End of the Year, [almost]

December, you knocked my socks off and had me in heels.
We went to an amazing surprise holiday party, planned by great pals for a great friend. I wore heels for the very first time. Proms, weddings (even my own) I’ve worn fancy flip flops. Really. My talented friend, Joan, took a pic of my nothing-says-holiday-elf-hooker-holiday-shoes-like-these green velvet ones. Smitten. If I had a mantle, I’d place them there. Luke wore the suit we were married in; cutie. Under my vintage sweater was a little black satin dress with lace. I needed three champagne cocktails until I had the courage to prance around in it. December, you’ve taught me to walk in heels for the first time. I vacuumed in them, cooked and stepped and practiced and played hide-and-seek.

Photos by Joan Benney. I first met Joan when she took the stunning backdrop projection photographs for my last play. This girl’s got skills. Check out her website.


Every time I sit to post, a windstorm knocks out power, a babe awakes from a nap, a fever spikes, an oven-timer chimes, a stomach-flu hits. On and on it goes. As time away from posting passes, so does a realization of routine. I’ve forgotten how to juggle life at home with a pen or keyboard in hand; I don’t remember how to upload photos and unload the dishes. I’m back up on that horse.
Still, I can say each person in our home has a new knitted stocking with their name on it. Except a meow and a woof one for our pets. Sigh. Maybe next year. Still, I can say, I spent thirty hours sewing gifts, traveled to Whistler, B.C for a week’s ski trip and I’ve revised my current play more times than I can count.
Good ‘ol family down-time in the early dark days of winter; we’ve hiked, sled, baked, napped, read, painted, dressed dolls.
Currently: I’m uploading photos to Photobucket, so I loaded these the old Blogger way. I’m figuring out my new dslr camera from Santa and, I just didn’t want to post photos with a well, where do I start it’s been 28 days since my last post neon-blinking sign in front of me. So here’s an stream-of-consciousness post.
[written on a paper towel]
Tuesday 1:37 P.M
Girls’ Great Grandma Marge’s apron doubles as my super hero cape. With my trusty vintage Kitchen-Aid mixer, I can have two loafs of bread ready to rise in under fifteen minutes. All the while my middle babe battles a yucky stomach bug. I know she’ll want toast when her tummy settles. Poor thing. She asked Santa for a “not wool” squirrel and, currently, he lives in our Christmas tree no one wants me to take down. She’s asleep mere inches from the bathroom door, on the tree skirt of course, sleepily watching over her new brown baby squirrel.
More to come. Promise.

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