No Ho Ho

I asked that one of my Christmas presents be a surprise. I'm frankly tired of knowing what I'm going to take out of the bag Christmas morning and pretending that the prices are still attached. One surprise. So today the Husband calls me from the road to bitch at me that my surprise present is sold out and "He'll HAVE (heavy on the long suffering emphasis) to think of SOMETHING ELSE (Martyr time)." Can you imagine MY audacity to want a gift that was a surprise and HE had to do it. I mean come on, after all he's done to prepare for the holiday... like um... buying eggnog and uh buying eggnog. All fo this while I sat on y behind and shopped, baked decorated and handmade all my Christmas cards as I carried all those empty scummy egg nog glasses to the sink and gather up the chip and pretzel bags from my half of the couch so I had someplace to sit. I've also wrapped all the presents and nudged the sons to tell me what they wanted. But he has to go out and BUY ME A SURPRISE gift, heavy sigh dripping with self pity.

So I made it easier on him and told him to STUFF it.

And not in a stocking either.

The Heart of a Lion

I know I've talked about little dog Ollie. Ollie is a Shitsu/Powderpuff mix and so adorable that anyone who looks at him immediately says Ahhhhhh. Ollie is all of 15 pounds and will be nine this year. His big brother Mutley died two summers ago and now he has a new brother, Rocco the wonder dog. Rocco of the knuckleheaded behavior and the gaping wound. Rocco is a bull terrier something mix and built like a dump truck. To explain Rocco the best, the first thing the vet said about him on his first vet visit was "What a funny face".
Rocco swaggers. Ollie swaggers, too, but it somehow loses its impact with his teddy bear baby ewok look.

Rocco and Ollie have a dog friend, one of the ugliest dogs I have ever seen. The dogs name is Knuckles and since he somewhat resembles Rocco I assume they have the same lineage somewhere along the line. They all have a good time playing till today when Knuckles headed my way as I was coming through the front gate. The next thing I know, Rocco and Knuckles are trying to tear each other apart. I'm talking a true down and drity tear your face off kind of fight. I'm standing there flailing away at them with the smallish plastic suitcase I take to work with me (it carries my stamping supplies) screaming at them to stop. As I'm fruitlessly whacking whomever I can reach, Ollie comes flying around the side of the house snapping at any part of Knuckles he can grab, protecting his little brother (who happens to be four times his size) the best he can. He stayed in the midst till I finally knocked some sense into the two dogs and they broke apart. I ordered Knuckles home and he went. Rocco came to me, mouth foaming, flecks of blood on his face and Ollie anxiously circled Rocco to make sure he was ok. Ollie has never realised that he's so small. I hope he never does. Anyone with the heart of a lion should be treated as such. All bow to his majesty Ollie the brave.

Rocco is ok, he has a few scrapes but I have cream left form his big wound and some antibiotics so he'll be just fine. As for me... something like that makes me want to eat and entire bag of dark choclate m&m's.

Foiled again!! Though no foil was actually used

Ok so I set about decorating my tree. But first I must digress because I have an over abundance of words anxious to be freed. (had to backspace and add and additional e to that last word otherwise The words were anxious to be Fred which is simply silly because I know the words prefer to be called George)

We keep our Christmas decorations (at least part of them) in a shed in the back yard. They used to be kept in the atic with its nifty pull down stairs till the year of the Great Gravity Shift when gravity sucked me off that ladder, threw me against the closed door beneath it and clunked my head good on the door hinge. If you hit your head just right you really do see stars. So the noise subsides and I hear the husband say tentatively "Sharon where are you?" I answered "on the floor" wondering where the heck he thought I was. If I had finally figured out how to fly, I'm assuming that less noise would have been involved but since I"ve never been able to fly or even slightly levitate I don't know how noisy it is. So Christmas stuff is in a shed all the way across the yard in the bamboo forest.

Older son helped drag the stuff in though he used a dolly while I really did DRAG things in. I have this big piece of sturdy plastic and I pile all the tree pieces on it. Then I drag it across the yard making, in theory, only one trip though an occasional tree limb escapes and I have to do back and retrieve it.

I'm draging the tree and suddenly it's lighter. The moment my mind realizes it, it's heavy, very heavy. I look back to discover that Rocco the wonderdog has hitched a ride. Little dog Ollie and I exchanged a look that said in human speak "Kid!". Rocco then leaped off the impromtu sled . grabbed a side of the plastic in his teeth and started to pull. Rocco and I got that thing across the yard in record time. Ollie supervised.

So I assembled the tree. Then I threw the lights on. Literally. Stuck the tree in front of the door so I only had to decorate one side. It was time for the ornaments that I had covered in polymer clay. Hadn't realised how large they were until I hung one on the tree. Big sucker ornament, far larger than what I usually use. Hung them all, draped the gaudy multicolored garland from the dollar store (purple and green and gold and silver and blue and what no all together on a single strand) and plugged in the tree. Holy crap! What happened to the over done tacky tree that I was so certain was this year's offering to the gods of fake forests. A thought, do store mannequins actually harvest artificial trees in an artificial forest?

I stood there, mouth open, not a good look, note to self 'close mouth', staring at the tre. I think the garland is magic because suddenly and without any planning on my part THE TRE IS GORGEOUS! None of the balls match other than to be clay covered and the garland is definitely a sight to see but, somehow, putting them together transformed tacky into beautiful. Younger son commented on the tree when he was here last night and older son tracked me down in the Pit of Clutter aka my studio, to tell me he liked the tree and that the garland was goegerou with those balls!!

A gorgeous tree, who woulda thunk? I also decorated the 35 year old miniture orange tree in the living room (bought it on my honeymoon a life time ago). I used hand glittered ornaments on that and a string of stars and missed tacky again. But be reassured. I plan on deocrating the rest of the house this morning and when I'm let loose with tubs of Christmas decorations, tacky cannot be far behind.

Ho ho ho.

Secret Santa

A secret santa gifted me with a gift certificate and just when I was starting to feel unloved. I wish I knew who my Santa is so I could thank her personally. It's amazing how the smallest of things can turn a mood around. And I needed it since it's taken me three days to get my Prozac refilled and I am definitely feeling the difference without it. Older son and I dragged all the Christmas stuff in from the shed andthe tree is standing there demanding to be dressed. I suppose trees don't like to be naked any more than people do. I'm trying to get up the desire to tackle it and wonder, how come this is alwyas MY responsibility? Don't the guys usually do the lights? One of these days I've promised myself one of those prelit trees so I'd never have to talk to myself over a tangle of lights again. So keep your fingers crossed I am about to do battle with the evil tree light monster. -Sharon-----

Happy birthday

The the younger son. He turned 24 last night and there was a wing ding of a party at his house, to which the HUsband and I weren't invited. It seems that some of the younger son's bar friends had asked if we were invited and he told them 'no' the the husband (or the old fart as the sons call him) and I wouldn't last 15 minutes. I muttered something about how we'd cramp his style with old folks there and he said that he had invited bar friends many of whom are older than the husband and I. Apparently the women at the bar LOVE him and want to wrap him up and take him home.Everybody loves younger son. I think he has, not only his share of friends but the friends the husband and I would have if we could figure out some sort of way to make friends.
Older son went to the party where he played cook. A good time was had by all.
As for me, the younger son was right. I probably wouldn't have made it through the night.

I am on a ruber stamp list known as the 'big list'. the ladies, for it does seem to be mostly ladies, have this habit of sending oddities through the mail. I have received, in no particular order, a shoe, a rubber chicken, a pig puppet, a bottle filled with christmas bits and on and on.
Well, for youger son's birthday I bought a kids ball, addresed it and wrote on the back of it "_____, It's your birthday so...


Hold on


are you ready for this



bad pun rising



It's your birthday so have a ball!



The guy at the post office looked at me as if I had lost my mind. Smilin' Jack the other postal guy who has never smiled in the dozen odd years that he's worked at that PO glared a little less while his grumble seemed less grumbly somehow. Of course Smilin' Jack would never admit that something as frivolous as a ball could be sent through the mail but off it went anyway.

Younger son did receive it. His mail lady rang his bell and as he opened it she was trying to wedge the ball between storm door and inner door. Younger son said that the woman was grinning like a fool and as she handed over the ball and headed off down the street she kept looking back over her shoulder and grinned.

Younger son told one of the grannies at the bar that I belong to an internet group who sets out to drive the Post Office crazy and to determine just what CANNOT be mailed. Haven't found anything yet and, in fact, all of the weird stuff I sent everything has made it. Including the inflated bee.

Younger son did get an upgrade on his cell phone from us for his birthday but I consider the ball his true present from me. After all, everyone should have a ball on his or her birthday.

Tis the season to go shopping

Dear Peruser,
We went Christmas shopping yesterday and a good time was not had by all. I hate to shop, unlike those commercials that try to convince you that all women want to do is shop for shoes, nor do I have shoes out the wazoo. I have maybe three pairs not counting the gaudy pink rubber boots I bought at a thrift store. I can spend, maybe, and hour in a store and then I'm done. As for Malls.... no way. We are ten minutes from this huge sprawling Mall called Arundel Mills and have only visited it 3 times. That was even before I tired as quickly as I do now. So Christmas shopping is not a thrill and I'll have to go out because I didn't get everything that I wanted. And, as with other Christmases, i picked out my presents. The husband will hide them in his den and then give them to me christmas morning still in their store bags. It should make me angry, but it breaks my heart. No one loves surprise gifts more than me but each year I know everything I'm getting and receive it unwrapped. As for my birthday that follows tradition. It's ignored and then the Husband will say to me, later that I got jipped for my birthday. Each year I get jipped each year he says that same thing. I did tell him not long ago that if, he ignores my birthday that's alright but if he mentions one word about me being jipped I'm gonna hit him upside the head. HARD!
I'll push that firmly behind me for I must tell you I've been crafting up a storm lately and actually like what I'm creating. Usually I always feel as if something is missing but lately I've gotten things just perfect to my eyes. Woo ho. Of course with a crafting frenzy comes a mes in the craft room also known as Mount Messmore and I need to do an odd hop stretch skip kind of dance to negotiate the piles and make my way to my desk chair. I usually manage the trip without the aid of sherpas or mountain climbing equipment though I could swear I saw a mountain goat on one of the poeaks of scrapbooking paper.
And speaking of nonexistant sitings....
I believe I've told you about the voices at the office. It's a very old builing with a basement that would do nicely as Dracula's crypt. In fact, that's what I call it. The walls of this very old basement is make of huge boulders and rocks with a dirt floor. Now just recently on Ghosthunters I learned how certain rock properites can capture sound and lock it away in the rock until the weather of some other something releases the sound. For some time, when I'm the first onein the building during a wet day I hear the voices. It just sounds like a group of people at a party, or perhaps a wake as the building was once a country club and then a funeral home until its latest reincarnation. And if it is really wet I have heard footsteps coming up the stairs and the occasional sound of a closing door, while I am the only person in the place. It doesn't scare me because I don't get the creepy ghoulie feeling that I get entering a haunted spot.
We had a hum dinger of a storm a couple of weeks ago, so hard and bad that he office building started to leak. Water rushed in through lighting figures and vents in the ladies and mens' rooms on the first floor and where the old builing is attached to the new building the water ran right down the wall. I was alone in the building and called the owner who was just home from the hospital so he was sending the church people out to see what was going on. The first floor is a church on Sundays.
So I waited and was reading when I hear a knocking and go to investigate. One of the church ladies was knocking on the door to the little closet sized room off the second floor landing. I introduced myself and she told me that she needed to speak to the person working in that room.
When I told her that there was no one in that room she insisted that she hear dsomeone typing and the sound of rustling papers. Now this room contains a copier, a minifridge and a door into the second floor bathroom. There is no room in that room to type or flutter papers not to mention the fact that I was the only person in the building. The woman kept insisting and I made the mistake of telling her it was just the 'voices'. Well you would have thought that I had introduced myself as Frankenstein's wife. This woman backed away from me groping for the crusifix about her neck. Sigh. I was just trying to reassure her that she wasn't insane and now I'm known as the nut on the third floor.
And on that note I'll close. Love ya. --me------------