The Little Drummer Boy was my favorite animated Christmas show when I was a kid. That, and that other one, with Burl Ives singing “A Holly Jolly Christmas.” Wish I could remember the name of that one. I’ll have to Google it.
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Way later in the day, evening in fact…
We just watched one episode of Northern Exposure. Holling is experiencing mid-life crisis and retreats to his still, while Joel begins to feel isolated as the sole Jew in Cicely. Ed answers an ad in a magazine to find and film someone whose craft is part of a dying breed; he discovers and films Ira Wingfeather, last of the duck flute makers.
I love this show. The characters and situations are quirky. They say what’s on their minds, follow their whims, explore eccentric ideas and play out scenes of psychological oddness most would just keep to themselves. I’m hard pressed to pick a favorite—Chris, with his Jesus haircut and philosopher’s bent; Maggie, with her prickly personality and endearing bitchiness; Marilyn, quiet, a dry wit and powerful presence; Ed’s wide-eyed eagerness and native wisdom; and Adam and Eve, a psychopath and a hypochondriac; and narrow-minded doctor Joel.
We’re getting ready to watch the Piano-flinging episode. … And it was as good as ever.
Now I’m pooped. It’s cold out there—probably nearing the 16 degrees Yahoo said it would get to, and there is snow predicted for tomorrow evening. At this point rain is called for by Christmas, but that could all change. Or, not. I’ve gotten accustomed wearing my down vest around the house. At this point, we are heating pretty much solely with wood heat. We’re out of propane, and have been for months. There is a little space heater in our bathroom upstairs and one in DD’s room. When we finally do give in and buy oil, it’ll seem weird to once again have warm floors.
Our cat, during the first episode tonight, brought in a sizeable rat. It lay twitching and pulling itself along the carpet, finally lodging itself under the sofa. Its tail was quite long. After some minutes, and a moment when DS came bounding down the stairs, oblivious, having knocked a picture off the stairwell wall. We just found the glass on the carpet. It’s a wonder it didn’t break. DH dispatched the rat with some pliers. I don’t know where it ended up. The cat is still looking for it.
I’m still working on the Christmas letter, having forgotten to include our trip to San Francisco. I now have to squeeze that in, and pare down something else to get everything onto one piece of paper. I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again. A good lesson in revision, which I have strangely come to enjoy.