The last, and I do meanTHE LAST of the Christmas running around is done! Mom got her big poinsettia from me this morning. I give her a massive poinsettia each Christmas, a gorgeous Easter lily in the Spring and a mum in the Autumn.
Daisy enjoyed a walk early in the afternoon and then endured sitting in the car as I went to buy gift boxes for some of the garments bought online. Then off to the grocery store that was packed to the bulkheads with shoppers. The 'express lane' was just a rumor. The gallon of milk, English muffins and jar of sugar free Jiff peanut butter were almost consumed by me as I waited in a line that stretched a good 18 shoppers long. Those at the non-express lines faired worse.
I have to start this wrapping business, an activity I absolutely dead. If I could wrap gifts with skill and style, I would not fear doing it so much. But my gift wrapping could easily be shamed by any three year old born without thumbs.
I still have one coat of tung oil to apply to the pencil post bed. That tung oil stuff takes its sweet time to fully cure. It should be ready by late next week.
I was thinking about Christmases past. The most memorable is
Christmas 1968. That year held more history and tragedy than it could bear. But at Christmas, the Apollo 8 mission orbited the moon. As a twelve year old, the Space Race had held my attention since Alan Shepard blasted off just five years earlier.
The astronauts provided a stunning view of our planet from the lunar orbit. They read from the Book of Genesis and showed the world what a fragile place we occupy in the vast universe.
But that's not what made that particular Christmas so memorable. No, that Christmas was the Christmas the Christmas of the Hong Kong flu. The whole family was down with that virus. The whole family, except for me. I shuttled from bed to bed with orange juice, hot coffee, boxes of Kleenex and warm, moist wash cloths to salve my family's suffering.
Uncle Alex would stop every evening at the Big House with supplies of food and medicine. He would drop off the parcels and bang on the front door, then retreat swiftly to his car. It was as if we were suffering with Ebola instead of the flu virus. I'd gather up the cartons of milk and cans of frozen orange juice concentrate and store them in the old Fridgidaire.
This seemed to go on well past Christmas and on to New Year's Eve.
That's when the Hong Kong flu strain finally hit me. As luck and the human immune system has it, by that time the rest of my clan had recovered. And that gave me all those family members back to shower attention and care on me.
Needless to say, we all recovered, but that Christmas was one that was framed by true family care and love. Funny how such a Christmas calamity can stick in my mind. I was never more thankful.
For sure you live in the prime area for great seafood rivaled only by maybe New Orleans. But believe it or not you can get some decent seafood even here on the high desert and Red Lobster actually does have a winner or two, but I do think their food is too often overrated and over priced.
