I’ve just been alerted that for some parts of the Rockies and the Midwest this will be the coldest Christmas in 40 years. Checking the maps it looks as if Paradise may escape this massive blunder by the gods in charge of such things, but for my friends in Minnesota … be sure you know where your snuggies are located before it hits. There is absolutely no point to ransacking closets looking for warm clothing while your fingers are turning blue.
The meteorologists’ term for all this nastiness is bomb cyclone. Something positively awful ferments in Canada and then makes its way toward US citizens who have never done that country any harm. At least nothing bad enough to warrant such treatment. Over the years whenever I have a passing thought that the USA is turning to merde du poulet, I begin to muse about emigrating to that northern expanse. And then I think … wait … where does all the ugly winter weather come from? And I put down the pen and crumple up my application for Canadian citizenship.
Because as cold as it sometimes gets here … at that same moment … it is always worse there.
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Every president in our history has defended this orderly transfer of authority, except one.
Liz Cheney
The United States House Select Committee on the January 6 Attack has wrapped it up and sent along their findings to the Justice Department. As far as committee members are concerned, former president cluck is a crook and a traitor, and he and a large number of his cronies deserve being given some special time to reflect and meditate while living in a Federal institution.
Now we’ll see where this all goes. Everything grindeth exceedingly slowly in proceedings with at much at stake as we have here, so taking the time to do it right … I get that. I would be tickled to death to drive the bus carrying His Celestial Orangeness to Leavenworth Prison (or wherever). I hereby officially volunteer for the job, and would accept no salary for doing my patriotic duty.
I will even pack bag lunches for the rest of the transport crew.
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I have a guilty pleasure … a secret vice. No, it’s not pornography, or a cult membership, or even that I dabble in astrology. It’s none of these. But when I awaken early in the morning, plug in my earbuds, and have only myself to entertain … I will sometimes listen to ABBA.
Not every day, mind you, but frequently. There, I feel better, having come out.
I know that I may have lost the respect of many of you, but it’s true nevertheless. If you’re going to continue to read this thing, you’ll have to take me as I am.
I listen to pop pap.
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For what they were, and that is pop musical artists, I think that ABBA was close to perfect. Talented songwriters and musicians, beautiful women, and men unafraid to wear stretchy pants in public.
And even the name of the group is a cool acronym for its members – Agnetha, Bjorn, Benny, Anna-Frid.
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Yep, that’s it. Now I have nothing more to hide. Do with the information what you will.
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Had one of those online shopping kerfluffles yesterday. Robin had ordered a Christmas gift from Eddie Bauer for one of the kids. When the package arrived, its contents were not what she had ordered, but consisted of two men’s T-shirts instead.
So we got on the phone with Eddie’s customer service. The lady assigned to help us was a very polite person who was located in some exotic part of the world.
I related the problem, and then asked two things of her. Tell me how to get the items we wanted, and then tell me how to send back those we didn’t. Twenty minutes later, and after being put on hold twice, we had still not resolved these two issues. So finally when she said that our original purchases would be speedily put into the mails on that very day, I accepted the news with gratitude. (I could hear her supervisor in the background dictating what she should say to me.)
When she then asked: “Is there anything else I can do for you?, it was obvious that she had completely forgotten about those T-shirts that Eddie had no record of ever having sent to us. I did not remind her. To be honest, I didn’t have another twenty minutes of my life that I wanted to throw away. I will not keep the shirts, I think, but pass them along through the Salvation Army store.
I’m sure Eddie wouldn’t mind. He’s a great guy when you get to know him.
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Only four more shopping days till Christmas. There are those for whom these words strike terror in their hearts. Cringelings who did not plan properly and must now scrabble through the leavings of more thoughtful shoppers. Forget sizes and color choices. Even if you are shopping online these have long since become limited. Yes, you can order the Saturday Night Delight from Frederick’s of Hollywood for your lady friend, but only if you want it in camouflage pattern and in size nano-petite.
For whatever reason, our cats don’t seem to be excited about the upcoming holiday at all. Of course, it might just be that they are pagans.
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Little Home In The Valley 