DarkWon of Ember
Dec. 18th, 2022 09:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoSometime in the night, I woke up and realized that the power was out. That's disturbing when the night time temperatures are in the low 20s. I was awake for awhile, then asleep, then awake, and the second time I woke up, the power was back on. For which I am devoutly grateful. That would have been one kink too many in the holiday preparations. We paid a bit of a price for yesterday's running around and shoveling: tired and sore. It had snowed a lot more overnight, and everything cleared off yesterday was once more heaped with snow. The Sparrowhawk was trying to save me from myself by not letting me shovel the driveway again, and declared we would not drive to church. I probably couldn't have done it fast enough anyway. So we watched Mass on TV, as we used to do during covid. (Or during the even worse covid times, since I guess it's still around, lurking.) The sermon was amazingly awful and involved Fr. Bill singing some of his favorite bits from "Fiddler on the Roof." I'm not sure what the point was. I think he may have just wanted to sing, and constructed a sermon that would permit him to do so. As a writer, I should sympathize with the wish to construct a plot around one's pet scenes or obsessions, but I'm afraid I don't in this case. When we looked out the window afterwards, we found that our kindly neighbor had come by and done our entire driveway! I am going to make him some cookies.
You'd think we'd have been done with Christmas cards by now, but we weren't. We both dashed off a bunch more, for a total of about 70. The Sparrowhawk took them to the post office, and as he was stuffing them into the box, an admiring bystander told him that he was "the Santa Claus of Christmas cards." I wrote about two sentences on my poor languishing WIP before having to break off and make a buffet dish for the next social event. It was a reuben casserole that can be cut up and eaten as hors d'oeuvres. I put on some colorful garb and my Christmas necklace, and off we went to an Advent vigil service plus potluck. The potluck hosts had a house with lovely Christmas decorations and a blazing fire, by which we sat with enjoyment. A squad of delightful children scampered around. We came home and finalized some selections from the Philosopher/Lovely Friend baby registry. Then we cleaned up a bit while listening to Christmas carols, and finished off the pie. That was a pretty good pie, if I do say so myself. Mysteriously, no housecleaning of note took place. Oh, no that's wrong--I did clean a sink and a toilet. Well, I've got a couple of days left . . . .
You'd think we'd have been done with Christmas cards by now, but we weren't. We both dashed off a bunch more, for a total of about 70. The Sparrowhawk took them to the post office, and as he was stuffing them into the box, an admiring bystander told him that he was "the Santa Claus of Christmas cards." I wrote about two sentences on my poor languishing WIP before having to break off and make a buffet dish for the next social event. It was a reuben casserole that can be cut up and eaten as hors d'oeuvres. I put on some colorful garb and my Christmas necklace, and off we went to an Advent vigil service plus potluck. The potluck hosts had a house with lovely Christmas decorations and a blazing fire, by which we sat with enjoyment. A squad of delightful children scampered around. We came home and finalized some selections from the Philosopher/Lovely Friend baby registry. Then we cleaned up a bit while listening to Christmas carols, and finished off the pie. That was a pretty good pie, if I do say so myself. Mysteriously, no housecleaning of note took place. Oh, no that's wrong--I did clean a sink and a toilet. Well, I've got a couple of days left . . . .
