But what the hell? Why not post a few pictures? I also can't resist linking back to the story of one of my favorite absurd predicaments. Here's how we got a free Christmas tree and erroneously believed we had committed a crime on the property of James Monroe, the fifth US president.
This year, I bought the tree at Whole Foods, after buying groceries. Being too inept to tie it to the roof of the car, I stuffed the whole thing into the back of my little scion, along with the groceries (and Seamus). The back door wouldn't close, and as we drove away, some of my groceries fell out of the back of the car into the middle of Hydraulic Rd. where I couldn't retrieve them without getting killed. Another Christmas tree fail.
We gave up on the family trip to get a tree years ago. After the fiasco linked above, we returned to Ashlawn the following year. No crimes were committed but just when we were in the middle of the pasture carrying a heavy tree, a herd of cows appeared. All the cows I've ever seen have been behaving placidly, but these cows were actually galloping, as if they were pursued by the hounds of satan and we were the corn of salvation. It was disconcerting, to say the least, but then the farmer appeared with a cart full of feed and they thundered past us to tear at the feed. Those cows were hungry, and I swear--herbivores or not--if that feed cart hadn't appeared, they would have eaten us. The next year, we drove out to a farm in Nelson county and the effing tree fell off the roof of the car when we were still a good twenty miles from home. We had to retie it with bits of whatever--mostly shoelaces. After that, our trees came from catalogs and grocery stores.
I made this treetop angel, back when I was an at-home mother and actually had free time.
Our house doesn't look quite so trashy after dark.
But Bubbles feels right at home.
You don't know Bubbles? Watch Trailer Park Boys.
What is this Jonukkah referenced in the title? It's a special holiday, invented by Jon (get it--Jon/JONukkah) for those of us who
Jon's present to me: he hired a piano tuner to come to the house and fix and tune my piano. It was all done secretly while I was at work. One of the hammers in the piano broke off, so I have had no F sharp, in the first octave for the right hand for TEN years! The piano used to be my grandparents, then my mom's, and she left it to me when she died. The tuner who came the other day showed Jon the 20 watt bulb inside the piano's innards and the electric cord that had been hidden--for over fifty years!--with which to plug it in and keep the piano warm and dry. The whole concept that my piano is supposed to be plugged in, and the fact that the fifty year old lightbulb still works, is more surprising than the gift of the tuning and repair, lovely as it was.