Santa on a Saturday

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This is my favourite Santa. I painted him many years ago and gave him to my mom.  She hung him up for a lot of Christmases. When she died, somehow I got him back with little effort on my part.  He was a gift and I didn’t expect he’d ever come back to me.  But I’m glad he did.

I love the softness about him, and the impossible floaty star-shaped balloons.  And the fact that he might not even be wearing pants or boots under that too-long dragging coat, for all we know.

Most of all I love the warm happy feeling I get when I see him and remember my mother.  Maybe he made her think of me too.

It’s just a funny little old Santa who surprised me by turning in to my best Christmas treasure.

What Are We Doing Again?

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These words are so simple, and yet….

I can’t get them out of my head.  What does this mean?  The phrase takes me all the way back to high school English and teachers who analyzed poetry in particular,  but also pretty much every other written thing, to death.  I admit I liked trying to impress them with my twisted take on things.  I expect a lot of authors would have been totally baffled by the garbage we came up with that they never meant at all.

Anyway, I want to know what you think.  Please take my poll.

There are no wrong answers.  Probably there are no right answers either.  Thank you class.  No going home for you until you finish this.  I will mail you your marks.

 

 

Things That Last

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What do you see when you look at these two pictures?  This is the kind of thing that makes me go “Awwww….” because here’s a relationship that has survived a lot of years.  It looks like they worked at it and took care of it just as they also so obviously (to me) took care of each other.  And they are still together after all these years.  It’s very sweet.  I think they are very lucky.

When I saw this I smiled, and all these things went rushing through my head, so I flipped my I-Pad around to share it with W.  I thought he would make the same connections.

He stared at it with a frown for about three seconds and then he went on and on and ON about the car.  The make and model and year and paint job and tires and chrome and God only knows what else while I sat there in stunned silence.

When he finally wound down I said, okay, but what about the PEOPLE?  And he said, well, I guess they’re probably the original owners.

I guess they probably are.  I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.

Pictures and Pages and Seasons Oh My

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You might think, because of the nature of these book related pictures from various Facebook pages, that I have spent my entire Sunday reading.  But I haven’t.  I’m saving that for tomorrow, day two of two days off.   I’m part way through The Goldfinch, by Donna Tartt, which is turning out to be a book with no end in sight.  Had to take a break.

What I’ve actually been doing today is making myself feel less sad about the fact that there are only two seasons of Downton Abbey available on Netflix by watching The Good Wife instead. I didn’t notice how many seasons there are to get through on that one, but I’ll take a serious stab at getting to the end of them.

It’s a hard life I know, but don’t worry,  I’m managing okay.

Intel and Espionage

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Although I say I never watch television, it’s not the whole truth.  For the second time, against my better judgement, I have been glued to Netflix the way I was with “Once Upon a Time” a few months ago.  This past couple of weeks it’s been “Covert Affairs” that has had me hooked.  And yes, I did watch the whole thing (well, as much as is available here on Netflix), episode after episode until the end of season three.  That is a lot of episodes.  And a lot of getting nothing else done and being annoyed that there were actually other things I should be doing.   Like going to work and eating and sleeping.

If you don’t know this Annie Walker, I think you might like her.  She’s a CIA operative who can do just about anything a man can do, but she does it all in high heels.  How impressive is that?  Her empathy is both her biggest strength and her greatest weakness.  She dodges bullets, tells lies, accomplishes impossible missions, solves puzzles and always breaks the rules.  My kind of girl.

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Okay, thank God season four isn’t on there yet.  I’ve started having dreams about high-speed car chases and double agents and people running around in airports.  You think they’re just late for their flight, but no, think again.  They are spies.  Or with the FBI.  Or some foreign intelligence agency. Once you get this, you may never want to fly again.  Or leave your house.  Or trust a stranger.

It’s unfortunate that some of my favourite characters have disappeared or been blown up in cars or shot dead in kitchens, but that’s how Annie’s world works. I hope Netflix decides to get the next two seasons so I can be immersed in her world again sometime.  Sleeping is highly overrated in comparison.