I think they time the sending of the seed catalogs nicely, and purposely, to rescue us when winter gets to be to much. They start arriving as the days reach their shortest point in December and continue through the bleak blustery days of January. When the fertile soil of the garden is frozen rock solid and summer seems naught but a cruel dream, they arrive. Bright shiny pictures of vegetable plants and flowers and sun shine.

We will start to pour through them shortly. Comparing their offerings to what seeds we already have. My devoted gardener husband will chose the practical, the tried and true. I will chose multicolored tomatoes, purple carrots and grey pumpkins. With just one of every variety that looks so scrumptious in the bleak mid winter we will be planting far more than we can eat. But the excitement is at its highest point, all things seem possible during those cold dark days of dreaming.

This year, we tell ourselves, this year we will can more tomatoes and keep up with the okra. This year we will keep the weeds pulled and pickle some cucumbers. This year we will gorge our selves on sweet corn until we are sick with it. This year I will smush up the peas for baby food, for that matter I will make all our baby food fresh from the garden. We will cut our grocery bill in half by growing all our own food.

Soon it will be time. One more month. In February we will start the precious little seedlings. With careful water, heat and lighting they will  grow offering hope that spring is on its way.

I got yet another Christmas present today! First I got a new bale feeder for the horses. One that wont rub their manes off. Then we got a new light for Ellys bed room. All my Christmas presents from everybody else, too many to count. Now from my darling husband a box of hot chocolate.

What that doesn’t sound impressive? This isn’t just any old hot chocolate. This is special ordered form California. My absolute favorite kind. Not the kind that you drink ether. It is the Firecracker, a hand crafted dark chocolate bar with hot peppers that explodes in your mouth like pop rocks of old. Or as they put it rather more eloquently, “Sultry sea salt, smoky chipotle, and popping candy exploding in dark chocolate”. He followed that with the Spicy Maya Bar, which, according to them is “the perfect mix of sweet and seductive”. Yum, I am going to be so fat. I suppose I will have to share them with my dearest husband. He is after all the founder of the feast.

It makes me wish though that I had gotten him something. Anything at all really.

Poor guy.

I was looking at their web sight and I think I found next years present for my parents!  The maple bacon bar, because “every thing is better with bacon”.  I think I will stick to chocolate with hot peppers.

We were having fun.We had lots of presents. We liked them. We spent time with our family at my Grandmas. My favorite present was a sewing machine. I am sewing a blanket for my doll Petal. She likes it.

My brother got a yellow combine. My cousin, Burr, got a yellow loader. I got my other cousin, Ileana, a baby doll. My mom got Megan a horse book. (She loves it!) It was fun. Santa came and left me a note. He said Ava you are a good sister, you help your mom and dad at home. He brought me cooking stuff.

My brother and his wife recently purchased a new house. New to them only, as it is really quite old. In Algonquins historic district it was built in the late nineteenth century. Having fallen into disrepair it was affordable. They have done a beautiful job fixing it up, or so I hear, I would put up pictures but they never send me any. As with any old house it has its creaks and groans, all the character that over a hundred years of standing will instill in a building.

Late on Christmas night it greeted my brother. Out of the dark he heard it, a distant “Hello”.

Sitting in the dark he doubted his ears, like any mature adult he didn’t believe in something as silly as ghosts. Just as he was laying down attempting to return to sleep he heard it again from the depths of the night, “Hello”.

Being apparently much braver than I and still not believing what he heard he rose from his bed to investigate. Down the steep stairs he crept with the voice calling to him from below, “Hello”.

In the front of the house light from the street cast waving shadows through the big stained glass picture window. No one stood outside, no one was at the door. But he heard it again, “Hello”.

Dark corners seemed blacker in the heart of the house, as its floors creaked ominously. It whispered to him”Hello”.

Convinced it was a prank he tore through the darkened house from widow to window. Though he peered through the wavy glass, there was no one to be seen. Yet the eerie voice echoed again “Hello”.

Through the kitchen he swept, the search growing frantic, onto the back porch. Some joker had to be in the back yard, it must be their voice he heard, “Hello”.

Then, again, right behind him it rang out, loud from the inky blackness “Hello”.

The hair on his nape rose as he turned to confront this voice that had invaded his home. “Hello?”

There it lay. On the floor at his feet, its eyes sightlessly returned his horrified stare “Hello”.

His sons toy. Its earlier bath not healthy for electronics. As he held it in his hands it uttered again that word so threatening only moments before “Hello”.

So much for Ghosts, he thought with a grin, and returned its cheerful greeting,”Hello”.

Happy Birthday Justin!

Merry Christmas

May next year be every bit as good but with half the excitement.

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house not a creature was stirring not even a mouse. And well they should have been that night for the cats were well occupied.

The call came early that morn not even Christmas eve yet but rather Christmas morn. Fire! Was all that need be said, With no more than that he leapt out of bed. Not a cap was he wearing not even a stitch but he ran for the door crying “son of a …..!”.

Out side of the window he saw such a sight. Flames rose from the car alighting the night. The cat car was burning he saw to his fright. Fire shot in the air in such a horrible way, soon its neighbor the shed must in embers lay. The dark of the night so terribly cold made what came next a sight to behold. The hoses they froze they kinked and they broke, until a bucket was found the shed for to soak.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear but a great yellow payloader its bucket in the air. With a little old driver so solid and staid. I knew that finally he had come to our aid. With bucket he dove right into the flame. I could not help but admire the aim. Flames and all he lifted the car; he drove through the fence but he didn’t go far. Into the wheat field he drove in the night-payloader, shed and people still bathed in the light. Setting it down he backed slowly away little flames in the bucket still licking the hay.

Call the fire department and tell them we are done. Oh but wait it’s them here they come. They were dressed all in canvas from their head to their foot. And all their clothes were tarnished with ashes and soot. Their hoses were slung all over their backs they did not freeze, kink or crack.

They sprayed down the shed now charred black and cindered. They sprayed down the car though the tires they rekindled. The car mostly extinguished In ruins there lay. The cats no longer have a place to stay. Oh what a sad sad Christmas day.

No longer basking under the heat lamp would they lay.

That was such a sad Christmas morning The cats lay all in a heap deep in mourning. He looked at the sight of the cats filled with dread he knew his wife would allow no peace for his head, until he found the cats a nice new winter bed.

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work. He started his payloader and hefted it with a jerk. Laying a finger aside of his nose, he pulled a lever and the Cadillac rose.

He drove to the yard and there set it down, Right on top of last nights freshly charred ground. It was a car fit for a cat, for Christmas they got a light blue Cadillac.

But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

I am noticing some similarities in my favorites this year. Although I still love Trans Siberian I am really going for this  strongly instrumental, kind of blue grass, type music.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e1bx_uvzw9I

Every morning the Goblin Child and I sit on the couch as her devoted father gets ready for work. Morning is her favorite time of day. She giggles and smiles so glad to see people again after a long night alone and in eager anticipation of breakfast. Her father usually has a couple of minutes to spare before he has to leave. He will sit down with us and attempt to dote upon his daughter. He smiles at her and talks to her and she, well she looks very intently the other direction. He sticks his face directly in front of hers and she turns her head. He moves with her and she blocks turning the other way. Even when she holds her head still we can see her little eyes carefully turned aside.

The other morning he must have tried particularly hard. Something got through to her. I swear she jumped she was so startled to see this person in front of her. He had only been there for the last five minutes talking to her. Once she noticed him she was so glad to see him, she smiled and giggled so glad to see her father again after so long away.

I keep thinking that it is time to add a new category for the posts. Every story I have to tell about the small goblin child seems to involve poop. So short of a category titled poop I thought perhaps “Stories she will hate me for when she grows up”.

Catchy right?

I swore I wouldn’t be one of those moms who did nothing but sit around and tell poop stories. But here I am. Sad isn’t it? Most of my days are spent watching the goblin child, feeding her and changing diapers. I try to clean house, keep the dishes and laundry done, I tried some Christmas decorating but all of it is regularly interrupted to the point that nothing really gets done. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade it for any thing. I went back to work for a couple of days last week and as much as I enjoyed seeing old friends and talking to someone who can talk back, it drove me crazy being away from her.

All I’m saying is that I have nothing to write but poop stories.They are such impressive poop stories though. Usually all over her sweet loving father. Especially if he is up at four in the morning feeding her. One time they managed to cover him, the rocking chair and the carpet. But I will stop myself there. I think her diaper needs changed.