Sunday: Drink

A gift from Ethel made from wood salvaged from a local restaurant renovation. Because she loves me, and because she knows my word for this year is "drink."

Joining Deidra's Sunday Community:

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year To Be Lucy and Ethel

Mama always says, "Don't wear your bedroom slippers to the shopping mall."

But Mama's wisdom doesn't necessarily apply during Christmas. Especially when you've got some brand new jingling elf slippers:

And you're on your way with Ethel to get your annual Santa picture taken:

But I'm getting ahead of myself. First we had to have lunch and exchange gifts. And nothing quite sets the tone for a Christmas gift exchange like a retro diner which serves 26-inch hotdogs:

Over the years, Ethel and I have adorned ourselves for our photos with some fairly ridiculous accessories: reindeer antlers, elf hats, feather boas. This year, after reading an ebook about practicing Advent, we decided to deck ourselves in purple. Yep, all day I was a long, cool, walking Advent pillar, and so was Ethel (although she's not nearly as long). All day we engaged in our own little secret Advent conspiracy.

Because writer Anne Lamott said, "You don't always have to chop with the sword of truth. Sometimes you can point with it, too."

So we walked around all day bearing witness to the Source of ridiculous joy. And the amazing thing we discovered was: Once you know what you're looking for, you start seeing evidence of it everywhere:

Ethel gave me the most fantastically amazing handmade gift of love:

She saw a picture in a catalog of a sweater beaded in peacock feather patterns and thought to herself, "I can do that." And so she did. God has gifted my friend with amazing creativity and mad art skills.

I gave Ethel ice cube molds in the shape of false teeth. Because I'm classy like that. And because I know that someday, when we live next door to one another in a nursing home, she's the kind who's always going to be stealing my teeth. And I look forward to growing old and ever more ridiculous with my friend.

Then she opened the elf slippers. And we were on our way:

We like to believe we add a little joy to Santa's life, making the season more merry and bright for everyone:

For it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child himself.

Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

Happy Advent and Merry Christmas from Lucy and Ethel!

Linking our Advent playdate with Laura @ The Wellspring:

And, even though this may not have been what she had in mind, with Charity @ Wide Open Spaces who is hosting an Advent community writing project for The High Calling:

Chesterton, Lucy, Ethel, and Santa: The story of how our tradition began

Discovering Advent: E-book by Mark D. Roberts

The Heart and Voice of a Friend

It was the first time I’d heard her voice.

We’d met, through words and pictures on each other’s’ blogs. I first started blogging by posting a weekly gratitude list and linking it with Ann Voskamp’s community. I knew absolutely nothing about the rules of etiquette governing blog world. On Ann’s site I saw thumbnails, small pictures linking to the gratitude posts of others, lists each had made of weekly thank offerings. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to read and comment on others’ lists; if it was nosy or creepy or stalkerish to do so. But I did. I looked through the thumbnails and at the other blog titles and found one called Curious Acorn. I figured whoever chose that title must have been some kind of marketing genius. The curious word choice drew me in. Is the writer curious about acorns? I wondered. Or, is the blog about acorns that are curious? That doesn’t make any sense.

So of course I clicked. And I made my very first internet friend.

I met Jodi, an artist. And, as a left-brained, linear-thinking, spreadsheet-loving gal, I can tell you that very little of the way artists process life makes any sense to me.  And I think I’m only beginning to realize how desperately I need them in my life. I just don’t let them do the math when we’re eating out somewhere and it’s time to calculate the tip.

Despite our differences, I found a kindred spirit in this artist girl I’d never met. We love the same movies, we laugh at the same things. She is the Diana Barry to my Anne Shirley in the same way my friend Ethel from real life is the madcap counterpart to my zany Lucy.

How is it I’m always the redhead?

Anyway. Jodi and I have walked through similar pain in our lives. We’ve prayed for one another and for the other’s family. We love the same Jesus. So when I realized I would be in her neighborhood for The Relevant Conference, I dared to ask if I could come and meet her.

Come hungry, she said.

An early October snowstorm moved in during the course of the conference, disrupting and delaying travel plans for many. I called Jodi to update her on my plans and let her know when to expect me. And I heard her voice for the first time.

I found my way to the home of the Curious Acorn; I met Jodi and her family. She told me the stories behind the pictures on her refrigerator. She introduced me to her grandbabies. She spoke in a calm, quiet, deep, soothing voice; one like an NPR voice but without all the smugness.

I saw the famous chalkboard pantry door from pictures on Jodi’s blog. She wasn’t kidding when she’d told me to come hungry. She fed me well; she nourished my soul.

On a sideboard next to the table she’d written words she’d asked the Father to give her, words just for me:

If it’s possible for a house to breathe peace, Jodi’s does.

Most parents, I imagine, are as concerned as I am about the amount of time their children spend on the internet, and rightfully so. We warn our children about its dangers; we tell them not to reveal personal things to strangers. We encourage them to get outdoors, to embrace life in the beauty of God’s good creation. I believe God made us embodied spirits and placed us in particular places in space and time. We have been created for community and intended to reflect God to our neighbors. We are to inhabit the places we live.

I can’t quite make sense of what is happening in my life, in and through the strange reality of blog world, but something is. One of the speakers at Relevant asked, At what time in history can we go and make disciples around the world while in our pajamas and in our living rooms? I seldom know what is going on in the lives of people on the other side of this screen, those who are reading the words I’ve tapped out. I tell my stories, I get to know people; God is doing something. That’s all I know.

As I was loading up my car to leave, Jodi packaged up some of her fancy homemade gingerbread for me for the drive home. Who does something like that?

A kindred spirit. A real friend. A sister.

(The state of Connecticut is, once again, experiencing widespread power and internet outages. Linking late with Laura and L.L.

And with Jen and the sisterhood:

How Art Hurts. And Heals.

Down the hill from the lodge at the retreat center sat an art studio, staffed for the weekend by the artist-in-residence. We were invited, during free time, to come and play in the studio, to learn techniques and dabble with papers and brushes and paint. The artist talked of creating a project for others who had been on retreat; businessmen for whom the world of art supplies and creation was a foreign land. She had invited them, as those who hadn’t seen themselves as artists, to venture into the world of creativity. She called us to come and play as they had.

“I’m a Type-A person,” I told the artist. “I like lists, and schedules, and structure.” I told her of trying to do art with my friend Ethel, she who created beauty with child-like abandon and joy while I carefully counted sequins and beads and double-checked instructions. The artist dared me to be brave, to come down to the studio and play.

I wandered down the hill, found a place at the table, and sat myself on a tall stool. The artist demonstrated dry brush, wet-on-wet, and crayon resist painting. She suggested that we, as writers, add words to our work, inviting us to write using our non-dominant hands. On the wall were posted samples to inspire creativity and the words, “Give yourself permission to play.” Surrounded by every kind of art supply I could imagine, I was free to play and explore, to wander way outside the boundaries of my comfort zone and create.

And I felt like I was in prison.

I watched as others circulated through the room, considering and collecting scraps of paper and supplies, arranging and re-arranging their designs. They tried things, saw possibility, made changes; adapted. Soft music played as laughter filled the studio. I looked at the others and then looked at the paints and papers before me. I tried something. I tried something else. I couldn’t make sense of what was in front of me. I l watched the others at play and tried to imitate. Nothing looked right. I saw no beauty. I had no way to judge my efforts, to tell if anything I was doing was any good.

My heart began pounding; my breathing shallowed. Feeling hot and dizzy and trapped, I began to imagine myself toppling over from my tall stool and doing a face-plant in a puddle of Gesso.  I walked away from the studio leaving my art project behind.

I walked away from this foreign land, this place where I couldn’t make sense of the language and the rhythms and the customs. In that studio, I tasted the life of an artist, a musician, a dreamer; one who had grown up trying to make sense of a world governed by lists, and schedules, and structures.

And it made me want to say, “I’m so sorry.”

Joining Laura @ The Wellspring:

And L.L. Barkat @ Seedlings in Stone:

 

A Most Eccentric Un-birthday Giveaway!

This is the big one:



Next week, I celebrate the big one--Nancy 5-0. On August 11, 2011, I become officially eccentric.

Go ahead, smirk to yourselves; I'll wait. I know what you're thinking:

And, until now, just what exactly HAVE you been?

Practicing. I've merely been practicing. And now I get to own it,utterly and completely. I'll be a middle-aged, gray-haired, eccentric woman who says and does the most outrageous things. In public. Without apology.

And how does one celebrate such an occasion appropriately? Well, one doesn't. But Ethel and Rock star-diva girlfriend have some big plans for me. There will be shenanigans.

I also want to invite you to join in celebrating with me. How? By giving stuff away, of course! Because if you have never learned anything from the marvelous writings of  Lewis Carroll, learn this: Although you celebrate your birthday only one day a year, there are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might get un-birthday presents. And, as Humpty Dumpty says to Alice, "There's glory for you!"

So here's my plan: I'm going to spend my birthday celebrating un-birthdays by giving things away. Throughout the day I'm going to give gifts to random people while wishing each a happy un-birthday. At the end of the day, I imagine I will have stories to tell. 

And I'm inviting you to join me. Between today and my birthday (August 11), help me celebrate by giving something away to someone--anyone. You may wish someone a happy un-birthday if you like, or simply say you're giving stuff away because some crazy old gray-haired lady on the internet asked you to. If you have the opportunity to say that the gospel is a free gift of God's grace, by all means, go for it.

Be creative. Pick up the tab for someone's Starbucks. Hand a bottle of cold water to a stranger. Pass along an heirloom you know would be meaningful to someone in your family. Share an old family story. Visit someone who needs the gift of time. Send a donation to a charity you've been meaning to support. Dig into your re-gifting closet, wrap something up, and hand it to someone completely at random. (Don't even think about rolling your eyes at me about the whole re-gifting thing. You know you do it).

Then come back here, leave a comment, and tell me what happened. Or, if it's a really great story, write a blog post and link it to my Facebook page. On August 12, I will be selecting one winner from among all who leave comments, and then guess what?

I'll be giving away another un-birthday present!

I'll send the winner a gift card from Kiva, an organization that absolutely rocks my socks. Kiva works with microfinance partners around the world, making loans to entrepreneurs in an effort toward alleviating poverty. That means I'll be giving away something which, if you win it, will enable you to give even more away. How much fun is that?

Through Kiva, loans are repaid by the small business owners who receive them. The current repayment rate is 98.79%. If you make a loan through Kiva, you will receive that money back. You can then either re-invest your money, helping another entrepreneur through Kiva, or use it to to download I-Tunes. Buy more farm animals for your Facebook game. Whatever you want.

I might pick a winner at random by pulling a winner out of a hat. I might spend a few hours on Google trying to figure out how a random number generator works. I might just choose the person whose story makes me laugh so hard that coffee squirts out my nose. I might be more likely to choose you if you click the box on the right and become a follower of this blog, follow me on Twitter, or Like me on Facebook (or leave me a comment saying you already do).

I make no promises. That's the thing with eccentric people--you never know what they'll do. Or why.

I may I wish you all a very, merry, happy, un-birthday! (Unless of course it's your birthday also then, never mind)

(In case anyone is wondering--I receive no compensation whatsoever for promoting Kiva. I'm just doing this because I like the organization, and doing this makes me outrageously happy! )

Gleanings

Not enough each for a blog post each, but too fun to keep to myself:

One night last week, I went for a walk after dinner and saw a little girl standing on her front porch eating a sandwich. She was looking at a fenced-in area of her front yard which held probably a dozen black Labrador puppies. I could see the momma lab superintending from inside the front door. I stopped and said, “You have a lot of puppies,” and the little girl smiled big. There are few things sweeter in life than a little girl with a sandwich and a yard full of Labrador puppies.

I have a friend who got a pair of zebra finches for his birthday. He named them The Winklevi (after the obnoxious twins from The Social Network). That made me smile.

While floating together in the pool last week, Ethel said, “We’re quickly reaching that point where we’re going to start stealing each others' false teeth.”

Last week, Ethel taught me the correct way to make pinwheels. Turns out I’ve been doing it wrong all my life. If you insert beads on each end of the pin, they act like bearings and the pinwheel will actually spin. Who knew? I think it’s some sort of science thing.

Ethel also hosted a Mary Kay party this week—it was a good Ethel week. We exfoliated and moisturized, and afterward our skin felt luminous. Maybe the products really are nothing but snake oil, but I have profound respect for the bravery of a woman doing what she needs to in order to support her family, and I was happy to offer her my gleanings. Afterward, I had a lot of fun thinking about the words exfoliate and luminous.

I came home and asked the beloved Swede if my skin looked luminous. He said, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to respond when you ask me if you look voluminous.” That man is just so lucky I love him.

Happy 4th of July weekend. Let's all celebrate independence together!

For lack of attention, a thousand forms of loveliness elude us every day. -- Evelyn Underhill

Chasing the loveliness like a child chasing a kite:

967. Beach-side birthday celebrations.
968. Salt air
969. Sand.
970. Husband who says, "Go! Enjoy! Soak it all in!"
971. A joy shared IS a joy doubled.
972. Ending the day with a blue slushie, because it was just that kind of day.
973. Children pretending to be in Narnia.
974. Corn and black bean salsa.
975. Getting the student loan forms submitted.
976. Zinnias.
977. Exciting news about a dear friend.
978. Second interviews.
979. Sunday morning breakfast on the deck.
980. Family gatherings in the park.
981. Gift from Ethel that makes me laugh harder than I have in years.
982. Sitting poolside with the beloved Swede until the bats come out at night,
983. This: "God gives, God takes. God's name be ever blessed." Job 1:21, The Message

Further Adventures of Lucy and Ethel

When God gives you a friend like Ethel, you're going to want to celebrate her birthday.

You'll probably want rock-star diva girlfriend to join you in getting your toenails painted all fancy.

 There may need to be mimosa which, as everyone knows, always taste better when served in plastic Christmas glasses.

If Ethel's birthday falls on the one day of the week it isn't raining, you'll probably want to take her and her fancy toenails to the beach. Along the way, you might see a sign like this:

And then you'll have no choice but to stop and eat hot, buttered lobster rolls.

 When you've had enough sun, you might want to walk through the nearby gardens. There, you might find children pretending to be Eustace and Jill because they think they're in Narnia.

And if you take Ethel to the beach on her birthday, you're probably going to want to give her a kite.

And if you give Ethel a kite, she's going to want to run with it.

And if you take Ethel and her fancy painted toenails to the beach on her birthday and give her a kite and she runs with it, she's probably going to let out all the string.

Because that's just the kind of friend Ethel is.

A friend is a solace in grief and in joy a merry companion. -- John Lyly

Linking with Laura on Monday. Click the button below to find others enjoying playdates:

UBP11: What Part of Party Don't You Understand?

When I saw UBP 2011 in the title of a friend’s blog post, I had flashbacks to high school chemistry class and nearly developed a rash.  The combination of letters and numbers reminded me of something from that periodic table of the elements that never made sense to me and made my head hurt.  In reality, UBP 2011 is a whole lot more fun—It’s The Ultimate Blog Party hosted by Janice and Susan at 5 Minutes for Mom.

Welcome to those of you visiting here for the first time.  Come on in and make yourselves comfortable; I’ll show you around.  You might want to throw on a fancy hat.  Or maybe your feather boa.

Here in my little corner of the blog universe, I like to tell stories.  I tell family stories and stories about fascinating people I’ve met.  Of course, I tend to think most people are fascinating, and I think everybody’s story matters.  I also think that all of our stories are all part of one great big story that ends well.

Here at Out of My Alleged Mind I talk about faith, about what it means to be a follower of Jesus.  I grew up going to church and Sunday school, won awards for memorizing Bible verses, and I have known about Jesus all my life.  I love me a good, heavy, deep, and real theological debate.  These days, however, my writing tends toward what it looks like to take all those things I know in my head and live like I believe them out here in a world that is messy, broken, and ugly.  I believe that life is hard, but God is good and God is great.

The beloved Swede is the love of my life.  He often drags me up and down hiking trails, through mountain passes, and across streams--though he swears he isn’t really trying to kill me.  We are adoptive parents of two amazing kids—one domestic, one import.  I homeschooled for many years but didn’t always love it.  I am still recovering.

I cried for nearly two years when my daughter left for college.  Now that my children are grown and I am almost an empty-nester, I am trying to figure out what else God has left me on this earth to do.  My baby girl got married this past year, and my son (who has mad, crazy piano skills) offered his gift of music for her wedding.  (I totally rocked that mother-of-the-bride thing).

I have a rock-star diva girlfriend who kicked cancer’s butt.  She is my hero.

On my blog, I often tell stories about my friend Ethel.  When we are out finding trouble to get into enjoying moments of sweet fellowship together, I play the role of Lucy.  She and I get our pictures taken with Santa every year which, we believe, is the highlight of the season for him.  I think about Christmas all year long.

Despite having a head full of gray hair and being a Jesus-loving, former homeschooling mom, I am a huge fan of quirkiness, shenanigans, hoopla, jingle bells, polka dots, feather boas, laughter, merriment, mirth, and the movie Mamma Mia!  I like to crank up the music in my car and sing at the top of my lungs-- even to songs by Pink, which have no redeeming value whatsoever.  In a few months, on my next birthday, I will officially become eccentric—something I’ve been practicing for all my life.

I am Nancy at Out of My Alleged Mind.  Nice to meet you.  Thanks for stopping by.

Joining the party:

Ghosts In The Trees

Just returned from an early Valentine's get-away with the beloved Swede.  We revisited some favorite places in New Hampshire, places we'd shared over the years with our children and their grandparents. Even an aunt and an uncle joined in on our extended family adventure one year.

My man did right by me on this trip, spoiling me rotten.

But there were ghosts there in the woods, lingering among the snow-covered trees.  As beautiful as our time together was, I found myself haunted by memories of years gone by.

I told Ethel about the ghosts, about my grief.  She reminded me that grief, too, is a gift.  And, of course, she's right.  Because in order to grieve, there has to have been something sweet and beautiful and good in the first place.  And the memories made within these woods, along these snowy trails, and with my dear family, are truly beautiful ones.

And while mourning may last for a night, when grief's work is done, joy comes in the morning.

And now I have some new memories to add to my collection.

And On the 29th Day of Christmas...

(Update:  Dear friends, I scheduled this post over the weekend.  Today, I finished chapter five in which Ann Voskamp tells of recording her thousandth gift--an amaryllis.  Her words in that chapter spoke deep to me today reminding me, once again, there are no accidents)
 

Cause Christmas ain't over 'til the amaryllis blooms and Ethel opens the very last gift.  A gift that was well worth the wait.  (And, yes, I bought one for myself)

Extending congratulations to Ann Voskamp on the release of her beautiful book, and continuing to number gifts:

742.  Jewelry handed down from Mom—surprise heirloom gift.

743.  Mom’s flight home, slipped (providentially) in between a series of winter storms.

744.  Her safe arrival home.

745.  A driveway cleared between storms so that truck can make heating oil delivery.

746.  This flag that has flown each January for the past eighteen years:

747.  Boys becoming men. 

        

748.  After a day of shooting paintballs at one another.

749.  Spontaneous get-together with rock star diva girlfriend.

750.  To watch video of wedding music recorded and edited by her husband = gifts of love, time, and talent.

751.  College students who invite themselves over during break.

752.  Opportunities provided to son to do meaningful work while wait continues.

753.  That there are gifts in the waiting, whether I can see them or not.

754.  Long-awaited book arriving, pages filled with beauty and blessing.

Giving Thanks, Wedding Week Edition

No lace, Mrs. Bennett!  I beg of you!

So my baby girl is getting married this Saturday and I'm up to my eyeballs in lace and wedding programs and travel logistics.

I'm not even going to pretend I can think in complete sentences.  So I'm just going to give thanks, because I've got so very much for which to be grateful:

708.  Electricity!   And light!  And heat!

709.  Getting the letter we’ve been waiting for.

710.  Continuing to learn to trust in the waiting.

711.  Son being a blessing to friend.

712.  Bride and groom arriving home safely!

713.  Son and friends practicing music, filling my home with joy.

714.  Giggling girls in my basement.

715.  Childhood friends that become bridesmaids.

716.  Who want to come over and who ask my husband to cook for them.

717.  Loving them as if they were my own.

718.  Ethel working her magic, transforming the church for daughter’s wedding.

Pictures.  Soon.  I promise.  Gonna go rock that mother-of-the-bride thing.

Going Postal at Christmas

Last Saturday, I had to go to the post office to mail Christmas presents.

I know.  What was I thinking?

I used to be the kind of person who had Christmas cards out by the first of December and gifts wrapped, packed, and shipped no later than December's first weekend.  I considered it my personal gift to postal employees everywhere to plan ahead and help them out during this busy season.

I was terribly proud of myself for being so organized.  And smug.  But life got in the way this year, and pride goeth before destruction and all that, so I was ready to show up at my local post office and do penance for my years of smugness.

And was delightfully surprised.

The employees at my local post office had gone all out for their customers, determined to send each one away smiling.  They had a television set up showing How The Grinch Stole Christmas. (Earlier in the season I had stopped in and found It's a Wonderful Life playing on continuous loop.  The woman at the counter said it helped everyone walk away smiling because everyone seems to have a favorite line.)

There was popcorn and candy at the counter, and the employees were joking and laughing with each of us pathetic, bedraggled, delinquent package mailers.  Customers started laughing and talking with one another.  One woman told us all that she was shipping copies of her family history out to her relatives.  We all shared in the joy of the beautiful gift she was giving.

We shared in community in my little local post office on the last Saturday before Christmas.

This past year it has been a blessing, for me, sharing within the Gratitude Community.  God's gifts are so abundant and beautiful, and I am thankful to have been given eyes to see and the invitation from Ann to count many of them.

As I get ready to celebrate family-community during Christmas, New Year's, and the days leading up to my daughter's wedding, I will likely be an infrequent visitor to blog world.  I have a couple of short posts queued and one rattling around in my brain; otherwise I may not be around much in the weeks ahead.

So...let me wish each of you kind readers a beautiful and blessed Christmas.  I look forward to reading more from you in the new year.  I am grateful for each of you.

Emmanuel--God is with us!

Joining Ann's beautiful Gratitude Community once again:

675.  Post office employees committed to spreading cheer on the Saturday before Christmas.

676.  Son making all his train and bus connections and returning safely from visit with sister.

677.  Getting to do this with Ethel:

(A friend from church stopped by, and I asked him just how Presbyterian we looked.  His answer?  Not very!)

678.  Chili dinner together with husbands before heading out to brave the cold.  (Wait a minute—if we’re Lucy and Ethel, does that make them Ricky and Fred?)

679.  Call from Army recruiter; moving the ball and inch forward in son’s plans.

680.  Peanut brittle-gift from pastor and wife.  My joy is now complete!

681.  Early Christmas celebration with husband’s family—sweetness and joy.

682.  Church Christmas concert—being reminded, once again, how incredibly blessed my church is to be filled with so many talented musicians.

683.  Monday morning conflict that didn’t erupt into anger--all grace; nothing but grace.

684.  Friends who text and pray.

685.  The beautiful way Ethel loves my son.

Chesterton, Lucy, Ethel and Santa

Most sensible people say that adults cannot be expected to appreciate Christmas as much as children appreciate it. But I am not sure even that sensible people are always right, and this has been my principle reason for deciding to be silly--a decision that is now irrevocable. It may be because I am silly, but I rather think that, relatively to the rest of the year, I enjoy Christmas more than I did when I was a child. My faith demands that such be the case. The more mature I become, the more I need to embrace the joys of the incarnation. The more mature I become, the more I need to be but a child. G. K. Chesterton

This quote is my Christmas manifesto, my creed, my explanation for why a middle-aged, gray-haired, former home-schooling, supposedly mature Christian woman behaves the way I do.  I thought it would be a fitting introduction to my story of how Ethel and I began our Santa photo tradition.

Our husbands don't fully understand why it is, or even what it is we do; they just know that when Ethel and I are given the gift of time together, all of life tends to function more smoothly.  For everyone.  They are the ones who dubbed us Lucy and Ethel in the first place.  I'm guessing our husbands figure that letting us spend time together is much cheaper than therapy, and so far we've avoided doing anything to merit a mention on the Drudge Report  So, periodically, they send us away together, with their blessing.

One year, my husband arranged for Ethel and I to R-U-N-N-O-F-T to Vermont for a few days.  I had fun showing her places that were special to me; places the beloved Swede and I had discovered on our honeymoon, places that held rich memories for my family.

The following Christmas, Ethel wanted to return the favor and show me some places in and around Sturbridge, Massachusetts, that held special meaning for her.  We decided to get together at a quintessentially New England inn for dinner and to exchange Christmas gifts.  We had a lovely Christmas celebration, laughed ourselves silly, and decided to make this event an annual tradition.

The following Thanksgiving, I called Ethel from the emergency room after hitting a patch of black ice and rolling my car over.  After the accident, I was feeling a little hinky about making the hour-long drive to Sturbridge that year--okay, I was scared out of my alleged mind.  (hinky:  adj  /'hin-ke/  1.  slang:  nervous, jittery).


Anyway.  We decided to change our plans and have dinner instead at a local brass and glass restaurant, asking the hostess to seat us as far as possible from other customers because there was the tiniest possible we might be a bit ridiculous.  And loud.


We exchanged gifts, laughed out loud, gave thanks for our friendship, and toasted the fact that I wasn't dead.  Ethel gave me the silliest shopping girl ornament that looked like a barefoot bag lady.  The only thing I didn't like about it was that the toenails on the bag lady weren't painted red.  There was really nothing else to do but go to the drug store at the nearby shopping mall, buy a red Sharpie marker, and fix the ornament.

And so we did.  And Santa was in his cottage outside the entrance to the store.  And one thing led to another and:

The Photo That Started It All

Flashing Red Noses

Antlers and Flashing Necklaces

Our pins read, "Raise a little cane!"

Getting in touch with our inner elves

The year we got Mary Kay makeovers

This year's photo--glittery tops and feather boas!

There you have it--the story behind the Santa tradition.  When we get together, year after year, we celebrate God's goodness in giving us husbands who love us and get us; we celebrate the ridiculous, impossible joy of Christmas; we celebrate the gift of a friendship that cheers each of us along the way.

Besides.  We know how much Santa looks forward to seeing us!

(By the way, our children are fully aware that, when Ethel and I are old and infirm, we are to be placed in rooms next to each other in the nursing home.  I'm sure we'll look at each other and say, "Who are you, why are you following me around, and give me back my teeth!"  Then laugh ourselves silly.)

Linking my silliness with the Soli Deo Sisterhood at Finding Heaven Today.