Catherine has exhibited of late a great and childlike fascination with the magical power of mistletoe. The very idea that you can steal a kiss just by standing under a curious piece of green plastic has driven her silly. “DAAAddeeee! Look where you’re STANDinnnnnng!” Sure enough, there would be some of the greenery around--at the doorway of Grandmom’s house; in the decorations aisle at Wal-Mart; held in her chubby little hand--“YOU have to KISS me!”

Much giggling ensues. (On her part.)

Anyway, we were coming back home from church this yesterday morning, driving along in relative peace enjoying one of those postcard midwinter days--sun slanting brightly through the trees and a sky so-blue that writers use it as a simile to describe other blue things. Every twig, every branch of every tree stood out in sharp relief. Just gorgeous. And, of course, there were great honking wads of mistletoe in all the trees--bright shiny green hordes. It grows around here like the woody parasitic evergreen plant that it is. (Some folks still eek out a few dollars every year gathering it, the preferred method of collection being the use of a .410 shotgun to dislodge the clumps of growth.)

As part of my charge to instill knowledge in my progeny, I felt duty-bound to point out this bounty of REAL mistletoe to the tyke most taken with it. “Cat--look out there at all the mistletoe in the trees!”

“WHERE, DADDY!?”

I’m sure she was expecting little sprigs of plastic stuck in Styrofoam balls. “Look out there at the trees that don’t have any leaves. All those big clumps of green up in the tops are mistletoe.”

“Oohhhhh.”

“Look, Daddy, there’s some! And there’s some!”

“Mm-hm.”

“OOH, there’s some, too, Daddy!”

We drove on for a bit as she fell back into a silence, and then she piped up again.

“Daddy?”

“Hm?”

“If you was out in the forest, and you was under one of them trees with the mistletoes, and there was someone there with you, would you have to kiss them--even if it was a stranger?”

“Ah, well, I can tell you if it was a boy I SURE wouldn’t kiss him.”

“What about if it was a GIRL?”

“Oh, maybe. But she’d have to be REALLY good looking.”

At this quip, I sensed a renewed interest in the conversation from my co-pilot, who, up until this moment, had been engaged in reading a paperback novel and enjoying the comforts of her new back massage seat cushion (provided to her by the pilot).

“You mean, she’d have to be prettier than MOMMY!?”

“Oh, no, Sugar--NO one’s as pretty as your Mama!”

Home run, baby.

I managed to get both the exasperated eye-roll that comes from being assaulted with blarney, AND the shy shoulder-shrug that comes with mushy flattery. She kept on reading, and in a barely audible aside, I heard her say, “You got lucky on that one, Mister.”

Indeed so.

It has been a wonderful Christmas this year--a bit too much to get all down in one short blog post. Or several. Much merriment and Santafication for all.

Tonight has been the first night I’ve had much of a chance to even get near a computer (aside from some furtive quick intrusions between the normal intensity of keeping up with four kids), and you see what time it is. I promise to get back in the swing of things come Tuesday when I get back in the office. Yep--I’m still going to be on hiatus today, such as it is. Laundry, cleaning up the explosion of boxes and papers in the den, helping a certain mistletoe enthusiast paint a small ceramic box, driving various electric remote-control vehicles, questing about for batt’ries, and trying to get geared back up for coming back to work on Tuesday. Blech.

Many thanks to all of you who STILL dropped by the past week, even though there was nothing much to see. Your continued patronage is greatly appreciated, and I promise you your patience will be rewarded with grand tales of Life Along the Pinchgut. But not until tomorrow. And then not all at once or else you might get a blogache.

Anyway, until Tuesday sometime.
posted by Terry at 12:18:00 AM