Comments are appreciated and answered.
The 2021 sleigh bell is up with the others on their garland. Tom hung them today. This is the first year that 2020 got to hang, as well. I’m happy to see them again. I have one for every year since the first one given to me by my employer in 1992, plus there’s one duplicate I received as a Christmas gift one year.
Current Photo Friday theme: Fire
Today, I was dumb and looked back at this date on the first few years of my blog, beginning with LiveJournal, which I started in 2004. I didn’t manage to get all the way to 2011, when I migrated over to this blog, before I had to stop.
Today is the date John Lennon was murdered in 1980. I posted a coloring page with some of his lyrics on Instagram and had to turn off comments because I was getting spoilers about the new Let It Be documentary. Of course I watched the original movie, but it’s been a very long time, and I’d like to see this one (which Tom and I plan to watch in segments this month, hopefully) without knowing any of the new material and having forgotten a lot of what I’ve seen before.
John Lennon was born on Wednesday, October 9, 1040; that date reminded me of a beautiful non-Beatles song I listened to again recently. “Wednesday’s Child.” I’ll link to it at the bottom of this post. It doesn’t matter how many years have passed. The year 1980 was a brutal one for me personally, and for it to end so miserably for Riley and me still leaves me raw when I think about it.
There are a lot of tough dates for me in December, and I think that’s why I finally began making a bigger deal of Christmas. The novel A Coventry Christmas starts with the main character saying, “I hate Christmas.” I once said that to my coworkers at a job, and one of the guys said, “I worry about you.” A few years later, when I was asked to write a Christmas romance, I said it again, only this time Timothy answered, “There’s your first line.” Writers… I love them, and those writers include Timothy J. Lambert, Riley Morris, and John Lennon.
Today, I added more ornaments to the tree from a bin we hadn’t opened yet. This one made me laugh when I found it. It had to go up.
The Bella and Edward ornament.
And this one. Tom was born on Christmas Day, and his uncle, who was a baker, put this on his first birthday cake. After we were married, Tom’s mother gave us a lot of special mementos like this for our holiday trees.
I’ll keep adding to the tree probably until it’s time for everything to be taken down. Because if yesterdays can make me melancholy, it’s up to me to make and appreciate better days now.
I’m Monday’s child. Riley was Tuesday’s child. John Lennon was Wednesday’s child.
Monday’s child is fair of face
Tuesday’s child is full of grace
Thursday’s child has far to go
Whoa, oh-oh-oh
Mm-mm-mm
Hmm, mm-mm-mm
Friday’s child is lovin’ and givin’
And Saturday’s child must work for a livin’
A child that’s born on the sabbath day
Whoa, oh-oh-oh
Is fair andw ise, happy and gay
Wednesday’s child is full of woe
Whoa, oh-oh-oh
Woe I know
I am Wednesday’s child
Rest in peace, Keith Allison.
Now everybody can play BB King thanks to Hallmark.
She’s entertaining them at the North Pole.
I know some of you don’t live in the U.S., and not everyone in the U.S. celebrates this holiday.
In this particular year, Thanksgiving falls on November 25, which is recognized as the National Day of Mourning. This day isn’t new; it was established in 1970. Here’s a bit of info:
The United American Indians of New England (UAINE) created this holiday to publicize the democide and misrepresentation of Native Americans. The UANIE is a Native-led, self-supporting organization advocating for the recognition of struggles of Native Americans and political prisoners.
Now that everything has to be turned into a culture war, I’ve seen plenty of “the libs are trying to cancel Thanksgiving,” and “here comes the woke culture again” online. (Who or what benefits from stirring up grievances between people? Ratings? Viewers? Listeners? Readers? Membership drives? I always heed Watergate’s Deep Throat: Follow the money.)
I remember the narrative I was taught about the Pilgrims and the Indians, but I was a child. As I aged, that story changed like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, the Legend of Johnny Appleseed, and the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. A holiday with a bit of accuracy in its origin evolved into a larger perspective of theme, recognition, or celebration.
Thanksgiving, of all the holidays, became my favorite. It was the time I was most likely to see family who didn’t live nearby. It was the time I’d be home from college and see not only family, but friends I missed. It was the holiday when I might have a little extra time to travel so I could enjoy my nieces and nephews. Even in school, or later when travel wasn’t an option, we could host friends in our home who might feel alone and far away from loved ones during Thanksgiving.
It’s a holiday without the stress of shopping and trying to find gifts on a limited budget that people may not want or need. A holiday when you’re not forced to be with people, sometimes true (IN MY EXPERIENCE, not necessarily yours) of Christmas and New Year’s Eve, for example but choose to be with them. It’s a holiday when we can derive from whatever stories we were taught these ideas: Sharing. Peace. Community.
I feel like the people who are complaining about woke-ness and cancel culture aren’t actually doing anything different at Thanksgiving from what they ever did. Still fighting and loving their families. Still eating too much and complaining about being stuffed. Still watching ballgames or sitting around telling stories about work and hunting and kids and grandkids and what happened in their own personal histories. Still enjoying a quiet day alone or with a significant other watching something on Netflix, reading a book, maybe taking a walk outside with the dog if the weather allows.
My hope for you is that you have something to be thankful for and a moment to reflect on that.
Timothy and Debby getting ready to eat.
Tom and I happy to have a clean house, full table, and family, friends, and dogs to love.
Seriously, I rarely go looking for dolls, but sometimes it seems like they come looking for me. Like when this guy showed up unsummoned in my email. I took one look at the blonde mess on his head and decided he needed me. (You know he had an agenda when he dressed in that houndstooth vest and New Wave tie–how does that not scream, “SAVE ME!” to me specifically?)
I’ll put the rest of this foolishness behind a cut so you can see what I spent a bit of time doing when I was also managing serious dogsitting/relocating while workers were on the property.
Current Photo Friday theme: Sacred
A random collection of items from throughout my home, these aren’t all the cultural objects that are at Houndstooth Hall. They symbolize: birth, death, sacrifice, worship, religion, nature, animal totems, angels, magic, myth, music, art, the cosmos.
Many of them, along with those not pictured, represent what I hold most sacred: their givers, who have been my friends and family throughout my life.
Lindsey and Rhonda’s Pepper with our Eva. Pepper is gentle with the little dogs and tolerant of their foolishness.
There’s a lot of action at Houndstooth Hall on this Wednesday, and it will be noisy, so I may have to be gone for a while to preserve my sanity. Someone I follow on social media posted snippets from a meme. You’re supposed to shuffle your music library and write down the song that matches each category below. Pretty sure you can find all of these on YouTube if you’re curious about any you don’t recognize.
1 This song will play at your wedding
Beatles: If I Fell (wedding was long ago, but it’s perfect, because I have an entire unwritten novel’s love story based around this song, lol)
2 This song best describes how you die
Gregg Allman: These Days (apparently I’m going to die of guilt for how I mistreated a lost love)
3 This song will play at your funeral
Lenka: Trouble Is a Friend (trouble must have been TOO good a friend)
4 This song is your theme song
Taio Cruz: Dynamite (hell, yeah, I’m gonna rock this club, I’m gonna light it up like it’s dynamite)
5 This song will play when you think of someone you love
Mr. Mister: Broken Wings (this song always makes me think of Paul McCartney, and I DO love him; it’s true)
6 This song will play when you think of someone you dislike
The Alan Parsons Project: I Wouldn’t Want to Be Like You (damn, my iTunes library is psychic)
7 This song will play when you get something you want
Portugal. The Man: Feel It Still (hmm, the first time I ever heard this song, it played on a TV show while two girls were shoplifting)
8 Add “with a lighter and matches” to the end of this song
Gary Jules: Mad World (with a lighter and matches) (it works!)
9 This song best describes your week ahead
Don Henley: The Boys of Summer (don’t look back, you can never look back)
10 This song will make you fall asleep
Fleetwood Mac: Sara (possibly, but there are other likelier candidates)
There was a floor furnace in the house on Twelfth Avenue my friends and I rented when we were undergraduates at Bama. I remember so many fall and winter days coming home from class, exhausted and cold, to sit or lie next to the grate of that furnace so I could get and stay warm. It was an old house with very little insulation and windows that often allowed cold air to whistle through their frames into the rooms.
Often, I’d fall asleep, and my feet would slip or relax and land on the furnace. The soles of my shoes would start to put off a scorched smell that woke me up before much harm was done.
I’m chilled today, though it’s not that cold outside, so I’m sleepy. Fortunately, our gas fireplace isn’t turned high enough to scorch my socks. I can barely keep my eyes open as I edit. Geez, I hope my novel isn’t boring.
