December 25, 2005 11:45 a.m.

I knew this was going to be a strange Christmas but it has turned out to be stranger than strange!

It was "scheduled" to be strange because my Mate wasn't going to be here, being the Good Son and going to be with his Mother on her first Christmas as a widow. But to make it even stranger the weather has been wicked windy. The lights went out at 10:15 a.m. on Christmas Eve. All day long I revisesd assessments on how I would get dinner cooked. The plan had been to put the fully cooked ham in the crock pot and cook it on slow for 6 hours, resulting in lots of gravy fixings and a nice hot ham. The other elements of dinner, mashed potatoes, peas, cranberry sauce and Chocolate Satin Pie (from Safeway) didn't require electricity or at most, a small amount.

As the day wore on and time to put the ham in the crock pot passed I began to make contigency plans. Okay--so... if the power comes on by 1:00 I'll still have 4 hours to cook the ham. Then, if the power comes on by 2:00 I'll turn it on high and still have time. At 12:30 I got tired of trying to make deals with the Power Gods and made one last deal: I'll go for a LONG walk--all the way to the mini-mart and back. I'll be a really good citizen, take shopping bags with me and pick up trash on the way. I'll take my Netflix and put it in the blue mailbox at the mini-mart. It'll take me a good hour and a half, but by the time I get back around 2:00 surely the power will be on and I can proceed with my Christmas Eve dinner plans. Looking back on this it makes no sense at all but I had to do SOMETHING!!! I did this. I walked all the way up there--I loaded one whole grocery sack with trash from the right side of the road--I dropped the Flix in the box. I peered down the hiway to see if electricity workmen were fixing the offending line and saw nothing. I trudged back, my feet hurting by this time, picking up trash on the other side of the road and humming "Deck the halls with bags of garbage, fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la". A woman stopped her car to say, "God bless you for picking up the trash!" I wondered if I looked pathetic in my leather man's hat and no makeup. She must have wondered why this woman had nothing better to do than pick up trash on Christmas Eve.

I got home with my two very full bags of aluminum cans, Taco Bell cups, straws, those awful yellow plastic straps that are around bundles of magazines (who throws so many of these on the side of the road?), beer bottles, cigarette packages, kleenex and GUESS WHAT? The lights were not on. The bargain didn't work. The Power Gods weren't paying attention. So I took the next logical step. I took a nap. Or tried to. All that walking had me too pepped up to really sleep. I laid there formulating the last ditch plan. If the lights aren't on by 4:00 I pack up the whole thing, potatoes, ham, rolls, pie and take it to my Mom's house to cook.

The happy ending to this dark tale is that the lights finally came back on at 3:30. I slammed the ham into the crock pot, turned it on high, ran to shower my stinky-trash-picking body, peeled the potatoes, vacuumed the worst spots, turned on the Christmas Tree lights and hopped in the car to go pick up my Mom and my Brother. Christmas Eve was saved!

Did I fail to mention that when our lights are out we can't run water or flush the toilet? And it also happens that our wood stove is in pieces and the oven on my gas range is on the fritz? The lights being out was just the coup de gras!

And now it is Christmas Day, after what turned out to be a lovely Christmas Eve, and the lights are out again. I woke up at 5:30 to howling winds and at 6:30, boink, they were out again. It's mid-day now and the PSE has no ETA on when they will come back on. SHIT. And, oh yeah, Merry Christmas.

TKO at Christmas

My Mate is just now getting on an airplane to go spend Christmas with his recently widowed Mother in Ventura, CA. I am lucky not to be going. I have the perfect excuse. I have to stay here and “take care” of my Mom’s Christmas. Last year I left the State and I am still being reminded of how “sad and desolate” my Mother’s Christmas was without me. It’s nice to be needed, but I don’t like being needed that much! If I left again I would be hearing about it until Kingdom Come or The Rapture, whichever comes first.

My Mate and his Mother are equal in their stubbornness, pigheadedness and stiff-neckedness! They are at a Greek Stand-Off, both wanting to have control of what happens in the future, now that life is without husband and father. I think Christmas in Ventura will be loud on Fiesta Lane. I will perversely be looking forward to the reports of what is happening down there while I wallow in the luxury of time alone.

I will be here, in my house in the woods, enjoying a quiet Christmas with hot cocoa, maybe a cinnamon roll, watching the squirrels and the birds duke it out for the black sunflower seeds and reading my delicious book. You might hear me purring…..

More Popular Than Jesus

John Lennon got in trouble saying that but I don't think I will. For one, not enough people are listening and number two, I think most people would agree with me. I am referring to the fan base that my newest granddaughter has. All her fans are making pilgrimages to see her, to have their pictures taken with her, to bask in her blue aura, to win a smile and dare we hope? to hear a laugh.

My pilgrimage took place about 1 1/2 weeks ago, right after Thanksgiving. I had not seen Alison since she was a month old. She had a powerful aura then, too, but she wasn't doing anything much except staring at my black rimmed glasses, drinking her Mama's mile and pooping and sleeping. I knew that I would see more of her wonders on this trip. I was not disappointed!

Ali was a little over 7 months old during my trip back to Wisconsin this time. I had been prepped by many pictures of her on her Daddy's blog, so I knew her eyes were more open and big and blue and that she was smiling and laughing. But pictures and the real thing are thousands of miles apart. It's the smell and the feeling of the skin that you can't get in the pictures. Baby smell should be bottled and if there was a moisturizer that made an adult's skin feel like a babies it would be the best seller of all time. Baby Skin, $1000 a bottle, and people would buy it! Pictures couldn't prepare me for the joy she exhibits when her clothes come off for a bath or the funny, slightly surprised, but not upset, look she gets on her face when the bath water drips down her face as her hair gets washed.

I was honored to help feed her and to witness the bedtime ritual of stories, with Goodnight Moon at the end. I was present when her first picture with Santa Claus was taken at the Mall of America with the REAL Santa Claus.

I ate breakfast dinner and lunch with her and saw three baths and many sessions on the floor with Shoe Shufflin' Sam and her Grandma W's "tag tree". I watched her "run" in her "ring of fun" as my son calls one of her toys. I witnessed her with her Daddy and her Mommy.

It was one of the best pilgrimages I have ever been on and I wish I could have brought back some of her smell and the feel of her skin. She is more popular than Jesus, and for good reason, if you ask me!

What a Dream!

When I was visiting last week in Wisconsin, a whole other blog post, I had a dream. I dreamed that my brother got arrested for drug dealings and that he was headed for the Big House. I dreamed that my Mate and I were roped into trying to bring down some bigger drug dealers than my brother and had to go undercover into a serious gang of drug thugs. I dreamed that in order to show his bravery, my Mate threatened to shoot off one of his balls and then went through with it. I dreamed he was proud of himself. I dreamed I was proud of him, too. My hero!