Love is the answer

Whatever the question, love is the answer

I guess it's about time I got you all caught up on what's to be caught up on.

Grab a can of Coke and a box of popcorn because there's a lot of ground to cover.

Shall we start at the beginning?

Audrey and her gentleman caller

That would be New Year's Eve of 2023, which you may recall was a Sunday.

It was on that Sunday, at the conclusion of the morning service, that a fine gentleman joined our church.

As he was alone when he joined -- as in, not accompanied by a female -- and looked to be of a certain age, and was a well-dressed and attractive man, when church was over I suggested to Audrey that we make it a point to greet him and welcome him to our congregation.

I've completed my February decorating

(Yes; I mounted a flagrant charm offensive. I have no shame and nothing to hide. My beautiful daughter is single.)

It turned out that the gentleman's name was Mike (still is), and that he is a widower whose wife of thirty-one years passed away in the summer of 2020.

They shared three now-adult children, none of whom live in South Carolina.

Dagny and Baby Elliot

Mike is an engineer in the tech field, and as such he travels extensively, all over the world.

But he was in town on that day, and as it happened, the next day too. I know because I invited him over to our house for New Year's Day festive party-type food.

It was a cold day when Rhett joined us at the Asheville Cracker Barrel

And he graciously accepted and, when he arrived, brought along several small manila envelopes containing foreign coins -- and even some folding money -- that he has collected on his travels, to give to my grandchildren.

Only, two-year-old Rhett was not at the party. He was mid-nap when it was time to come over, so Chad had offered to stay home with him. 

Hearts are active this winter

Elliot was there, but at four months he is too young to care about coins from any country, much less foreign ones.

But Dagny was present, and she is wild about anything international. Of the one-hundred ninety-five countries in the world today, she can identify on sight the flags of at least eighty percent of them.

Ember loved her purple backpack with matching triceratops

She was thrilled to receive the coins and has since been given even more for her collection.

So it was that we got to know Mike and it was a pleasant experience which all of us enjoyed, on the first day of the new year.

And now we are at Groundhog Day, and Punxsutawney Phil has predicted an early spring, and Mike has practically become one of the family.

The Kiss: Tiny book about a big subject

That's because over the past four weeks, he and Audrey have become what is called, in the parlance of relationships, an item.

As in, Audrey has a suitor in our friend Mike and I don't think he's going anywhere. Just last Friday night he took her out to dinner at Ruth's Chris Steak House.

Dagny had been hankering after this Stanley tumbler

(There is more but I cannot tell it right now. I just thought my readers would want to know this happy news.)

In fact Mike joined us when, on January thirteenth, we all drove up to Asheville, North Carolina, to meet our son Andrew and granddaughter Ember for a meal at Cracker Barrel.

The new LVP flooring ends at the new carpet in our bedroom

We had not seen Andrew and Brittany and Ember and Guy for Christmas because they usually spend that holiday with her family.

So we had not been able to exchange gifts with them, and we wanted to get that taken care of.

TG had balloons, presents, cards, and candy

Brittany and Baby Guy were absent because she was spending a few days out of town, with friends that she and Andrew made while in flight school.

Stephanie and her family were not with us either, so it was just TG and me, the Chericas (consisting of Chad, Erica, Rhett, and Elliot), and Mike, Audrey, and Dagny.

We had a wonderful time. 

Here's how it looks going up the steps into the kitchen

We had a hearty supper and visited for a good long while and exchanged our Christmas gifts, and made some memories, before it was time to go.

The next big thing on the horizon was TG's birthday, which takes place exactly one month after Christmas.

All ready to tuck into that cheesecake

The whole gang, including Mike, plus our friend Andrea from church, assembled at Sun Ming, which is one of my favorite restaurants.

There were ten of us if you count Baby Elliot, even though he does not yet eat Chinese food.

We sat around a huge circular table with a massive Lazy Susan in the middle. 

This cheesecake is light, rich, and not too sweet

We ordered enough General Tsao Chicken, Sesame Beef, Beef Steak Kew, Orange Chicken, Bourbon Chicken, and Sweet and Sour Pork for everyone to share. There was a huge bowl of piping hot white rice which our server replenished once, and another of steamed broccoli.

I made sure there was an order of egg fried rice too. Chad and Erica enjoyed egg rolls for an appetizer.

We ate and talked and spun the Lazy Susan and ate and talked and spun it some more and pretty soon the delicious dishes were all but gone.

A few boxes with leftovers went home, but that's just because we weren't going to leave anything there.

Mike joined us for the party

Replete with TG's birthday dinner, we all went to our house for dessert.

My usual pattern is to make TG a German Chocolate cake, but this year I was too distracted.

It came to me in a dream that in lieu of TG's favorite dessert, I should get a cheesecake sampler from Costco.

I ended up reading this review of, and ultimately purchasing, a plain cheesecake from Costco.

And we will be doing that again, because that is one luscious cheesecake.

For toppings we had preserves and chocolate syrup

I swerved served it with four different kinds of jams and preserves -- Bonne Maman Four Fruits Preserves, Strawberry Preserves and Seedless Red Raspberry Jam by Smuckers, and Danish Choice Blackcurrant Preserves.

Several years ago Audrey gave me three crystal jam jars, all different designs, with their own matching spoons.

I used those to hold the jams and preserves, and also filled a small crystal cream pitcher with chocolate syrup.

The view of our new floor, from the kitchen

Everyone was able to decorate their slice of plain cheesecake with whatever topping struck their fancy.

I chose Bonne Maman Four Fruits Preserves and I did not regret it.

Take my word for it: store-bought cheesecake is a good option for a birthday party dessert. Especially if it's as delectable as this one.

There was ample reason to celebrate

Then TG opened his gifts and was pleased to see that his girls had bought him a new rangefinder for golf -- something he had been wanting.

Baby Elliot was so tired that he went fast asleep as I held him, facing forward.

All that there was to see was not enough to keep him awake.

They had to tell me that Elliot had fallen asleep

Even before TG's birthday I had embarked on a two-week saga that turned out to be both time-consuming and stressful. 

That involved choosing and having installed, new flooring for our TV room and a short hallway, closet, and laundry room that branch off from it.

At first when we decided to get rid of the butterscotch-colored carpet -- on the floor since 2016 -- I thought I wanted hardwood flooring.

I mean, I knew I wanted hardwood flooring.

We call this jam jar the grenade

But it turned out that I did not have the quality of subfloor that would take hardwood flooring while keeping any manufacturer warranty in force.

We could have rebuilt the subfloor but that was additional time and expense.

Since the laundry room was involved, i ultimately chose LVP and it was installed this past week.

I like it and so far I would recommend it. It looks nice and is one-hundred percent waterproof.

We're not expecting a flood but you never know when something is going to be spilled.

Fruit preserves on your plain cheesecake is a solid choice

We may install more of this NuCore Cortado Oak in our house -- in the kitchen, to be specific -- and if we do, I'll keep you updated. 

So now you are caught up. How does that make you feel? Do you love it?

Let me know in the comments.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Friday :: Happy Weekend :: Happy February

Monday Mirth :: don't be that guy

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Happy Monday

Monday Mirth :: true that

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Happy Monday

The owls are not what they seem

Coming to grips with grapes

Extra credit if you can name the cultural reference that informs the title of my post today.

Hint: You have to be extra weird to get it. But in a good way, like the pirate.

And the way it ties in today, is on the subject of grapes and at least one other thing.

Have you tried lately to buy a good grape?

You should know that for many years I have been more or less obsessed (overused word; forgive me but in this case it is accurate) with red grapes.

Green grapes are okay but I'm going for the resveratrol in the red kind.

For a long time, as soon as I bought my grapes, I froze them.

Then, when thawed for a certain length of time (about ten minutes), they were like round semi-mushy popsicles. Most delicious and fun to eat.

Best for summertime, but I look for grapes year round.

Here is the problem: It has become difficult to find good-tasting grapes.

And then there is the price, which is at times so outrageous that I won't buy the grapes no matter what they taste like.

But lets talk about taste. And texture! As those concepts apply to the red table grape.

Two things are paramount: a snap when you bite, and a tart-sweet flavor. Juicy of course, but not too juicy.

Naturally then, when I come upon the grapes in the produce department, I first look them over. I'm checking out their overall appearance, to include their size. And then if I think there is hope, I taste one or two.

If you put a grape in your mouth and bite down and there is a slight resistance, that's a good sign.

But then the taste which follows must be an ideal balance between sweet and tart.

It's a heady mix and more often than not, the grapes I encounter these days do not pass muster.

I've tried putting red grapes on my list when TG graciously goes to the store for me, and keeping my fingers crossed when he comes back and I find that he bought some.

Easy Candied Pecans cooling on the Silpat

It's not that he is ignorant of grape characteristics; it's just that he does not eat them, so it doesn't mean as much to him what they taste like.

He makes every attempt to bring me what I'm looking for in a grape, and often succeeds.

But a few months ago I had to tell him that what he'd brought home was not up to snuff in the least.

They were large round globe grapes.

I'm sorry and if you like this variety of grape, God bless you, but for me? Just no.

These grapes are, one, too big. Too round. And, two, they have seeds.

SEEDS! I mean, who wants a grape with seeds? Not the pirate.

You have to bite one -- they're huge, nearly ping-pong-ball sized, so you pretty much have to bite them in half anyway -- and those seeds (like, four of them) are in the middle.

Then you have a decision to make: either crunch on those, which is unpleasant, or tease them out with a fingernail and put them in your napkin.

Ugh.

It destroys the grape eating experience, I am here to tell you. But then there isn't much to eating that kind of grape to begin with.

There is no snap and there is no tartness. What's inside is mushy sweetish water, the flavor of which barely if at all resembles that of a red table grape.

I don't know what they're thinking by putting those on offer in the produce department because I cannot imagine who likes them.

So anyway last week, after New Year's celebrations had died down and become a thing of the recent past, I went to the store with a list.

By the way, normally on New Year's -- either Eve or Day -- we don't do anything special.

But this year, since I'd been sick at Christmas, I wanted to make some festive foods and have the family over.

We also invited a new friend from church, who accepted our invitation and it was nice getting to know him.

I served (again) Naughty Hammie Sammies. It will have to be a while before we have those again, because they are addictive.

Funeral Potatoes ready to go into the oven

(And I should tell you that instead of the three-fourths pound of shaved ham called for by the recipe, I use a full pound. Go thou and do likewise.)

In addition to the sammies we had Funeral Potatoes (recipe tweaked to include one cup of sautéed onion and a packet of Ranch dressing mix), a reprise of our Christmas Eve bacon-wrapped Lit'l Smokies with a BBQ dipping sauce, baked beans, deviled eggs, pirate cheese ball with cracker assortment, tortilla strips with salsa, Easy Candied Pecans, and Brownie Pie served with Reddi-wip, the price of which has gone through the proverbial roof.

(I mean, seven dollars for a can of whipped cream? Give me a break. We bought the store brand.)

Back to the grape story, which took place a couple of days after our congenial New Year's soirée.

Standing in front of the refrigerated grape area, said grapes already loaded into cellophane bags, not even having planned to buy any but noticing that they looked like the kind of grape I like, I tasted one.

It was perfect. That grape was just the right size -- not too small, not too large, about the size of a marble, Goldilocks in grape form -- and it had the snap. And it had the tart-sweet flavor.

We were there. We had arrived in beautiful downtown gorgeous got-to-have-some Grapeville.

Thrilled, I picked up a bag stuffed to the gills with grapes.

At the till I loaded not just my grapes but all of my purchases onto the conveyor belt. I know most of the cashiers at this particular store -- well I mean, at any given time there are only perhaps two cashiers ringing up groceries -- but I noticed that a young girl unfamiliar to me was working that day.

When I say young, I mean maybe eighteen years old. She was tallish and slender, but what stood out and was in fact impossible to ignore, was her hair.

Now mind you I had not stared directly at the young lady; I was busy with my stuff and I don't stare anyway.

But I could not help but notice the constant, near-obsessive relationship the young cashier had with her hair.

The hair was long -- to the middle of her back -- and stick-straight. It was mouse-brown in color, unexceptional in that way but nevertheless clean and soft and well cared for.

It was hair that gets a great deal of attention from the one upon whose head it lives. Hair that has frequent contact with shampoos and conditioners, not to mention styling tools and a hairbrush.

Because of its length and texture, and the fact that it was unrestrained, the hair hung like a soft curtain over the girl's face.

It wasn't just in her face; it was all around her face, in fact obscuring her face unless she touched and moved the hair every six to eight seconds.

Which she did. 

In my peripheral vision I could see that she would first run her hand across the top of her head to reposition the hair, a useless gesture because it immediately fell right back into her face.

Deep Dish Brownie Pie is one hundred percent legit

She would then toss her head before sweeping the hair across the back of her neck and over onto one shoulder so that if she held her head at an awkward angle, for a few seconds at least the hair hung across only one side of her face.

There was no scrunchie lodged on her wrist, to use when she'd gotten enough of incessantly fooling with the hair. She did not anchor the hair behind her ears or make any attempt other than constantly moving it around, to keep the hair out of her face.

At about that time I was up. It was my turn and I needed to hand the girl a can of cut green beans and say I have twelve of these (Rizzo eats green beans every day at three o'clock), so that I didn't have to haul the whole cardboard tray of them up onto the belt.

And the cashier kindly and efficiently dealt with that, and when she did, I noticed something.

I realized with what I admit was a jolt, that she was a he.

My cashier was a young man and not a young lady, as I had supposed for the past several minutes.

He was a person of gentle features and as I said, slender. And then there was the abundance of hair, and what seemed to me to be a distinctly feminine preoccupation with it.

As the young man continued to struggle with his luxuriant hair between scanning each item -- a situation which must have been exhausting to deal with throughout a multi-hour shift -- I wondered why someone in management had not told him that he needed to pull his hair back and secure it somehow.

Because if he got careless and leaned down three inches while the conveyor belt was running, bringing an order close enough for him to scan the items, it would have grabbed his hair. The potential liability for the store was clear -- at least to me.

And if that had happened, there would have been a kerfuffle resulting in some hair having to be cut, if not an even worse scenario unfolding.

Not to mention the distraction of a grocery cashier constantly touching and flipping and sweeping and obsessing about the hair on their head, in a setting where food is being handled.

Was this a case of someone in authority not wanting to risk offending an employee seeming to display a certain identity, even though under the circumstances it was a clear dereliction of duty not to do so?

Even though by not saying something, in my opinion the management was at the very least ignoring common-sense protocol, and at the worst, putting the young man at risk, at least marginally, of injury?

I have an uneasy feeling that if the cashier had been a female, the directive would have been issued forthwith: hair should be secured so that it does not fall into the face and have to be constantly touched, especially when worn at a length that makes it a hazard when working near a conveyor belt.

At any rate, we'll never know.

The young man rang up my groceries the rest of the way and said he hoped I'd have a good day, and I thanked him and since I always say I appreciate you (because I do), I said that and walked away.

When I got home, I was so excited to have some really good grapes. I washed and tasted one or two more as I put my groceries away.

Rhett at Aunt Audrey's, fixing to pray over his dinner

Only, later -- the next day, to be exact -- I realized something.

In the bag I had purchased, a quantity of good grapes -- the kind I like, the kind I look for, the kind I love -- had been placed on top of a quantity of those huge round watery seed-laden globe grapes that I hate.

The ones with no taste and no texture but no dearth of utter nonsense.

It was only then that I saw clearly marked on the cellophane bag:

RED GLOBE GRAPES WITH SEEDS

Because a completely different type of grapes were present in impressive numbers when I checked them out visually, and reached inside the bag for a taste, I had not noticed that what lay beneath them was the opposite of what I thought I was getting.

Even though the bag was clearly marked, there reigned confusion.

Guess I'll have to look more closely next time instead of making assumptions based upon information gleaned at first glance. And plan what I buy into, accordingly.

Lesson learned.

And that is all for now except to wish you a Happy New Year.

Oh, and to say that today and always, I appreciate you.

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Happy Tuesday

Monday Mirth :: Freeze

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Happy Monday

It was a thrill a minute

Photo courtesy Erica Porter

In my last post before my Christmas Eve post, I told you that on that very day, we were hosting a small get-together.

Which we did. It was a cold day -- the coldest day we'd experienced so far on this end of the year.

And our friend Marsha was coming by after work, which meant she would be here at five fifteen.

Too early for dinner and besides, that's not what the party was.

But certainly a substantial snack was needed, and I felt that it should be hot.

I could make you privy to the many machinations of the pirate mind in this regard, but I'll cut to the chase.

Audrey and Dagny were joining us, and TG was out running errands for me.

He would have his supper later. Or at least that was my plan.

Anyone can make corn muffin tops

My mother used to say, use what you have. So instead of going in a more elaborate direction, here is what I did.

I made my zhuzhed-up macaroni and cheese -- Kraft Deluxe, with milk and lots of hand-shredded sharp cheddar added, and even more cheese on top, and baked to bubbly goodness -- served in my Pioneer Woman ramekins.

For which I have the matching pig dishes.

One normal-sized box of the mac and cheese made exactly four ramekins.

To go alongside the mac and cheese, I made corn muffin tops.

That requires a special pan, which I happen to have. It's a useful pan for baked eggs too.

Pioneer Woman dishes make everything taste better

The corn muffin tops are a favorite at my house and two of them nestled beside the ramekin of bubbly creamy mac and cheese was ideal for our purposes.

Everyone gathered and we savored each bite, as well as one another's company.

There was a modest gift exchange, and then we enjoyed the pumpkin bread I had made that morning.

It all went off without a hitch. However, the party lasted much longer than I had anticipated.

Poor TG ended up eating leftovers and that made my heart hurt but I was painted into a corner somewhat.

(Marsha had told me that she could only stay an hour, but her situation had changed and it was eight o'clock before everyone had gone home.)

Our napery was no less festive for being papery

(Fortunately for me, my TG would cut his own tongue out before he would complain.)

We got some cute pictures of the group though, for posterity (TG took them), and it was a truly nice and relaxed festive time with our friend.

How could I have known that there were rapids ahead of those calm waters?

Remember how I told you that when I came down with bronchitis a few weeks ago, I at first thought I had dodged a bullet? That I had suffered only a glancing blow from a noncommittal cold?

And that just when I thought I was out of the woods, a tree fell on me?

Well this time, I didn't even know I was IN the woods when a tree fell on me.

Our dear friend Marsha

Allow me to elaborate.

On the evening of the twenty-first -- last Thursday -- Dagny spent the night with us.

She wanted to be here when her cousins from North Carolina arrived at midday on Friday, to celebrate Melanie's birthday and our Christmas with them.

And we wanted to watch a Christmas movie, and she chose Elf, which I had never seen.

(And which -- trust me -- I will never see again if I can help it. Mercy. What nonsense.)

Anyway, as we sat watching the movie that night, I wondered why I had been feeling a tad bit off that day -- TG even asked me if I was okay -- and why, as we watched the movie, I felt more dreadful by the minute.

Audrey and Dagny :: Audag

All questions were answered when I woke up the next day with what I at first thought was a severe head cold.

But which I shortly realized was the flu.

With the whole raft of symptoms one associates with that malady: fever, cough, sneezing, chills, aches, and generalized mega-misery.

We would be twelve that evening for a birthday dinner and then our "first" Christmas, with Stephanie and her family.

It was a nightmare.

I told everyone to avoid coming near me, and promised to wash my hands frequently, which I do anyway.

Marsha's gift awaiting her attention

For dinner we were having meatball pull-aparts. I made the meatballs that morning and got them simmering -- fully cooked -- in a Crock Pot of marinara.

Later I dug out the centers of two huge packages (sixteen each) of Hawaiian rolls, making thirty-two little divots.

I brushed the tops with garlic parsley butter and lined each divot with shredded mozzarella, tucked a saucy meatball in on top of that, and put lots more mozzarella on top.

Those got baked up and melty and, although I couldn't enjoy any food, everyone told me they were good.

Alongside those we had Velveeta-Rotel dip and Mission tortilla strips.

We also had a beautiful vegetable tray with Ranch dip, that my girls put together.

After the meal, Melanie opened her presents.

For our dessert I'd made pumpkin bread

Stephanie had ordered a cupcake cake at our Publix and had picked it up that afternoon.

For some reason not clear to me, the cupcakes were arranged in the shape of a llama. I never really got close enough to see the llama but that's what they said it was.

I couldn't eat a cupcake either but everyone seemed to enjoy those too.

In due time we repaired to the den/TV room to have Christmas.

Stephanie and her family left for the three-hour drive to their home in North Carolina at about nine o'clock, and everyone else was gone soon after.

It's mostly a blur except for one special memory. Keep reading lest you expire from the sheer torture of anticipation.

The little houses were lit on the kitchen mantel

Every year for the past many years, we have given our grandson -- we call him Little Andrew to distinguish him from our son, Andrew -- the annual collectors' truck from Hess.

Andrew will turn twelve in February.

These are impressive toys -- well made, high quality, with lots of bells and whistles. The genuine article.

They've gone up in price a full ten dollars since I've been buying them, but each year around Labor Day I ask Andrew if he still wants the truck, and he always says yes, without hesitation.

I ask him, because with a few small exceptions, due to its cost it's the only thing I can get him.

But this year, I forgot to ask him if he wanted it.

It was the coldest day in late late fall

And when Hess let me know the truck was available for purchase, I just bought it, thinking why not.

Even in my weakened condition that night at the party, though, I could tell that Andrew was not as into the truck (it's actually a truck and a car that fits inside it), as he'd perhaps been in previous years.

But Rhett lost his mind over it. 

I wish you could have seen that child's face when that truck was activated -- it comes with the batteries already installed -- with all of the many lights and the sirens and the extra car lit up too.

He flipped. His eyes never left it and as much he was allowed to in the midst of all the action, he played with it.

But there came a time when the adults thought it prudent to return the whole thing to its box and reunite it with the rest of Andrew's opened presents.

TG took this picture of Audag, Marsha, and me

Lest Rhett get too attached to someone else's gift.

But it was too late. The corners of Rhett's mouth turned towards his shoelaces. His big blue eyes filled with tears of despair.

He didn't pitch a fit; he was truly heartbroken. He's only two.

I looked at my older grandson. Andrew, I said, If I gave you fifty dollars (he would be getting more than I paid by about three dollars but I'm all about rounding up), would you give me back that truck?

At first he didn't understand what I was asking, so I asked him again.

And he said that yes, he would. It's not that I don't like it, he said, not wanting to appear ungrateful. But I have seven of them lined up under my bed as it is.

One of my gifts from Marsha was this adorable mug

Fair enough.

TG transferred the funds to Andrew and Andrew transferred the truck, tucked into its box, to me.

I looked at Rhett, standing next to me, whose eyes never left the box as it moved closer to him, even though he had no idea what was going on.

This is yours, I said, handing him the big green-and-white box.

You guys. If there could be a picture of Christmas perfection in the countenance of a child, it was there in that baby's face.

He understood immediately that the truck was his. He looked at his mother. 

Say thank you, she said.

Thank you, he whispered to me. (He often whispers what he has to say to you.)

Henry was so delighted with his turtleneck, he took a selfie

A short while later, as everyone was upstairs in the kitchen preparing to leave, I heard the truck hit the floor.

Erica said something and then Rhett burst into loud sobs.

I didn't have the energy to go up there and see what was going on, but I could tell that the truck had been put back into its box for the trip home.

Rhett thought that it was going to be taken away from him.

He fell asleep five minutes out of our driveway, and Erica took the picture you see at the top of this post.

It's one of those precious memories that we will talk about for many years to come.

Our Christmas morning Dutch Baby

And I reckon I will be buying a Hess collectible truck at Christmas for many years to come too -- only for a different grandson than the one I'm used to buying it for.

The next day -- last Saturday -- I slept most of the day. All of the flu symptoms were still present and accounted for.

On Christmas Eve, sometime in the morning, the fever went away. Which made me feel about fifty percent better.

I did not go to church, but we went ahead with our traditional Christmas Eve buffet that evening, after which we all open our stockings.

Audrey and Dagny spend the night here on that night as well as the next, and no one cares how late they stay up.

For our buffet I made something that I saw on Instagram, and which I will be making again on New Year's Day.

Warm berry compote

All agreed that Naughty Hammie Sammies must become a staple party sandwich at Chez Weber.

Truly amazing. Scrumptious, soft, warm, savory, sweet, comforting -- these were words I heard murmured around the table in between mouthfuls. TG was especially impressed.

When you make these, do not make the mistake of changing the recipe in any way -- especially not by adding cheese. They are divine just the way they are. If you change them, you'll ruin them.

I also made bacon-wrapped Lit'l Smokies and whipped up a tangy barbecue-type sauce to dip them in.

We had our traditional cheese ball and cracker tray, and Erica brought a fabulous carrot-apple slaw.

Desserts and treats had been accumulating so there was no need to make anything else for the sweets part of the meal.

Christmas table :: finally the big day came

After dinner we all went down to the TV room and watched It's A Wonderful Life, a/k/a the greatest Christmas movie of all time.

Cherica loaded up the boys and went home, and the rest of us went to bed.

On Christmas morning it was raining, and it rained all that day and all of the next. But it was not a cold rain; just a sloppy one.

I love rainy days so that aspect of the holiday pleased me.

How was I feeling? Not good, but not as bad as I had been. It's the best I can do.

But we still had a lovely Christmas dinner consisting of ham, ranch potato casserole, broccoli casserole, Crock Pot creamed corn, Southern ambrosia, my kicked-up deviled eggs, and whole-berry cranberry sauce (from a can, which delighted our Chad, who loves to put that atop the ham slices on his plate).

Southern ambrosia

That morning I had made a pecan pie, and when that was out of the oven I made a Dutch Baby with warm berry compote.

Between me, TG, Audrey, and Dagny, we devoured every crumb at brunch time. We had our dinner at six thirty.

And we had another who's-your-daddy Christmas gift exchange, with paper and tissue flying everywhere, and it was a special time.

In other news, Henry received his turtleneck and posted a picture of himself on WhatsApp, which my sister and her children and grandchildren use. My sister sent me the picture of Henry modeling his shirt.

He called me on Christmas Day to thank me for it, and to tell me how much he loved it. Audrey has sent him the same shirt in burgundy and I think he'll flip when he sees that.

As for much-loved gifts, I am especially enamored of the Pirate Bible given to me by Cherica.

My treasured Pirate Bible

It is AI generated, based on the King James Bible. It's not meant to be a replacement for the Bible, but to be read for enjoyment and to perhaps illuminate certain passages in a way that delights the heart.

John chapter one, verse one, for example: 'Twas the start o' things, and the Word sailed with God, and the Word be God.

Later in that chapter: 'Twas a man sent from th' Almighty, John bein' his name. Arr! The same scallywag set sail as a witness, t' bear witness o' the Light so all me hearties through 'im could come t' faith.

He weren't that Light, but was sent t' testify of that Light.

Avast ye! That be the true Luminescence a-shinin', illuminatin' each swab that sails into the seven seas.

Anyway. I like it. I like it a great deal indeed. The pirate be approvin' it an' we'll leave it there.

Meanwhile I have updated my new calendars and planners -- I have several -- and it is sunny and warmish today, and I'm still under the weather a wee bit but thankful for all improvement in that area.

The Pirate Bible, open to Psalms Chapter One

I am in possession of perhaps twenty percent of my senses of taste and smell, which went completely away on Christmas Eve.

Do not freak out. Did you know that any number of viruses can cause the temporary cessation of those senses? It does not have to be the C word, and I will not even type it. And no, I did not get tested.

I stayed home and got rested. As much as I could.

It is what it is. And whatever it was, it's in the rear view mirror now.

BUT I certainly hope that you are well, and that you will remain so, and that you have extra-happy plans for your New Year's Eve and New Year's Day.

Ours will be more of the same: We will go to church and we will gather to enjoy food.

We are extraordinary only in our ordinariness. But there's nothing wrong with that, and there's a lot right with it.

Don't you agree?

I hope so.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Thursday

God is not dead, nor doth He sleep

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I heard the bells on Christmas Day

Their old familiar carols play

And wild and sweet, the words repeat

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought as now this day had come

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rung so long the unbroken song

Of peace on Earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head

"There is no peace on Earth," I said

For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on Earth, good will to men.

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep

God is not dead, nor doth He sleep

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail

With peace on Earth, good will to men.

Then ringing, singing on its way

The world revolved from night to day

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime

Of peace on Earth, good will to men!

= Henry Wadsworth Longfellow =

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M e r r y   C h r i s t m a s

Celebrations in progress

My friend Marsha gave me this festive gnome

I considered, pondered, thought about, intended, and one hundred percent meant to post something for you last week.

There was even a more-than-concerted effort to connect with you yesterday.

But here is how it all went down.

On December sixth -- Wednesday before last -- I developed a sore throat.

That is never a good sign.

This display adorns the foyer table

However.

By that Friday, I was convinced that my strong constitution and immunities had fought off a vile holiday illness.

Erica was suffering from a cold as well so I texted the girls and told them I was pretty sure that a mild cold had brushed past me in a noncommittal fashion and was in the rear view, no longer posing a threat to my person.

Yay, we all agreed. Erica was feeling much better too.

Then that night came. Friday night. This was eleven days ago.

This metal disc came from Mast General Store

It was a bad night. No good sleep. A great deal of discomfort.

Saturday came and I had some responsibilities that required me to be both vertical and presentable.

In addition, TG and Audrey and Dagny and I had planned to go out to dinner that night, to Midwood Smokehouse.

I wondered whether I should go, and ultimately decided that since I was hungry and had already got through most of the day without disastrous consequences, like dying, we would stick to the plan.

We were going early -- meeting at the restaurant at four thirty -- so I knew I wouldn't be out late.

I won this charming light-up church at a Christmas party gift exchange at least a decade ago

Looking back, I probably shouldn't have configured my day like that. The meal was delicious but I didn't enjoy it as much as I should have.

I couldn't even get a big kick out of the treat we got afterwards at Duck Donuts. It was across the parking lot from Midwood Smokehouse, and I was the one who insisted that we go there.

We each ate a still-warm donut while sitting at a little table in the shop, and TG brought the rest home in a box.

Saturday night was worse than Friday night. I developed a cough.

The next day, it rained all day. TG went to church. On the way home, he stopped and got me a big bag of Halls honey lemon cough drops.

These are old-school cheap but they do the trick

He'd asked me whether I needed anything and those were the only thing I could think of.

But I chuckled weakly when I saw that there were seventy cough drops in the bag. It seemed like a great many more than I needed or could consume.

I've lived on them for over a week now. We're not out but neither is that bag anywhere near to being full anymore.

It was funny because at the same time TG bought the Halls, he bought a bag of Luden's cough drops. Why, I don't know. They are disgusting -- nothing more than sickly cherry candy.

But the fact that he'd bought them prompted a memory of getting a box of cough drops to take to school when you were a kid and maybe had the sniffles or were slightly under the weather.

My front-door wreath lights up beguilingly at night

Not contagious -- don't freak out -- but you know, not one hundred percent. Maybe a scratchy throat, or just getting over a cold.

You felt so important with that box of cough drops with its wax paper liner. The teacher had been informed that they were on your person, so it was okay to have one in class.

I don't remember Halls as a kid; only Luden's and one other brand.

TG and I, over our supper that Sunday night, couldn't remember what it was. I only knew it was something Bros. With drawings of two old-timey men on the box.

Between bites of the cheeseburger and fries TG had brought me from Rush's, it came to me: Smith Bros. cough drops.

The Luden's and the Halls cough drops in the skull jar

Which prompted TG to look up the Smith brothers to ascertain whether they were real brothers who made cough drops, or merely a brand, like Betty Crocker. Who does not exist.

Turns out the Smith Brothers. -- William and Andrew -- were the real deal. Theirs are thought to be the original cough and throat drops produced in America.

Before Halls and before Luden's, even.

Beneath the pictures of their bearded visages on the box appeared the word -- but split in two, one word under each face -- Trade and Mark.

The brothers were thereafter known as Trade and Mark Smith.

This woolly ewe is new -- a S&P shaker from Cracker Barrel

Anyway, we don't have any Smith Bros. cough drops in the house but you can pick some up at the store the next time you're there, if there's a need.

I'll stick with Halls honey lemon because they really do help when you have a sore throat and cough. Which I sincerely and fervently pray that you do not.

So for several days I was mildly productive at home, not well enough to go out but not sick enough to lie in bed or sit around nonstop.

As a result, I am ready for Christmas. The cards have all been sent and the gifts are wrapped and under the tree.

With the exception of a few stragglers that I have yet to wrap. But that won't be a problem.

I found this metal sign at Tractor Supply last January, on clearance

Because I'm organized.

Our children's massive stockings are stuffed with all manner of small gifts and hanging from wreath hangers on the French doors between the TV room and the sun room.

TG took me to the store last night for our Christmas groceries, and I purchased the treats I always add to the kids' stockings at more or less the last minute.

The decorating has been done, as I told you before, since the day after Thanksgiving. 

Naturally I've tweaked it, and even added a doodad or two, but that's par for the course.

There's a gnome on the coffee cart

Meanwhile we began our Christmas celebrations last Friday night. 

It was the first day that I felt well enough to go out, but I admit it was still not as easy as I wish it had been, to get gussied up -- yes I always gussy up -- and leave my warm house.

But Audrey and Dagny had invited all of us (who live here, that being TG and me, plus the Chericas, consisting of Chad, Erica, Rhett, and baby Elliot) to theirs, for pizza and wings and entertainment.

I made Mari's Hot Taco Dip (minus the black olives as per usual, haha) to round out the meal.

For dessert there was ice cream with cookies, and coffee if you wanted some.

Screen shot of Dagny delivering her cardinal paper

The entertainment consisted of music, and a presentation about cardinals. The birds.

Dagny and Audrey had brought Dagny's keyboard into the living room to facilitate the musical part.

There was first an impromptu performance by our Chad, who played Silent Night. He learned to play the piano as a child but last Friday night was the first time I knew that.

Then Dagny played O Come All Ye Faithful. Third and last, Audrey played Silent Night again -- while Dagny sang it.

Completely charming and worthy of applause. 

I got this twinkly tree a long time ago at Hobby Lobby

Sorry I got no pictures of the evening but I did take video, and I captured a still of Dagny -- who is homeschooled -- giving her cardinal presentation while TG held the poster visual aid.

It was all so excellent and everyone went home filled with the Christmas spirit.

On Saturday I felt well enough to go to the church with TG in the morning to spend about an hour distributing doorhangers inviting folks to our church's Christmas services.

Audrey and Dagny were there too, and when we were finished, TG and I headed for Simpsonville to have lunch at Cracker Barrel with my sister Kay, her husband Pierre-Philippe, and Henry.

Audrey had a day of errands planned, but Dagny decided that she wanted to come with us.

Dagny came along for lunch at Cracker Barrel in Simpsonville

Henry was married to my mother for thirty-seven years before her death in October of 2020. He is ninety-one years old and just keeps on going, enjoying life.

My sister had a birthday on the fourteenth, so the meet-up was both to celebrate that (I made my semi-famous, entirely homemade Vanilla Pound Cake with Amaretto Drizzle) and to exchange Christmas gifts.

Kay and PP will be heading up to South Bend, Indiana, this week to spend Christmas with two of their daughters and several of their grandchildren. 

Henry will have his Christmas dinner in Greenville with our nephew Michael and his family. His (Henry's, that is) five children all live far away.

Kay had made a large jar of chocolate biscotti for me and TG. As I wrote to her in a thank-you note yesterday, I'm trying to stay out of that jar because the biscotti is so good, I fear I could eat it all.

Kay has completed her cancer treatments and her hair has grown back curly

I gave them a large panettone -- a favorite of all of ours at Christmas -- that came in a huge and gorgeous decorative box. I did not buy it from Amazon.

For Henry there was a Legendary Whitetails Buck Camp flannel shirt. Upon opening his gift, Henry's brow furrowed.

Did you get me a Large? he queried.

I had. But Henry, at his advanced age, is no longer a Large. He has shrunk to a Medium. I had forgotten that detail; standing six feet tall, he's always been a Large.

I suggested that he could wear the shirt as an overlayer. A shacket, as it were.

Henry: living embodiment of the word "spry"

Again Henry's nose wrinkled. I already have several big shirts like that, he replied.

Oh dear.

Kay then relayed that only about a week ago, Henry had shared with her that he was having trouble doing up his top button and necktie when dressing for church.

(Yes; contrary to the popular belief that coats and ties at church went out with the horse and buggy, many men still do wear them.)

My sister had suggested that Henry instead wear a black turtleneck beneath his sport coat, à la Steve Jobs.

See what I did there?

Henry liked that idea, so I offered to return the flannel shirt and buy him a classy black turtleneck.

Visibly relieved, he hastily handed me back the gift bag containing the shirt.

On the drive home later, which took about an hour and fifteen minutes, I selected, purchased, and had shipped to Henry this Land's End Super Soft Supima Mock Turtleneck.

He'll look sharp in that, and stay warm, and no buttons to bother with.

I was about to process a return of the lumberjack shirt when TG murmured that he wears a Large and had admired the shirt.

TG's and my stockings are all but empty ... so far

Only, a few years ago, TG had declared a moratorium on buying him shirts for Christmas and his birthday (which is in January).

He has so many nice casual shirts, he doesn't have time to wear them all.

I broke the rule last year by getting him a tee bearing the legend Reagan Bush '84, but he liked it so much that I was forgiven. It's now a favorite.

Once home, I reworked the gift tag that had been on the bag containing Henry's unsatisfactory present. It's now TG's present.

Aren't I a clever clogs? I will thank you not to sneer.

I couldn't resist the barn and silo S&P shakers either

On Sunday, which was a day of torrential rain here in Columbia, we went to church. Seeing that I and Audrey and Erica were all wearing green and black, we pressed TG into service to take our picture.

As I mentioned, yesterday was a planning day and TG took me to buy the groceries.

There is in fact a party later today, here at Chez Weber. 

My friend Marsha, who is the receptionist at my dentist's office which is but two miles from my front door, is coming by after work for our Christmas gift exchange.

Audrey and Dagny are invited too. They go to the same dentist as me and we all love Marsha.

The bling reindeer has pride of place

It's very cold today, so I have a warm snack planned, along with freshly baked pumpkin bread. I will take pictures to share at a later date.

This coming Friday, our Stephanie and her family are coming for the day. From North Carolina, a three-hour drive. On Thursday, our Melanie -- their eldest -- will celebrate her nineteenth birthday.

Albeit one day late, we will have a birthday dinner -- I can't wait to show you what I'm serving for that -- and afterwards, Melanie's cake and birthday presents.

When she has been duly fêted, we will repair to the TV room and have our Christmas gift exchange with them.

They will spend the actual Christmas holiday with our son-in-law Joel's family.

Today I moved the little tree to the number six

Usually they spend the night on this occasion, but they decided to come early in the day this time and leave late, to avoid all of that packing. I don't blame them one bit since, leaving on Sunday in the early evening, they have a nine-hour drive to Pennsylvania.

On Christmas Eve we will go to church, and in the evening we'll have our traditional buffet at my house.

Audrey and Dagny have for years spent the night with us for both Christmas Eve and Christmas night, so that we can wake up together both on Christmas Day and on what the Brits call Boxing Day.

We don't box anything on that day, but this year I'm committed to making a Dutch Baby for Christmas morning, using my large cast-iron skillet which is roughly the size of Rhode Island.

With the pancake we will have berry compost. YES I know it's compote but many years ago Audrey had a tip of the slung and called it compost, so now we always say that when referring to warm berry sauce.

This gnome hangs out on the ledge each December

At any rate we will be eating good and there will be plenty of hot, fresh coffee laced with frothy cream.

For Christmas Dinner I have, again, planned an impressive lineup. I'll be telling you all about it in due time.

Meanwhile, two final things:

One: I had written ninety percent of this post yesterday when, for what I believe is the first time in sixteen-plus years of blogging, my website ate my post and it was lost.

It was devastating. I don't know what happened because there is this thing called autosave, only this time, it did not. Although I began rewriting the post yesterday, I was forced to leave it until today to finish.

Two: While writing yesterday I relayed what I thought was a humorous anecdote about an interaction I had at church on Sunday with a fond acquaintance of many years.

A little mailbox and other stuff sit on a tray at one end of the table

I thought perhaps I should retell it but in a different tone because I tend to be sarcastic and perhaps someone would construe that I reacted to said interaction in a way that I had not.

Hyperbole is, after all, my middle name.

Anyway the thing is, at our church we have a Christmas card exchange, the mechanism of which is two sets of shelves set up -- one on each side of the auditorium, in the back -- which hold boxes marked with all the letters of the alphabet.

A through L on one side and M through Z on the other.

We deposit our Christmas cards for others in the appropriate boxes and remove our own cards from the designated box bearing the initial of our last name.

Me in the foreground talking with my hands while Audrey opens a card

Only, the fond acquaintance of which I spoke has, like moi, a last name beginning with the letter W.

And every year, she brings us our cards, more or less gently implying that they were in her way.

She did this again on Sunday. I had tried three times to get near the W box, and finally succeeded, only to find that there were no cards for us in it.

That's because The Other Mrs. W had culled our cards and placed them on our pew.

At the very moment I discovered this, she was there beside me. 

Your cards were messing up the W box, she said.

Me and two of my three girls sporting Christmas green

They WERE? I said, laughing. Really?

I felt our innocent Christmas cards had been unjustly maligned but what can you do. They were in the way.

We had a good time with it. She is a darling in the truest sense of the word. She told me that she wishes she could organize all of the boxes containing the Christmas cards, every year.

Which I think is an excellent idea and I vote to so name The Other Mrs. W as the holder of said office.

Audrey and Dagny don't use the boxes; they deliver their cards by hand before and after the services leading up to Christmas.

I have too many to do that but they keep it simple.

Just a few of our offending cards

How many cards do you send at Christmastime? This year we were up to one-hundred forty.

Have you a Christmas card or gift or party or tradition anecdote to share, either recent or from days gone by?

What are you up to in the days leading up to the ultimate holiday?

I know you're busy but if you have time, please tell me in the comments.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Tuesday :: Merry Christmas