I made a shepherd’s pie. Something (or other) about flocks and night.

Cooking separate meals for everyone in the family is starting to get to me—mainly because at least one of the three people for whom I’m cooking has actually been known to cry at the table because she has no interest in even tasting what I’ve prepared. When that happens, I feel as if time has been wasted.

This evening I made a shepherd’s pie and biscuits. Two people ate shepherd’s pie and biscuits. One person ate part of a biscuit and less than three bites of shepherd’s pie. (That person will go to bed without a snack.) I ate biscuits, and am getting ready to dig into some roasted flaxseed and a pomegranate, which I may or may not share with the child who barely touched her dinner. Sometimes I wonder if Harper is on the road to vegetarianism. A friend of mine has a daughter who hasn’t eaten meat since she was six. I believe she’s seventeen now. Some people (most people, really) just aren’t designed to eat meat.


I have a cold. It’s the sort of cold that provides daggers for the throat and haze for the brain and an on and off increase in body temperature. Sadly, I had no time for this cold today. Instead, I drove back and forth to school four times, to Target once, and am probably getting ready to pick up a book at the library sometime in the next hour. Then again, I’m currently wearing my pajama pants, and those pajama pants are covered in cows who are sleeping on moons. It is my firm belief that one should not leave the house wearing pajama pants—especially if the pants in question might stir someone to look up and whisper “Hey, diddle diddle.”

The Christmas tree saga continues. This afternoon I hung the wreath that my mother made for our family. Immediately, Scout began to sing.

Speaking of singing, today’s Christmas tune is brought to you by David Mead. His latest album was released on November 15th, and his voice affects me the way Paul Simon’s voice affects me. It’s a warm Saturday morning waffle on a rainy day kind of voice. Nothing but good.

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Appius and Virginia and The Stealing of Thunder

Today was a bit tiresome for a number of reasons. BUT, beneath the dreck was a delicious lunch with friends. AND, this evening I’m taking time to figure out how to draw an amiable stack of pancakes and some jaunty jelly.

A few days back, my friend Summer asked the following:

“If you could pick any word or phrase to describe ‘life, as you know it currently’ and/or what you want or need in the coming year, what would the word or phrase be?”

I didn’t answer the question at the time, but I’ve been thinking about it ever since. I believe I want 2012 to be cool, tall, vulnerable, and luscious. How about you? ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Our milkman gave me a Christmas card this morning. Also, some milk.

Holiday Knitting Update: I finished the mitts for Meredith’s teacher and am now working on the second of three owl cozies that need to be completely done by the end of next week. I will then make a pair of fingerless mitts for Harper’s teacher. Knitting with deadlines drives me bananas, so today I did what anyone would do in this situation. I started a cashmere scarf for myself. It’s red.

This evening my kids have piano lessons, and tomorrow Harper has basketball practice and I have a PTO meeting as well as a social engagement. On Wednesday, I’m going to physical therapy, volunteering in Meredith’s classroom, and having lunch with a friend. The only thing written on the calendar for Thursday is Eggplant Parmesan 282. I’m not quite sure what the 282 is for, but I’m sure it will occur to me on Friday, which is the day I volunteer in Harper’s class, Meredith’s class, and attend a book sale with  Tempe. Saturday is Tuba Christmas, but I believe I’ll skip it this year to take the girls down to my folks’ house to bake Christmas cookies.

I need to wash towels. This morning I had to dry off with a washcloth, and it was a bit unpleasant.

I recently discovered that I love roasted flax seeds. Bonus: They keep my eyes from shriveling. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Are there penguins in Palestine?

I shared this tune with you a few years back on the morning that John Green met his demise in our front yard. We never did replace Mr. Green. (Can one actually replace a fallen hero—a hero who had suffered stab wounds on TWO separate evenings? I think not.)

Because she was starting to smell like a dog, yesterday we took Scout to the groomer.

Scout (aka "Christmas Princess")

She is now looking less like Dave Navarro and more like the subject of a Margaret Keane painting. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The way to live is Celebrate and Give.

It’s not necessarily a Christmas tune, and I won’t even begin to address the opening of the box. With that said, it’s XTC. When I was in high school, I recorded an XTC concert onto a VHS tape. I loaned it to a guy named Jason W. who kept “forgetting” to bring it back to me. He was a year older than me, and when he walked down the aisle at graduation (with my tape still at his house), I remember shaking my head and thinking, “There goes my XTC.” That was twenty four years ago. Because of Facebook, I now know that Jason is the owner of a really great salon in St. Louis. Meanwhile, I spend a lot of time listening to XTC albums and I’ll be spending part of today processing a chapter titled Eyelids, which is filled with photographs of animals who have eyeliddy things going on. The world keeps spinning and there are an infinite number of paths and Robert Fulghum and Richard Bach to all and good night.

Here’s another one of my favorites.

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