December It Is

Well look at me. I was going to take a well-earned day off from posting, but then I remembered that every day is a day off for me and do I really need to spend any of these days doing ABSOLUTELY nothing? Or could I just put that off until tomorrow or some other day.

And then as I was wasting time on Facebook looking at pages that I’ve liked in the past but which never ever come up on my news feed, I came across the following interesting thought-provoking stuff.

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Plus W mixed me a spiced rum and orange juice.  So I’m not completely responsible.

Back to the drawing board tomorrow.

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Bottoms Up

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Well I SUPPOSE it’s about time for a REAL post.  Said the pre-retiring mess-making cartoon-drawing officially old lady trying to make sense of this new not-classic mode of creation on Word Press.

So just ignore that, I’m not here to complain about insignificant things, because what I really want to talk about is my signature beverage.  It was a WP prompt awhile ago that made me laugh, because, really, who do we think we are, famous people with images or something?  And without even knowing me all that well you might suspect my drink du jour would be a tall glass of red wine (good guess) but it wasn’t always so.

It used to be chocolate milk.  I thought I would never outgrow it, and maybe I still haven’t completely, because that stuff is good.  Not the kind you mix with a powdered concoction into actual milk, but the kind you buy in little brown bottles or cartons which may or may not contain any real milk.  Smooth and thick and chocolate-y with coma inducing amounts of sugar.  This was such a rare treat when I was a kid that whenever we ate out (another once in a blue moon treat) that’s what I would order to drink.  Who cares about the food.  Chocolate milk goes with absolutely everything.

Then when I was a teenager trying to put chocolate behind me, Coca Cola was the next best thing.  Until it became cool to prefer Pepsi although if you did a blind taste test you’d probably have to cheat if you really wanted people to think you could tell the difference.

In my twenties and beyond, when I became extremely world-weary and sophisticated, my go-to beverage was a Harvey Wallbanger.  Because what could possibly be more sophisticated than that.  Not cheap draft beer, that’s for sure, although I admit I drank my fair share of that too, depending entirely on the money situation of the moment.   Vodka, orange juice, Galliano, a slice of orange and a maraschino cherry.  And lots of ice.  Umbrella purely optional.  But a nice touch.

W is the one who got me drinking amber rum.  Probably because the umbrellas were an embarrassment for him.  And it had to be with real Pepsi, no substitutions.  And a twist of lemon or lime.  I’m the one who switched myself to spiced rum.  He hates it.  All the more for me then.

Raising children changes everything of course, and drinking something like coffee to keep yourself alert replaces drinking anything that might cause you to pass out and miss seeing whatever it is they’re up to now.  And coffee seems harmless enough until you clue in to how addicted you are to it.  Even then, it’s not easy to give it up.  Mostly because you can’t possibly convince yourself that there’s any good reason to do so.  And besides, you spent a lot of money on that stupid Tassimo.

But pop and diet pop are SO incredibly bad for you.  I’ve had enough of them to last several life times and now I’m ready to quit.  Wine seems like a viable alternative.  I used to like white, but not much.  Then my daughter started raving about Malbec and I’ve been hopelessly hooked ever since.  It’s like store-bought chocolate milk for adults.  Plus you look way more worldly and refined sipping on something that’s not in a plastic cup or a travel mug, right?

Well I hope so.  I have a friend who won’t drink red wine because it makes her teeth and lips red.  I say, who cares?  I also say, drink whatever you want, teeth and lips be damned.  That’s the first time I’ve ever said that really, and probably the last time now that I look at it critically and while completely sober.

Damn, I should have said water.  We should ALL be saying water.  And being thankful that we have access to the clean and drinkable kind. That would be commendable, but also boring.  So red wine it is.  Until I’m at the stage in my life where they switch me to Metamucil through a plastic bendy straw.  May the wine preserve me until then.

Things That Go Bump in the Night

Tonight we played the game called Things, which has motivated me to write about all the things that made me happy today.  Yes, I am THAT desperate for inspiration.

1.  We slept late. That’s the royal we.  Probably everyone else was up and being quiet.

2.  The fog rolled in and then it started to rain.

3.  The rain stopped and the sun came out.

4.  Canada won the Men’s World Curling gold medal, because Scotland let them catch a break.  It was very close.

5.  We had a lovely roast beef dinner.  My contribution was a broccoli dish which actually turned out to be edible.

6.  I got a really great picture of my grandchildren sent via phone, an easter greeting from my daughter, a couple of texts from W, and a gazillion requests to play Words With Friends.

7.  My brother told us some stories about the wild things he did when he was in his teens.  I don’t understand how he got away with them.  I wonder why I didn’t learn from his example.  Or maybe I did.

8.  I’ve been into the spiced rum.  It tastes just as good here as it does anywhere else. And after the third one, even better.  But I switched to Bailey’s after that and lost my powers of observation for a bit so I’m unable to comment on what happens after…how many did I say?  Four? And what was I counting again?

9.  I ate a piece of apple pie.  It seriously would not be an Ontario holiday if there wasn’t pie.

10.  I haven’t had time to comment on anyone’s posts, although I’ve been quickly reading and enjoying them when I can.  The only reason this is on my list of things that made me happy is because getting back to blog surfing is one thing I’m looking forward to when I go home.

My days seem to be getting shorter at one end and longer at the other.  Eventually I’ll have to get that turned back around.  A good start would be not reading half the night away.  Which I better get going on while I’m still conscious.  The only thing here that goes bump in the night besides the dogs tail is my book falling on my face when I doze off.  And if I’m reading my Kindle – ouch.

Here Comes Santa Claus

Or maybe he’s not on his way, if you’ve been naughty all year.  I’ve been talking to my sister and she filled me in on the McArthur Christmas – naughty, nice, the elf on the shelf, tickle monsters, Chase and Alexis, jello that wouldn’t set and a turkey to die for.  I think the chef in the family (Andy) should spread himself around a little better for the holidays, or at least give us all crash courses in how to cook the perfect bird.

My brother starts his treatments the week after next.  Two trips to London, and then the rest of the five months (five months!) he can have them done in Owen Sound, so at least the travelling won’t be as grueling.  Ann says he’s in very good spirits, or if he’s not he’s putting up an excellent front.  His take on it is that everyone dies sometime, some sooner than others, and at least he’s been given a heads up.  I love my brother.  He’s more like our parents than he knows.

Our turkey is thawing, the stuffing is ready to go, the kitchen is a mess, and I’m on my second rum of the evenning.  Christmas Eve is good for something,  in this case an excellent excuse to drink.  Work dragged itself by today and there was only one insane purchaser of eyewear.  Mostly I watched the carts of little old ladies for them while they went to the washroom.  Then I took the damned Christmas tree down, and what was left of the decorations because no one will be back working in the Vision Centre until the 27th.  If there’s one thing that bugs me about this holiday season it’s how we prolong it.  There will be nothing even remotely christmas-y in my house long before the New Year.  Bah humbug, I suppose.  I am eternally thankful that I don’t have to work on Boxing Day when everyone returns or exchanges every gift they got.

Tonight we had some friends drop in for a drink, so that’s what got me started on the rum.  They were on their way home from helping out with Christmas dinner for the homeless.  Or just the unfortunate at a downtown church.  W worked at the car wash all day and then decided to walk home.  He sent me a text at about 4:20 and finally showed up at home some time after six o’clock.  With a tree branch in his hand.  So obviously he’d been into the Christmas cheer all afternoon.  Yep, I’m rolling my eyes.  I’m glad he didn’t drive home, but I could have gone and picked him up.  Of course then we wouldn’t have the pine bough that he snapped off of somebody’s front yard tree. He wants to put it on top of a heat register so that the scent of pine will fill the house.  Between that and my gazillion lit candles the place is smelling down right festive.

The prompt for today is to name the best holiday gift I ever received.  Without a doubt that’s my Kindle from my brilliant daughter-in-law, truly the gift that keeps on giving.  And if you’re talking about non-material things, that would be our incredible families, close and extended, here, there, and everywhere.  Going to be tucked up in my bedroom reading my Kindle very shortly, and fast asleep before you know it.  Visions of sugar plums dancing in my head.  Spiced rum does that to me.