Blair and I attended a Wake Forest basketball game last night. As we're walking past the concession stands, I notice a little boy, blond-haired, about 5 years old, holding on to this huge vanilla ice-cream cone that's almost as big as he is.
He takes a lick and his Dad looks down and says, "Is it good?"
"Yeah!" the little boy enthused. He took another lick. "Tastes like milk."
I laughed all the way to our seats.
Came home from a writing session today with my friend Bernie to find that the cats (or "cat"--I'm pretty sure I know who the culprit is) had decided to drown one of their new Christmas toys in their water dish.
The toy is a cloth covered triangle with tufts of ribbons shooting out from each corner of the triangle. I'm not really sure what it's purpose it... I vaguely recall the plastic it came in saying something about being a tug of war piece. Well, the battle is over. The toy was soggy and floating face down when I spied it. Lucy sat innocently nearby.
"Why did you do this?" I asked. "If you don't like a gift, you politely break it on accident like Mommy and Daddy do with the stuff Daddy's relatives give us. You do NOT put it in your water dish to rot."
Lucy did receive one holiday gift she's pleased with. It's a colorful stuffed square of material that feels like a bean bag when you pick it up. You warm it in the microwave for 30 seconds and it's a warm mat for kitty to curl up on. Not that Lucy would know this. She hasn't moved her ample tushie off the mat since we opened it. Every time we move near the mat, she leaps on it to cover it up.
The floor guy (yes--progress is being made on the bathroom!) was here the other day and as he walked into the room instead of running as usual, Lucy curled tighter on her mat and glared at both of us.
"Oh for Pete's sake, no one's going to steal your mat," I told her. She gave me the evil eye and a follow-up look that said, "Move along."
Life with cats is never dull.
2005 will go down as the year my neighbors turned on me. It used to be during the holidays we would all wave at each other as we got in our cars each morning and call out "Merry Christmas!" if we passed on the street. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less. This year, the bastards showed up at my home with homebaked goods, fresh fruit, and wrapped gifts. I don't know that I'll be able to forgive them.
Of course, my anger is just a cover for my deep embarrassment. They caught me unprepared. I long to be one of those women who has a stash of pre-wrapped gifts at the ready for the spur-of-the-moment gift exchange but it hasn't happened yet. However, my embarrassment this year might motivate me for the next.
The first to show up were our new neighbors, bearing the scrumptious and beautifully decorated chocolate-dipped apples I mentioned before. And, they included some kitty yum-yums for our cats. "Well, they're new. They just don't know the rules," I comforted myself.
Then our neighbors up the street showed up with a lemon poundcake and later that afternoon our next door neighbor--a single dad and cop--dropped by with the homemade poundcake he had found time to make for us. Aaaugh!
From there it was like a bad dream. Each time the doorbell rang, Blair and I shrank further and further into the couch. How could we have been so shortsighted not to have gifts prepared? How inherently selfish are we? Suffice it to say, we felt absolutely terrible as we stuffed poundcake and milk down our throats.
The final blow came when our dear friends up the street stopped by with homemade walnut fudge and the most adorable Christmas tree ornament in the shape of a cat face I have ever seen. So not only did they bring gifts, they put some thought into a gift that would really please us. Can you believe the nerve of some people?
So I know now what I'm up against for next year. It's a good thing too. Given my lack of cooking skills, it will probably take me the full 365 days to learn to bake a decent poundcake.
I love dark days. The type where thick, black clouds hang overhead and a sharp wind whips around corners and seems to come from all directions at once and the air crackles with electricity. I've always loved wild weather that way. Short, light rainfalls where the sun comes out afterwards do nothing for me. I'll take a raging thunderstorm with howling winds and lightning and rolling clouds any day of the week. Weather like this excites my spirit.
One of those storms looks to be moving in on us now. Within the last 20 minutes the clouds have rolled in, covering the earlier sunshine of the day. It looks like the skies may break open and pour rain any minute--I love the suspense.
When Blair and I build our cabin, we want a tin roof so we get the full effect of the rain. Part of what I like about violent weather is knowing I am warm and cozy, wrapped in a throw and sipping hot tea as I watch Nature rage outside my windows.
Here's wishing you dark days of thunderstorms to ignite the Spirit and make you grateful for all you have.
Author. Humorist. Fitness fanatic. Control freak (working on it). Mentor. Klutz. All-around decent human being.
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