Mayonnaise & Moonlight

I have a lot of thoughts going through my mind at the monent, several of them which would be good for a blog post or a poem, but alas, they have absolutely nothing to do with Christmas. And not only that, but they are not the least bit jolly or merry or even lighthearted.

It is not fair that just because it’s a few days until Christmas, I can’t write about those things. It’s enough to make a person hate the lead-up to Christmas (because I still can’t hate Christmas, I mean come on).

How come that is, eh? My brain does not work in holidays or themes or one mood at a time. My brain does not conjure nice poetry about Christmas coming (although it has in years past…), or about winter, or anything like that. No. Instead, today, it got a few good ideas that involved nothing short of poison, conspiracies, moon phases, and housing developments. 
In short, nothing to do with Christmas. 

But still very intriguing matters that need written about. 

Humbug.
-Pen

and everywhere else too.

The final phases of putting up and decorating the tree are done. Pretty much everything is ready, though I am still trying to find a few presents for people. Etcetera, etcetera, ho ho ho.

Every time I see wrapping paper that says Ho Ho Ho I mistakenly think it says Ohio.

It is still snowing off and on. I love it, and today after Mass I saw a huge flock of Canada geese grazing in the field beside the church. They all raised their heads when I walked by, crunching ice. Then when I made goose noises at them they resumed ignoring me and allowed me to watch them eat, annoy each other, honk, and walk around. Their steps actually made noise on the frozen grass. Somehow, when I could hear them walking and hear their feathers flapping, it made them seem actually real and alive. Not that I didn’t know they were before, but it just struck me that way.

Hmmm. I don’t have much to say, but I am posting anyway because it’s been too long.

Oh. Well, a few adventures have occured:
Dodge pulled out one of his “mostly loose” molars yesterday and showed it to me;
We got season 2 of Dr Quinn Medicine Woman;
I taught myself weaving and am learning how to make patterns;
I am teaching myself a bit of guitar;
I had a halfway OK time at HSYM tonight;
I am currently reading a book called The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society which is actually quite good;
and… I think that is all for now. I am in desperate need of some poem-writing…

Love,
Pen

It’s been snowing here for about three days straight, I think. It’s perfectly wonderful, of course, since we won’t be sick of it until a month or two from now. Actually I don’t get sick of the snow, or the cold even, but the salt grime. And most of all the not-being-able-to-wear-skirts-that-drag-the-ground.

I took a walk yesterday as it was snowing. Just a few blocks. It was really nice, and quiet, and I love the whole atmosphere of mystery during winter. The long nights, the grey, silent days… maybe that’s why my novel is set in a kind of perpetually-wintry city. Unlike rain, when snow falls it makes no sound. Somehow it’s just cool to stand anywhere you’re alone, maybe with some bare trees nearby, and just watch the snow fall. Silence. It’s beautiful and kind of creepy at the same time, like you’re in this magical world but you’re also the only person inhabiting it.

Yep, you heard right, I have now declared my love for the season of winter. “Oh that I were a glove upon that hand”…. etc, etc. More like, “oh that I had a glove upon my hand”, but whatever.

So. The snow. Winter. Life is good, as those incredibly irritating t-shirts (and now bumper stickers, apparently) say. Man, I hate those. It’s like, yeah, life is good, but it’s not all cartoon inner tubes and smiley stick people. Geez.

Uh, what was I going to say before I went off on a tangent? Oh yeah. Life. Pshh. Never mind, I don’t feel like being all talkative anymore. I kind of feel like just sitting here listening to music and pretending to be a teenager. Is it possible to feel too young to be a teenager and too old at the same time but still simultaneously feel like a teenager is exactly what you are? 
If it’s not… I have achieved the impossible.

Dodge: “Come here come here come here! Look!”
Me: “Huhhh?”
Dodge: “Okay, you stand behind that wall, and watch the stairs…”
I looked at the stairs, and Dad was standing at the top of them, looking down. The box containing the fire-retardant tree was balanced at the edge of the upstairs landing, and Dad had a mischevous grin on his face…
Me: “NO. You wouldn’t.”
Dodge: (evil laughter)
Me: “It’ll break!”
Dad: (evil laughter)
Dodge: “One, two, three, GOOOOOO!”
The tree fliew down the stairs in a spectacular flip! And Poncho screamed as the box landed at his feet.
Me: “Oh my…”
Dodge: “We did it last year too. It’s a tradition.”

Later…

Dodge was beginning to actaully build the tree, when he noticed that the stand was not in the box. Meanwhile, Dad was lying on the couch with a footlong piece of floss in his mouth. (Don’t ask.)
Dodge: “Where is the stand?”
Dad: “In the box.”
Dodge: “No it’s not. It must be upstairs.”
Dad: “Well, it’s supposed to be in the box.”
Dodge: “Well, it’s not.”
Dad: “Well, it should be.
Dodge: “Well, it’s not.”
Dad: “I’m not going to get it.” He started to play guitar using the floss as the string, pulled tight from his front teeth.
Dodge: “You are such a child.”
Dad: “Am not. Ow, I think my tooth is loose now.”
Dodge: “Hmm.”
Dad pretended to sleep, leaving his floss hanging out of his mouth. Daisy came along and smelled the minty flavor… and started to chew on one end of the floss.
Dad: “Ehhhhhhhhhh! Ehhhhhh!”
Dodge: “I’ll save you if you’ll go get the stand.”
Dad: “EHHHH!”
Dodge (takes the floss): “Go now or I’ll drop it on your face.”
Dad: “I’m going, I’m going!”
He finally got the stand… It is quite beautiful…

Dad: “Hm, I think it needs more tape.”
Dodge: “Really?”
Dad: “Yeah, I put a new piece on every year. It’s a tradition.”

What a night. Phase One of putting up the tree is now complete.