photo credit: The Old Adalie Plain
Holly jolly ho ho ho!
I can’t believe it’s December, much less a week (nay, 6 days) from when I board JetBlue flight TKTK and head to Florida to celebrate the reason for the season with my Occasionally Working Mother, Soon-to-be-Reemployed Father, Cognitive Neuroscientist Brother, and Self-Employed Sis-in-Law-to-Be.
photo credit: Nick Bastian Tempe, AZ
The word “thankful” tends to stick in my craw a little bit, maybe because I grew up in the South and people used to bandy it about as often as “God bless,” “Bless her heart,” and “Isn’t that sweet!” in tones that meant, frequently, the very opposite of what Mr. Webster originally intended.
It’s the word more than the sentiment, though, that bugs me. Because I really am thankful for stuff. I am! I just don’t post it on Facebook a lot, or tell anyone except my stuffed animals.
I’ve been having weird dreams about my past. In one of them, I was about to marry the boy who lived across the street from me when I was in 5th grade.
In real life, he was notable for the trampoline in his backyard, and, in middle school, after he and his family moved from our block to another block that was still in my school district but less alcohol-friendly—presumably retaining the trampoline—for performing “Nothin But a Good Time” with his buddies to an audience of admiring 7th graders.
TGMTU #12 © Derek Ivie
Happy Wednesday! Here’s a pretty, pretty picture from our dear Mr. Ivie, who says, “My neighbor’s rosebush. Always reaching to the sky.”
Just like us!
