It really is beginning to look--and feel--like Christmas! Here are some dead giveaways Christmas is coming to Pine Ridge Farm:
Around Thanksgiving, The Mr. starts to panic. He is afraid of stuff--not stuff in particular, but stuff in large quantities. His eyes dart from room to room, corner to corner, as his respiration, heart rate and perspiration increase, anticipating a new-stuff invasion. To put his mind at ease, The Mrs. fills large bags marked "Goodwill" and place them in the garage to The Mr.'s relief. The picture above is Laura's attic-doll-compound in the throws of stuff-removal. Ah, The Mr. has perfected performance management!
Once the attic is rearranged, The Mrs. asks The Mr. to transport Christmas decorations downstairs.
Little by little Christmas has entered our home, eking and limping, but making its way. Matthew has a real job this year. Thankful for employment, he's discovered that responsibility dampens Christmas break.
Real life happens. You'll be thankful I failed to get pictures of stomach flu that kept us up from dark-thirty until morning and kept some of us home for days in a row.
Later this week the lazy-Susan cabinet stuck. Laura was kind enough to climb in and pull out wayward items, which, for now, are underfoot.
Also lacking are pictures of lemonade falling from the top shelf of the refrigerator, our 6:00 a.m. stranded motorist, and bickers that rose to the surface as personal desires were frustrated. Harumph!
We woke this morning to our first decent snow of winter. The rest of the world may change, but we still have old-fashioned snow storms in the American Midwest. The Mr., cheerful as always, cleared the drive and brought order to our world.
As I write, dough is rising. Cinnamon rolls are nearly ready to shape, raise and bake.
Merry Christmas!*
*For thoughts on how to translate, "Christmas," follow this link.
Around Thanksgiving, The Mr. starts to panic. He is afraid of stuff--not stuff in particular, but stuff in large quantities. His eyes dart from room to room, corner to corner, as his respiration, heart rate and perspiration increase, anticipating a new-stuff invasion. To put his mind at ease, The Mrs. fills large bags marked "Goodwill" and place them in the garage to The Mr.'s relief. The picture above is Laura's attic-doll-compound in the throws of stuff-removal. Ah, The Mr. has perfected performance management!
Once the attic is rearranged, The Mrs. asks The Mr. to transport Christmas decorations downstairs.
Little by little Christmas has entered our home, eking and limping, but making its way. Matthew has a real job this year. Thankful for employment, he's discovered that responsibility dampens Christmas break.
Real life happens. You'll be thankful I failed to get pictures of stomach flu that kept us up from dark-thirty until morning and kept some of us home for days in a row.
Later this week the lazy-Susan cabinet stuck. Laura was kind enough to climb in and pull out wayward items, which, for now, are underfoot.
Also lacking are pictures of lemonade falling from the top shelf of the refrigerator, our 6:00 a.m. stranded motorist, and bickers that rose to the surface as personal desires were frustrated. Harumph!
We woke this morning to our first decent snow of winter. The rest of the world may change, but we still have old-fashioned snow storms in the American Midwest. The Mr., cheerful as always, cleared the drive and brought order to our world.
As I write, dough is rising. Cinnamon rolls are nearly ready to shape, raise and bake.
Merry Christmas!*
*For thoughts on how to translate, "Christmas," follow this link.
