Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Friday, December 17, 2004

Last night was another one of those long ones--I had my little zoning board meeting to attend, and the agenda was much longer than usual due to the fact that we didn’t have a quorum last month. SO, everything got moved to this one, and then there were all the other folks. Anyway, that wasn’t supposed to start until 7:00, so I had a minute or two at the house before I had to leave. Walked in to see supper getting underway (homemade beef stew--mmmm) and Reba (mmm) busily chopping up stuff with a knife. I very carefully notified her of my intent to briefly molest her, and after that was done successfully, I got caught up on her day, which likewise had already been a long one.

Cat came wandering by and I asked how her presentation had gone in class. “Fine.” She certainly was a cutey when she left yesterday morning--as I mentioned, their project had been to research the way Christmas is celebrated in different countries, and she got Ireland. She had a couple of books she looked at and found a couple of sentences that she thought would work. Being seven, she’s still not quite up on the concept of a research paper, so I punched them up a little and she colored a picture she drew all by herself. I also printed out her some song lyrics. As part of her presentation, she decided she was going to sing Danny Boy (yes, she knows it’s not a Christmas song, and it’s Irish only in the sense that people think of it as being Irish, but she likes it). She’s been practicing all week.

Anyway, we got all of her stuff done, and as I mentioned before we got her soda bread baked (again, not necessarily a festive Christmas thing, but at least a bit more authentic than her song), and bright and early yesterday morning she decided she was going to wear her green plaid skirt. This was paired up with a little white turtleneck and her nice church shoes. She was cute as a button. As for the presentation, it apparently went pretty well, although I think her teacher read part of it for her. She DID get to sing her song, though, and after finally getting her to say something other than “fine,” she said she did it really nicely. The only drawback was that for some inexplicable reason (ostensibly due to some concern about germs) but after giving everyone a small sample, her teacher threw away her loaves of soda bread! Grr. I can understand all the kids probably grubbed all over the bread with their icky hands, but still, that was a lot of food to waste. Even if we had fed it to the birds it would have been better than wasting it like that. ::sigh::

Whatever. I gathered up her books to drop off at the library and got my papers for the meeting and gave Miss Reba a little Christmas goose on the way out the door. Meeting, one hour, blessedly non-controversial, on over to the library, dump books in book return box, and then ON TO SAM’S. I had to pick up some food for our office Christmas party today--pecan pie and vegetable tray--and I had to go get some bargain-priced gasoline in Reba’s car.

Did that, on to home, had a bowl of stew, refereed some sort of conflict occurring along the border of the upstairs bathroom and the hallway (sporadically heavy small arms fire that dissipated upon my arrival), watched the High Drama of who would be chosen as the next Tyro (proudly may I note that this is the first episode I have watched all season), and then time for getting to lie down on the bed for a few brief moments to enjoy the FREE copy of Hemmings I had received in the mail. The only thing better than Hemmings is a free one, you know. Nodded off after looking at two pages, and decided it was time to go to bed.

Up again today, to another conflict with Tiny Terror, who wanted to wear her pajamas to school. They were having Pajama Day. You know, I really wish they would quit having Pajama Day--at the elementary, the middle, and the high school. Maybe I’m just old fashioned, but I just can’t quite get past the sense that pajamas aren’t appropriate wear in a pedagogical setting, even if you are having The Polar Express read to you. So, tears. Wailing. Muleyness. Obduracy. And finally, pajamas removed and replaced with jeans and a Strawberry Shortcake tee-shirt.

Yet another victory won through superior firepower.

And now?

Well, I’m finishing up my Christmas meal. In a surprising turn of events, no collards were brought this year. Chicken fingers, some salads, my vegetable tray, some green bean casseroles, assorted nuts (including some who were NOT of the human variety), some cheeses (none of them particularly challenging, however) desserts (including my pecan pie, that I made a surprise attack on while everyone else was distracted with the food food).

The crap I got from Sam’s was horrid. The broccoli in the vegetable tray tasted like it had been left in a truck at the Mexican border and then sat on by various in-smuggled construction workers. Of course, the biggest disappointment was the pecan pie. The innards were okay, but the crust was about like eating kapok. Blech.

I think I’ve got to go make a phone call, if you know what I mean.

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