Christmas 2008 has been packed away in a special place amid my happiest memories. We celebrated the holiday with Starla and her family in Brownsburg Ind. Family and friends enjoyed a late breakfast.
Everyone enjoyed watching the Terry children, Avery and Piper, open their gifts and we adults shared an exchange. Grandmother Starla handcrafted a sizable, fully furnished Victorian dollhouse, a masterpiece for Avery Isabella. Shipping the very special gift from Arizona cost an arm and leg, but the house that love built arrived in good shape. Avery was in awe when she saw her grandmother's gift, as were we, a treasure to cherish for generations.
Piper, on the other hand, was observing her own age appropriate gifts. Fisher-Price knows how to teach and entertain a child. It was obvious that the girls had been very good all year, Santa delivered.
Friday, Paul worked a nine-hour shift at Sears. The day after Christmas always promises to be a busy time.
I began my routine and cleared out the remnants of Christmas past, the tree, decorations, tape and glitter stuck to the carpet. This old girl accomplished many tasks during my long day of aloneness, cleaned, baked and cooked. I was unusually tired. I won't mention what happened when the oil furnace belched or the work that followed.
Starla called to inform me that some members of the family, including her fell ill Christmas night. The symptoms were same as those of the stomach flu or perhaps something else could have befallen us. You know the unpleasant events that twist your dignity out of shape a run your tummy the wrong way.
I, at that time, was doing fine. A headache that met up with extra-strength Tylenol early on disappeared. Evening shadows began to fall and I carried on with my outside chores as usual.
Caesar, the adopted big city dog is very happy that he is now a part of our family. He wanted to play.
I spent some time coaxing our kitten, Trek, out of the hollowed out trunk that remains from the downed half of the giant catalpa tree. Gray, the domesticated feral cat would wait until his master, his trusted friend, arrived home to tuck him in.
I eyeballed the raspberry pie sitting on the cooling rack. I smelled the green beans, corn and jowl bacon resting in a pot on the back burner.
I knew Paul would appreciate and enjoy the fried chicken. In case you haven't guessed already, that little dickens has been spoiled rotten, 51 years and counting.
Around 7 p.m., as piercing as a gunshot in the gut, "the bug" hit me front and center. I spun out of control. My dizzy dome was out of kilter. Oh my, I was shaking like a dog fresh out of ice water. The food didn't look so good and the mirror told my story. Well on the road to dehydration, I sought the couch. I was experiencing frequent pop-ups like our old two-slice toaster. Two covers failed to warm me up.
I fumbled with the Heat Surge's remote, brought about the heat and glow and thanked God for the Amish. I wondered how Paul was doing.
9 p.m., rolled around and Paul called on his cell, as per routine, to inform me that he was headed home. He said that he was so tired. I worried about him. I fretted about the traffic on Interstate-70, all of it along the route home. The tired commuter arrived home safely, but by the time Gray was secured and bedded down for the night, "the bug" was consuming Paul Baby, as well. The resident repairman changed out the nozzle on the furnace and my observant husband commented on how fresh the utility room smelled and the pretty curtain. Neither of us wanted the food. It was a long night.
Saturday, the dependable employee of Sears called in, to sick to face the challenges of the new day.
Today is Sunday and we are slowly getting back to normal.
Still, the taste buds are lazy and boiled water doesn't hit the spot, but we capped off the down spouts and drainage ditches and that's dup blessings.
It looks as if you will have to put up with me a while longer. I'm recharging now. As my dad would say, "I'm shaking it off." Paul is feeling much better too.
Last week, I asked my readers for a good peanut butter fudge recipe I am happy to report, the response was overwhelming. Thanks to all. Each of you is special, as will be your recipes as time goes on.
Have you grabbed up your 2009 calendars? I need to pick up some of those tabular registers. The New Year is headed our way. The 2009 seed catalogs are close at hand.
Hopefully January and the remainder of winter will be kind.
I wish everyone the best in the forthcoming year. Keep smiling and think positive. I can be reached at 446-4852 or drop me a line to 613 N. Elm St., Brazil, Ind., 47834 or by email at firstname.lastname@example.org.