tis the season . . .

Christmas has sort of gotten away from me this year.  With horror I realized it was now the 20th and still I have not shopped.  My Christmas cards, although made, have not all been mailed . . .  some still sit forlornly on my desk, needing notes and addresses.  Even Christmas present ideas are elusive.  Only the tree is indicative of the season in this household. 

The 9TS is feeling the Christmas slump as well.  And he has put his foot down.  He has had enough.  "I am not going to Tampa for two days, the week before Christmas, and stay in a hotel."  And so it goes . . .

Kidlet is held up in her room working diligently on her father's Christmas present.  She should be up north with her friends but she chooses to be here.  No wonder I love her. 

So one would think with all this gloom and doom festering about the cave that things would be murky at best but they are not.  Joanie, faithfully walks with me four mornings a week.  Five now that yoga has stopped for the holidays.  We count turtles and walk in crisp cool air and chatter.  She is a good, good friend.

And then at lunch today, she and Nancy listen to me patiently when I know they are sorely tempted to roll their eyes at me and say, "Enough!", but they never do.

And after lunch, these friends of mine exchange presents.  Note again, I have not gone Christmas shopping . . . it was a rather one sided affair . . . but my feet are now ensconced in THE most amazing slipper pocket that vibrates and massages at the flick of a button.  Ah, they are sooooo happy.  Pippin, however is leery.  She approaches with caution but stops short of actually touching my now furry feet.

Joanie found me another reticulated cat for my mantle collection.  He is just purrfect.  She knows me so well.

But the best thing is that even though I am ill prepared for the season, they still extend the same friendship that they have for years.  They are still there.  Solid.  Strong.  Well appreciated and loved. 

And of course, what's a post without a little nugget of ineptitude.  Kidlet had been downstairs for quite a while.  Finally she trudges up with a plate of hard boiled egg centers . . . she only likes the white, which works fine by me, because I only like the yolks.  So there I am, leaning back against the pillows, laptop resting on my thighs, and I go to pop one of those cholesterol laden balls of goodness to my mouth . . . make it part way  . . .  before it explodes into tiny yellow shards, raining down on my chest, Bear's head, the bedspread and my keyboard.  Just call me klutz and be done with it.

The whole point is that with good friends, a good sloth, a good Kidlet and good intentions, it doesn't matter whether it is almost Christmas or not.  I have everything I need.  So there.