That's Ms. CoCo Chanel, AKA "the Upper East Side bitch", in the picture above. She's postively exhausted after being on guard all day, protecting the humans from themselves, being especially careful to fret over the Grandbabies while being "on call" to clean up anything that dropped from the counters onto the kitchen floor.
Above and to your right is Mr. Lenny Bruce Brisco, held in the loving arms of our Ms. Mia.
He's usually absolutely undone by her love, and you can't hear him, but he was actually snoring when I took this picture.
I greeted Ms. Conroy in the bathroom earlier this morning. Well, "greet" is a relative term, isn't it? As I recall through the post-carbohydrate haze, we sort of made a mostly pleasant sound in each other's general direction - somewhere between a grunt and an actual 'good morning', but not exactly either.
I have a few wonderful memories that lighten my steps this morning:
The first is our "grace" before the meal. We usually go round the table and each person says one thing for which they are thankful.
Her sister, Ms. Mackie, who is eight and a real Thanksgiving Day veteran, was a bit different. She understands the process now. She said she was thankful for 'Clara' - her white pet bunny - who loves, loves, LOVES bananas as a special treat, sez Mackie.
Finally, it was Ms. Abbi's turn. Without missing a beat, she half-whispered, "I thankful for hugs from my family."
I was as delighted by her response as I was amazed at her ability to have "gotten" the process.
"Wow!" she gasped, "You have a wace cahr!" Then she squealed delightedly and clapped her hands, "I'm widding in a wace cahr!"
I think my favorite moment came much later, as Ms. Mackie was playing a mean game of scrabble at the dinning room table, before dessert.
She was "pwaying" with two of her favorite toys - a large stuffed frog and a small stuffed Canada goose - and engaging them in very whimsical but rather intense conversation.
"Mmm, Abbi," I said, in an attempt to mimic the whimsy of her voice, "I don't think Canada geese talk to frogs."
She stopped dead in her tracks and looked at me, startled and then rather pensive for a few moments. She turned back to her play and said, "Well, they do when I pway with them.
I have no doubt. No doubt at all.
While the rest of God's people rush off to celebrate Black Friday, I've determined that I am NOT going shopping. Not today. Not me. No sir. No way.
I'm just going to sit here and bask in the glow of yesterday's celebration.
I am very, very thankful.
Yes, indeed, I am.
20 comments:
I NEVER shop on Black Friday. I avoid all malls and shopping centers. I refuse to buy into the craziness.
What a lovely account! And I have not heard (ok read!) the term postprandial since I used to hang around with a bunch of Dominican friars.
Postprandial comes from my old nursing school days. I was amazed when I learned that it's a common term in monastic communities, too.
I don't even buy online on Black Friday.
Gee, I use the word "postprandial" all the time...duh.
Also, when I have just finished one of my rare angry volcanic moments, I refer to it as "post-icteric" (as in having a "seizure fit" of anger, LOL)
Two things:
1. I have this vision of you and the beloved grandchild in the "wace car" and you going, "Now, honey, that car over there? That's a MINIVAN MOM. Minivan moms are bad, and we always have to get past them in the wace car, ok?"
2. Of course Canada geese talk to frogs! How could you ever EVER doubt such a thing? Sheesh.
Well, Doc, her mother drives a mini van. Apparently, one can't be Brownie Troop Leader without one. They do lots of 'field trips'. So, no, we don't say anything about mini-vans - whether or not we're in the 'wace cahr'. I have no doubt, however, that there is a 'wace cahr' in their mother's future.
Sonds as if you had a wonderful celebration. I'm with you ... NEVER shop on Black Friday!
I am praying that your daughter ditches the minivan as soon as her earthly responsibilities to things like Scouts, sports, and band are over...that it is merely an acquiescence to her life stage in rearing your grandchildren.
Yea, though I walk in the valley of the shadow of minivan death...
Elizabeth, it seems you had a lovely day. You tell the nicest family stories.
My daughter and her boys stayed overnight, but they've now gone home. Grandpère's gone a-hunting (Sorry anti-hunters, but remember I am not a hunter!) and I'm alone in peace and quiet, which ain't bad at all.
Well, Mimi, I have the best family. Well, next to yours of course.
GP is hunting, eh? Well, let's just be thankful he didn't go with Dick Chenney.
Elizabeth, what Cheney was doing is not hunting. The game are moved into range on a preserve and are sitting ducks or deer, or whatever they are hunting. The game have no chance in that type of hunt, and there's no sport in what the hunters do. GP and my boys despise that type of so-called hunting.
Wow. I didn't know that. Really? Unbelievable. And, disgusting.
Which raises a question: If it's that easy to shoot a "game animal" which is brought into range on a preserve, how in the heck did he shoot a human being in the face?
Never mind. Must have been a classic case of "dumb and dumber."
Sheesh!
Plus, there were rumors that drinks were served at the pre-hunt meal. Booze and guns don't mix.
Never have, never will.
Remove the guns, add racial tensions and you got yourself the so-called Beer Summit.
Have we heard any more about that?
The cops did not give Cheney a breath test. All kinds of fixes happened with this incident, including the victim apologizing to Cheney for getting the way of his gun.
I followed this story closely, because I've been criticized for eating the game that my family kills. I feel better about eating the game than about the meat wrapped in plastic from the supermarket. At least the animals roamed free before they were killed. Unless the person is a vegetarian, I ignore the criticism.
Good for you. My vegetarian daughter tells me that "vegetarian' is Native American for "lousy hunter."
Today, we have a soccer tournament. The only purchases were those essential so we can feed the Boy after his 2 games. 18 years old + six feet tall + 2 soccer games = requires large caloric intake.
Heh: after dinner yesterday, I worked off MY "Postprandial slump" (hadn't heard that term before), by taking a walk...
...taking a walk WITH (on a leash) a 109 lb. St. Bernard "puppy" (seriously, the dog is only 5 months old)! Good boy, Max! :-D
The dog belongs to the brother of my good friend Skittles, whose family is kind enough to take in lil' Michigan orphan Moi.
A Blessed Advent to all!
IT - Oh, I remember it well.
JCF - We actually took a great 20 minute walk after dinner and before dessert.
Didn't help. Perhaps if we had taken a puppy with us. As it was, we had an 8 year old and a 3 year old. Good, but not as good as a puppy.
It's so close to Advent, you can almost smell the pine.
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