. . . or Happy Whatever-You-Celebrate . . .
Bad photo of this year's tree, which, you will note, has no breakable objects on it, due to the presence of Ysabeau the Aerial Cat. To be fair, though, she only clumb it once, and that was before the ornaments were on. We came into the back to find the tree in its stand listing at a 45-degree angle, and a certain small gray cat under the bed . . . so we tightened things up and brought out the Squirt Bottle of Retribution, and all has been well since.
Denizens of the above photo: Santa made by me when Brian was small, nearly 40 years ago, and only slightly motheaten. Badger acquired at the Bethel Methodist Church Christmas bazaar a couple of years ago. Small bear from Goodwill, I think; it had a tag proclaiming his name to be "Chestnut", but I have forgotten the maker. And the small pixie ornament is one of four Mom made for me 10 or 12 years ago, sawn from plywood and painted to represent Twinkies, from a children's book that was hers as a child and that was beloved by me both as a child and now. I have it still, though it is barely holding together . . . I treasure these ornaments and my tiny collection of cat rocks that she painted, for i'm afraid she will never paint again. (However, the arthritis is improving; she made cookies this week.)
We made it over to Old Fort for one family celebration last night, but it's snowing this morning (over an inch since eight, when I got up, and still coming down steadily) . . . so, the Christmas dinner with John's daughters in on the other side of Black Mountain, and the day-after-Christmas gathering of his family at his niece's house in Fletcher will not be attended by us this year. Our road is non-state-maintained and shady, so it will most likely be at least Wednesday before we can go anywhere, and possibly later than that . . . 4-8 inches are forecast here by the time things stop on Monday, and subfreezing temperatures until the middle of the week. So, we shall eat the sandwiches we were going to make for the family party, and ferry hot water to the stock and bird seed to the feeder tree, and I shall make a holly wreath for Martin the Pig (pink velveteen, 25 cents at the Kiwanis thrift store last week) and crochet a set of juggling balls for my brother (I meant to give them to him for Christmas, but . . . at least I finished his reindeer), and just be indolent in general.