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Browsing Tag: #Christmas
It is human nature to complain. I know this. But I have never seen the like of gripe-filled posts about this snow. And the majority are horse owners. I’m not sure if I see more from them because I’m friends with more horse owners than cattle owners (I think it’s a pretty even split), or if it’s because horse people are more vocal about things. But it confuses me. We live in the hills of Tennessee. Snow is a given. We never know how much, or how long it will last, but we know cold weather is coming for a good three months of the year. If you don’t like it, or are ill-prepared to deal with it, may I suggest moving to town? Or moving further south? Or simply just not having horses? Horses are a luxury afforded to few. They serve no purpose beyond making you happy. And if you’re this miserable taking care of them in the short winter we have, maybe you shouldn’t have them. I don’t have horses anymore and that’s about 50% of the reason. The other half is cost. Horses are outrageously expensive if you keep them in the manner in which you should. I liked the snow just fine. Thankfully, my heat stayed on or I would have been in a bit of a pickle, as all my firewood is wet and…
Dear Santa, I hope this letter finds you warm and well at the North Pole. I also would like to extend my condolences to Mrs. Claus, who is probably the most harried woman in the hemisphere right now. Although some of my mom friends are snorting with derision, no doubt. Hey, they brought it on themselves. Dern kids. I was never taught to believe in you. I think I waited until third grade to ruin it for everybody else, though. Seemed like about time to be growing up and putting away the foolishness. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve found Santa in some. Really, it’s Jesus but some of these good people are self-proclaimed atheists, so let’s just agree to disagree, yes? In the spirit of Christmas and all. So what I’m writing to say, is what everyone writes to you about- my wishes. I’ve been good….but I’ve also been bad. To be honest, it’s probably an even split. I won’t even try to convince you, you see me when I’m sleeping, you know when I’m awake…but even you gotta admit, Santa, that I got pushed to the edge and when I’m cornered….well, it ain’t pretty. I normally wouldn’t write on behalf of anybody but there are people in my life that…
I’m sure you sniggered a little reading those words from me. ‘Cause of COURSE I know it. I know everything. That’s why y’all love me. But no. I’m asking you, how do YOU know? “How do I know what?” you ask. Are you confused yet? Or just tired of me? I’ve not written in awhile and I feel like driving you just a little crazy before I get down to it. I’m not serving up meat and potatoes right off the bat! You gotta endure cocktail hour. Which, as we all know, is the best part. Ok I’ll stop. I get tired of hearing myself ramble, believe it or not. And I gotta go to bed eventually. How do you know it’s Christmas? Obviously not from the stores, who start placing their wares in June. (Looking at you, Hobby Lobby. But wait! I’m not complaining. I love Christmas. Drag out all the sparkles and glitter for as long as possible, I love it. Truly.) Do you know it by the weather getting that frosty edge of the morning? Or by the Christmas carols on the radio? Do you know it from all the tasty treats that start to become commonplace in the office? Maybe from well wishes coming to your mailbox? I’ll tell you how I know. How I’ve always known, apart from looking at…
Baking is finicky business. You have to be precise in your measurements, read everything carefully, use name brand everything (because fats in butters vary from the good stuff to the mediocre, and store bought sugar is heavier because it’s sifted more…which you would think would be a good thing.) This is three cups of sugar, six eggs, three cups of sifted flour, three sticks of butter, a block of cream cheese MESS. I have rarely been so disappointed for anything in my life. I have also rarely been as ill-prepared. Here was the trouble: I’ve been kinda sick. Not like, throwing up, circling the drain sick, more of the snotty nosed variety that induces whining. I had promised to make the following for Christmas dinner: mashed potatoes, sausage balls, and a cream cheese pound cake. Nevermind that I have never made a pound cake in my life. I had bought a huge box of Philadelphia cream cheese at Sam’s Club a few weeks before Thanksgiving in preparation for the upcoming sausage ball making holiday ahead. But I forgot I had done so, and found it on sale at Food City so I bought the requisite three. Imagine my dismay, er, surprise, when I went to put it in the cheese drawer at home. So all there was to do was make a cheesecake. Have you ever actually made a cheesecake? Or have you only ever selfishly devoured them without…
Have you ever just taken a moment and thought about how fortunate you are? One of those times where the North Star is beaming down directly on you and everyone around smiles your way and for a little while everything seems right in your world? Well, tonight I had such an epiphany. I don’t write about my new work often, partly because there’s not much to write about; I rarely have much interaction with customers. But also I don’t write because I like my job and don’t want to jinx myself. And I guess calling it new after a year and a half is ridiculous, but it’s hard to not think of it that way. When I came onboard, I was unsure. I was scared as a rabbit looking at a pack of coyotes. I didn’t know anybody, I was in a part of town I didn’t frequent, and I was out of my comfort zone working in an office environment. But I didn’t quit, even though I wanted to. I came back every day because I’d made my mind up to, and because it felt like it would be a good gig if I could ever get used to it. I was terrified of the guys, they were all big and kinda scary looking with their tattoos, cigarettes, beards, and low, gravelly voices. They drove trucks that always needed…
December Writing Challenge Day 7 Really Day 37 I hate Christmas. Well, there are three words I never thought I’d write. Because I don’t. At all. Oh sure, it’s hard to find the real meaning in the hordes of shoppers at the mall, or while being cut off in traffic on your way to the company Christmas party. But you just have to put a little extra love in your heart and assume that these people making you crazy have had a hard life and weren’t shown the Lord’s way. And dontcha know the people who seem determined to chip away at your faith and drag you down in their misery are the people without Jesus. They’re jealous that Christians have eternal hope. They don’t know it’s okay for us to be imperfect, a Saviour was sent for that purpose. So we just have to press on and try to set an example by being our very best selves. That’s what Christmas is about. And carrying it in our hearts all the year long. …
I was taught to lie at a young age. I also had my butt busted at a young age for lying about the least little thing. It did not occur to me until this morning, at 38 and a half years old, that I was brought up a liar. I was frying bacon and eggs for a sandwich. I thought, “Oh, goody! We can use our new Christmas plates since this is just a sandwich and we don’t need big plates.” I then went over to the table and felt their heft as I lifted them. Maybe this wasn’t such a bright idea. I broke my new turtle glass the other day, and I didn’t want to risk these so early in their life. What if I couldn’t replace them? I mean, they’re just Wal-Mart plates but I really like them. No, not the Pioneer Woman ones they’re pushing. These are the Twelve Days of Christmas. I could just see me washing them and their soapy slickness slipping through my grasp and thirteen million pieces as it went everywhere. So I set the plate back down and thought, “Lets not and say we did.” Which. Is. A. LIE. But that’s a passable lie, since it was always used in jest. Like when I wanted to do something that nobody else did, like go to the store, or…
Our holiday was mild, which is the way I like it. I especially liked the part about being off for four consecutive days. Friday I was run-run-Rudolph, indeed. I had a hair appointment at 8 (what? You think I’m competent enough to keep myself this perfect red? I can barely apply blush). A pleasant surprise was a Krispy Kreme doughnut as I processed. Then a quick elf run to my cousin’s house to drop her off a thank-you-for-helping-with-my-blog/ Christmas gift. Then, as is common for me, I had to come back by the house to pick up Robin’s gift because I’d had plans to meet her for lunch for a solid week. I hurriedly washed dishes while I was here so they would stop mocking me. They’d only been there for fourteen hours…which sounds like a long time when I think about it, considering they typically don’t last more than thirty minutes. I digress. I also collected a helping of éclair cake because the heathens at the Co-op hadn’t thought to save her a morsel of theirs. I had my own personal one delivered to the shop by both the Newmans! I skirted by the dump, then by the Co-op to drop the dessert so it wouldn’t acquire E.coli while I ran my other errands before lunch…
Purina Mills has been around for over a century. In that time they put on the most informative sales meetings (for companies & feed customers alike) I have ever attended. A few stick out in my mind. One was where they showed a tag for a 12% horse feed. It sounded pretty good from a nutritional percentage standpoint. When you got down to the ingredients they were actually motor oil, cardboard, and a whole host of deadly components that carry protein, fat, and fiber ratios. Purina sets itself apart from competitors by constantly researching. Their private farm is home to over 3000 animals situated on 1200 acres. Once upon a time, I was attending a training meeting hosted by Purina. This presentation began by telling a story that *I benignly thought* had nothing to do with feeding horses. Seems that there was this woman that was cooking her Christmas ham. Her husband was in the kitchen, underfoot and watching. He noticed she cut a good two inches off each end of the ham. “Why’d you do that for?” he wanted to know. “Do what?” “Cut the perfectly good ends off.” The wife reportedly scrunched her brow. “Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t know. My momma always did it when she fixed the ham.” The ham was pushed into the oven to bake in pork peace. Later, as it was transferred to the table, the woman…
It feels weird to have a website. I’ve been updating my favorite social media sites with my web address. Now I’m one of those people. Today I’ve done normal things…laundry, made sausage gravy, wrapped Christmas presents, watched Romy and Michelle’s High School reunion-I’d give you the link if it were any count, but it ain’t, so I’m not- {did anybody else just sing Janet Jackson with that? No? Just me then.} and submitted my book review for the library’s blog. Thank God they keep that one updated for me. I was just relieved to finish that book. It’s another’n I’d give you the link to if it was worth reading. But it’s not. Such a shame. I hate it when books and authors disappoint me. My next one is going much better. I DESPISE wrapping Christmas presents. I much prefer the buying aspect. I even like the buying of the paper. And I continue to buy more every single year, even though we have more than enough to see us through the next decade. My wrapping skills are sorely lacking. Johnny has these precise corners…mine are a wadded up, torn, much-taped, hideous disgrace. It truly is shameful. Now that is an example of one of my worst case scenarios. The package was too big for my wrapping paper. What choice…
