... well, not exactly like the White Christmases I enjoyed as a child.
Still, when there's cause to pull extra covers from the closet, and my decades-old sweaters make a cameo appearance ... I smile!
A month I've been gone? Yikes!
It's not for having nothing to say -- as DH would be happy to attest.
Rather, I don't suppose you good folks would be interested in hearing me re-hash the agony of this year's Iron Bowl ...
nor, my shiny new (albeit, UNwanted) washing machine, clothes dryer and garbage disposal.
(Yuppers. No sooner did one go kaput, but the others followed in short order.)
On a happier note, Tom's recovery is amazing. He developed some nasty abrasions as a result of a allergy to the tape, but the home care nurse got us back on track. We were so blessed that our insurance allowed her 9 visits!
... reassuring for someone who was ready to wave a white flag after the first 24 hours. Caregiver, I'm NOT!
There's so, sooooo much for which to be thankful!
... not the least of which is my (sometimes unexpected) treasure trove of memories.
For instance? During my early morning commute yesterday, I had this great visceral craving for hot cheese queso dip and tortilla chips. At 6AM.
What's odd? I probably haven't indulged in that goodness since leaving West Texas more than 20 years ago!
Thanks in huge part to 'Etsy', the Master List was complete weeks ago. We had to cut back this year, but ever since I was a little kid - armed with the Miles Kimball Christmas catalog - I get this absurd delight finding the 'perfect' gift for everyone on my list. (Sometimes I think mine's a sickness.)
The only 'to-do' remaining is my annual Starbucks expedition. Having an addictive personality, I only allow myself a visit to 'Mr. Bucks' once each year for a seasonal delight ... which, of course, must be slowly savored like a fine wine. LOL! (Hey, I take my simple pleasures where I can find them!)I
Those of you who know me on Facebook are familiar with this tableau ... but I wanted to share our lil' substitute-for-a-tree impromptu scene. The wee book was gifted to my mother when she was but 5 years (ca. 1920). In turn, she grew up and 'stuffed' this sweet tree for her own daughter. And that little stool with mis-matched paint? It's a survivor ... of my own tumultuous toddler days.
In the coming days, I hope to share some vignettes from the Most Wonderful Time of the Year - both past and present. I hope you'll stay tuned!
Hugs from Phoenix!
Myra
