Santas on Cycles
They traversed the city in packs all day long on Saturday. I saw them first in the morning, and I figured, a Jingle Bell Bike Ride or a fundraiser of sorts. But after running errands for a good part of the day and then finally heading home, I caught glimpses of Santas still peddling about in clusters, nodding to passers-by. I tried following them, but just as I pulled up to a stoplight, they rounded the corner and disappeared down the block. A mile later, they showed up again, only to slip down a side street. Santa. Always elusive, but ever present. And tough to capture on film.
Fizzle, fumble, drop crack spill
Sounds of my Christmas season so far. The lights on the Christmas tree went out minutes before I hung the last ornament. The garland let loose two days after I tucked its ends nicely into a corner. It continues to taunt me, shifting and slipping and inching its way to unruly. Cleaning the bathroom last weekend, I broke a tiny snow globe with a miniature Santa inside, who waved to me as he went down the drain. That was not a good sign.
Then, when a simple sewing project turned into a thread-breaking, table-banging, curse word-slinging ordeal, I looked around for the Grinch. He’s out there, snickering, and now he’s messing with my sewing machine. I wonder, do you think he likes Sugar cookies? We have a few freshly decorated (during which the bottle of sprinkles suspiciously got knocked over), and there’s a hot little number of the Gingerbread kind who might capture his attention. At least for the next few days. She does have green hair, after all, and she’s smothered in chocolate sprinkles.
Felicity and Paolini
What brings me back to center, even after several Holiday blunders is reading. Our bedtime ritual with the kids consists of time together with a good book. That’s not necessarily different from any other parent. But as my kids both grow older (my son is turning ten soon!), sharing a book together becomes even more special.
Right now, my daughter is into Felicity, the independent and spirited American Girl who grows up just before the Revolutionary War. The name Felicity means happiness, and I am happy we are reading about someone other than Barbie.
My son and I are reading Eragon. This particular book came from the library and was a magical find. We had talked about the book, searched the online catalog for it, hunted the shelves to find it, and didn’t see it anywhere. Just after we settled on a substitute and were ready to leave the library, he saw it on a random shelf, the cover barely hanging on. We snagged it, and I said, “This book has been well-loved and well-read. Or, dropped in a puddle.” Either way, it carries an air of mystery. He’s loving the story, too, and recently said, “It’s too bad we can’t stay up all night and read the whole book at once.”
That’s good stuff.
What’s your story this week?