Nodding off

I am so happy the week is over. I am almost falling asleep at my desk, so I keep shoving popcorn, Christmas candy, and whatever else I can get my hands on into my mouth to try to stay awake. The problem is that my allergies are really acting up, but I couldn’t swallow my usual allergy pill this morning . . . I have a lot of trouble swallowing pills, especially large ones, and sometimes I just cannot get them down. Instead I took a Benedryl, which is a much smaller pill, but makes me really sleepy. It was a trade off – either be miserable and stuffy, or breathe but feel incredibly tired.

Wednesday night for choir practice, my throat was really bothering me. I could barely sing through a whole song – much less have any sort of sound or breath control. This is a bad time to have my voice go all weird . . . Since I’m the only high-ish soprano, I’m often singing my part alone and people can easily tell if I’m way off . . . and a lot of Christmas songs do have these funky high descants . . . I probably sound like someone is mauling a cat somewhere . . . “Fall on your knees . . . and hear the angels’ voices . . .”

Last night, Mr. Random and I finally started doing some Holiday shopping. We bought some things for his mom, sister and uncle that we are going to ship out to them next week. Next I need to order gifts for both Grandmothers to be delivered to them before Christmas, then start shopping for Mr. Random and my family. They are last because they are so close and the stuff doesn’t have to be mailed. I have an uncle who never shops for Christmas presents until December 26 – just to catch all of the clearance sales. Everyone always called him a cheap b******, but in my older age I’m starting to appreciate his wisdom much more . . .

I highly recommend the new Diana Krall CD, Christmas Songs, if you like her music . . . I certainly do.

Apprentice note: I was kind of disappointed last night, because they let Rebecca and Randal pick their own teams. In past seasons, didn’t Trump give them a bunch of the real wackos to pick from? I was SO looking forward to the return of people like Clay, Markus, Melissa, and Toral . . . and maybe the four that got booted off that one show. My dream did come true in a way, in that they picked Mark, Josh, James . . . and Toral. Randal seems really “deer-in-the-headlights” through a lot of this, although I was just as taken aback when at dinner Rebecca said that she had already picked out her three . . . given that in past experience they didn’t really get to pick, I probably wouldn’t have thought about it either, just tried to make do with whoever I got.

I hope we get to put up the Christmas tree this weekend. Yes, we have a fake tree – we bought it last year after moving into our 3rd floor, walk-up condo. I really miss our live trees . . . Every year we would have a “leaning” tree, because we could never get the tree to fit into the stand, so we just put it in a bucket and leaned it against the wall or in the corner. It made it a lot easier to water, too. Having a leaning tree just seemed to fit us so well – kind of quirky and unconventional. It was also easier to hang ornaments and string the lights, since you didn’t have to put them in the back. I yearn for the days when we can get a proper house again (or at least something on a first floor) and load a freshly cut pine into the wagon and drag it into the house.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Porch
By Rhona McAdam

All day on the front porch of your house
which gives way to a garden of fallen stone,
a black lawn of shale, and the sea,
we have grouped and regrouped
round tables and railings and visitations
of dog with her tennis ball. Her coat is black
and spiked as an otter's; it will dry
to a slick of burnished oak when she's done.
But she drops the drooling ball again and someone hurls it
out into sky and before it has passed
the green blade of land that separates
the horizon's elements, she has flourished
down the slalom path to the point
off which my brother fell when he was two,
and dived for it. My brother's chin
was cut when my mother found him,
beached breathing on the slippery brace
of rocks unsheathed by tide
and after that this balcony was fenced.
The dog comes back and goes again.
Years later the vet tells you she
was injured on a day like this, burst her spleen
when she hit the water. But today
as always she brings the ball back and waits
for the arm's arc to point her down that path
where we ran as children, in towel capes
and swimsuits, our need for the beach
near equal to the dog's need for ball.
In her wake we return with pearls
and arrowheads, with the jawbone of a seal
and all the loam of childhood
pressed this afternoon from hand to hand
into a sphere that by nightfall rises
from the sea.