Port Byron, Illinois. We made good time and soon were hugging our daughter and three of our five grandkids.
This is how the youngest one dressed to greet us in 33° weather:
After getting the grandkids all riled up we headed to a pizza place across the river in LeClaire, Iowa, where we played pinball and Pac-Man, tried our luck with the claw game and the fortune telling machine while the pizza was being cooked. I was too busy playing to take any pictures, but I took this one of the granddaughters posing as the Grinch and Cindy Lou Who in front of a shop in LeClaire.
There wasn’t nearly as much NASCAR style driving going on today, so my sanity isn’t in question as it was last night. I didn’t take many photos from the passenger seat today either, but we did pass a truck carrying its payload in an unorthodox manner:
Studly called my attention to this odd sight as we approached the truck north of Springfield, Illinois. We pondered for many miles how this little car was loaded onto the bed of the truck.
Other than these two pictures I only snapped a few others:
Studly got a bit excited when he saw snow on the side of the road. I hope that’s the ONLY snow we see this week; although, the forecast is calling for a white Christmas.
That’s part of the Peoria, Illinois, skyline, above. Not a great photo, but Peoria is kind of a cool river town.
As I type this, Studly and I are unwinding in our cozy hotel room with a view of the Mississippi River outside our window. We’re watching the Kansas Jayhawks play basketball while recharging our batteries for tomorrow’s activities with the grandkids. We’re going to need all the energy we can muster. Wish us luck.
Peace, people.
Studly Doright and I are heading north to spend Christmas with our daughter who lives near Moline, Illinois. I’d intended to write today’s blog post as Studly drove, but I couldn’t concentrate on writing while he was navigating the bumper to bumper traffic.
Things got a little intense a time or two. Going through Dothan, Alabama, a car came within inches of plowing into my door. Only Studly’s quick reflexes kept us from getting hit. Then somewhere north of Nashville a car stopped abruptly in the left hand lane of I-24. Again Studly’s quick thinking prevented an accident. My hero!
So, I didn’t write a thing until we got to our hotel room, and all I have to show for today’s blog are three photos taken while Studly drove:
I have a fondness for Piggly Wiggly signage. My dad managed a Piggly Wiggly grocery store for much of my life, and I met Studly when he worked for my dad at the Piggly Wiggly in Dumas, Texas.
This huge confederate flag waves over a section of I-65 in Alabama. Confederate flag memorabilia is sold in every gas station and convenience store along the interstate. The current president is quite popular in these parts, and I’m always in a hurry to get out of this state.
Traffic in the southbound lanes of I-65 came to a standstill due to a nasty accident just outside of Nashville. Look how far back the headlights go in the distance. Too many people all trying to get somewhere for the holidays. Hoping no one was seriously injured in the wreck.
Tomorrow’s traffic should be less hectic. There won’t be any major cities to navigate between Nashville and Moline, but if you don’t hear from me tomorrow you’ll know I’ve surrendered my sanity.
Peace, people.
The only reason I put up a Christmas tree this year is because the cats guilted me into it. Studly and I are spending Christmas at our daughter’s home and I told him I didn’t think we’d need a tree. Apparently the cats heard me and they went on strike–no purring or cuddling until the tree was up. They looked pretty cute with their protest placards, but wouldn’t stay still long enough for me to snap a photo.
At any rate, Studly and I learned our lessons, and we have a small tree. The cats are back to giving us lots of love, so everyone’s happy. They asked me to find a bunch of cat Christmas comics, too, and rather than make them get their signs out again, I complied.
Here’s Scout admiring the tree. It’s her shift. Patches is hiding somewhere.
Concerning the ugly sweater contest held at Studly Doright’s office Christmas party, I have some good news and some bad news. As a firm believer in getting the bad news over with first in these situations, that’s just what I’ll do.
The bad news–Studly Doright did not win the contest.
The good news–he wasn’t arrested for crimes against decency and good taste.
The funny news–the winner was a woman who wore a feminine version of Studly’s ugly sweater. That was also the gross news. She was too shy to let me take her picture, so here’s Studly in action.
On Saturday morning I had no plans. None. I found myself sitting in front of the tv watching Miracle on 34th Street while sipping coffee laced liberally with Irish cream. It was the 1947 version of the film, and in spite of my having seen it approximately 4 billion times in my life I was almost seduced into watching it again.
Instead I decided to go to the grocery story with a stop at Starbucks along the way. After leaving Starbucks with my favorite non-fat iced chai latte laced with a shot of juniper, my eagle eye spotted an estate sale in an unlikely location. I had to make a u-turn to get to it, but soon I was browsing through a veritable wonderland of vintage collectibles and plain old junk. There was so much stuff that I made two complete circuits through the building and still didn’t find anything I needed. Sometimes I’m overwhelmed by volume.
On the way to my car, though, I saw a green stool that seemed to be asking me to take it home. It was only $4.00, so I plopped down my money and loaded it into the back of my car. It’ll be a great plant stand, don’t you think? Or a side table for the porch? Or maybe even, gasp, a stool! Go figure.
I fully intended to go to the grocery store next, but there was a crafts fair being held in the parking lot of a church, so I pulled in and browsed for a bit. Honestly, most of what was being offered wasn’t too enticing, but the local humane society had a booth, so I made a donation and bought treat filled stockings for the cats. They’ll at least be pleased that I didn’t spend my morning watching an old movie.
Finally I made it to the store where I bought stuff to make sandwiches. I’d just finished eating when Studly Doright came in from playing golf to find me watching Miracle on 34th Street. I guess I’ve come full circle.
Peace, people.
Thus far in my 62 years on this earth I have never knowingly worn an ugly Christmas sweater. I say “knowingly” because I acknowledge there have been some questionable wardrobe choices in my past, and certainly an ugly sweater might’ve been one of them. I’m just saying I’ve never worn one on purpose.
Tonight, however, I will intentionally don an unattractive knitted garment, adorned with a gaudy, and unnecessarily sequined Christmas appliqué in the shape of a reindeer for my husband’s office Christmas party where an ugly sweater contest will be held. I don’t think my garment will win or even place in the top ten. I couldn’t go full on ugly.
Studly Doright, though, might’ve found the most heinous sweater of all time:
Is that not the most disgusting thing you’ve ever seen? I told him he can wear it once, then it’s going in the dumpster. Or maybe I’ll keep it around as proof that his judgment isn’t always sound.
Peace, people.
In my never ending search for a good night’s sleep I’ve tried everything short of prescription drugs: Melatonin, teas to promote sleep, putting my phone away a couple of hours before bedtime, deep breathing exercises, and meditation. Nothing really works. Occasionally I’ll take a dose of a nighttime cold medicine, and sometimes that helps, but I don’t like doing it.
Often I’ll ask my Alexa to play relaxing music, but whoever programs such material must not understand that up tempo songs with abrupt changes in instrumentation do not foster relaxation. I’ll just about doze off only to have the mellow tones of a cello be replaced jarringly by a clang of cymbals. Note to Alexa–just because a piece is classical, doesn’t mean it’s soothing. I’m fairly sure nobody ever fell asleep to the strains of the Willam Tell Overture.
Finally, though, I believe I’ve found music that might do the trick. It happened quite by accident when on a whim I asked Alexa to play music for cats. I was trying to foster affection, or at least acceptance, between my two antagonistic felines. They both were hanging out in my bedroom, and I had the wild idea that perhaps music could help.
It was an instant hit, and now they expect me to play their music every morning. I’ll wander into the bedroom and find them snuggled into my bed with just a couple of cat lengths between them while a little cat music plays softly in the background. That’s a major improvement.
Last night Studly Doright was out of town. After going to bed I tossed and turned for an hour before wondering if the cat music could work for me, too. I asked Alexa to play it, and the underlying purring sounds set to low strings lulled me to sleep. Now, I woke up around 1 a.m., and again at 4, and had to repeat the process, but it seemed to work fairly well. This leads me to believe I might be a cat. Meow.
Here’s a sample from the album, Music for Cats by David Teie. It’s titled “Lolo’s Air.”
Peace, people.
Amazon deliveries became a daily occurrence at Doright Manor last week. As boxes were placed on our front porch I’d place them on the floor in Studly Doright’s home office, a.k.a., “The Place Where Paperwork Goes to Languish.”
Today I decided to wade through the small mountain of boxes, open, and divide them according to their intended recipient, and then wrap them for placement beneath our little tree. As I type this I’m taking a well deserved break while sipping on my decaf coffee and surveying the stacks of unwrapped gifts grouped by person.
Some gifts were sent directly to family members from Amazon because we won’t get to see them this year. That’s kind of breaking my heart, but I’m trying to let it go. Some times I even succeed. Other times I just cry. It changes from moment to moment. So, I’m going to wrap the gifts I can and hope that helps.
Peace, people.
For a semi-retired person, Mondays are almost indistinguishable from any other day of the week. If it weren’t for Studly Doright, whose own retirement is still a few years away, I’d have no reason at all to mark the first day of the work week as any different from the rest.
We experienced thunderstorms all weekend, even had a tornado touch down nearby, and today’s weather looks to be more of the same. It’s a bit on the gloomy side, but I have nothing on my agenda other than laundry. I picture a day spent sipping tea between trips to and from the laundry room.
Mondays are great for reflecting on the weekend, and in spite of the rain I kept fairly busy. Friday night I attended a concert with friends. On Saturday I decorated the house for Christmas while Studly played nine holes of golf. The rain prevented a full round for his group. We lazed about all afternoon then went for dinner at a Japanese steak house.
I tweaked my back somehow on Saturday, perhaps while fetching Christmas decorations from the hall closet, or hefting tepanyaki shrimp with my chopsticks, and awakened with back spasms Sunday morning. I didn’t let the spasms keep me from attending a holiday-themed lunch with members of my favorite Meetup group, though. We had a fun gift exchange and made plans for a happy hour get together in a couple of weeks.
Then Studly took me to see the newest film iteration of “Robin Hood” on Sunday afternoon. It was an odd take on the familiar tale–kind of a poorly executed mashup of the Heath Ledger film, “A Knight’s Tale,” with elements of Batman and Indiana Jones thrown in for good measure. It bothered me that the costumes didn’t appear even slightly appropriate for the time period. I thought the movie was a waste of money, but Studly liked it.
A heat pack and ibuprofen helped me sleep well last night, and I think the worst of the back pain is behind me. Take that any way you want. I’m going to get up soon to shower. Then I’ll fill the tea kettle, and sort the laundry. But for now, the cats are snuggled around me, and I’m going to revel in not caring that it’s Monday.
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 