"There's a Cold in By Head," He Said.

The past couple of nights have been spent apart from my lovely spouse. We have a sofa, but it is possibly the most uncomfortable piece of furniture in the house. Fortunately, we have a queen size bed conspicuously crouching in one end of the basement like a goalie in the crease. It is useful for stacking clothing that we fold as we pull it from the nearby dryer. It is useful for stacking other sundries as we move them from more public parts of the house, but we haven't a clue where they belong, or if they belong at all. And when one is communicable, (and sometimes if one's partner is overly audible) it provides a convenient quarantine or sanctuary.

I'm in quarantine. We have given much of ourselves to work recently. Now from a bird's-eye view, the cubicle walls that define our workspace are similar to the scoring one makes with a pipette on a petri dish. There is a reason for this resemblance, and I am both witness and testimony to its appropriateness. In the spirit of the season, it seems that work has given to us as well.

Fluids seek their level, and that is apparently somewhere below my nose. I'm not emotional about this, but my efforts to keep those fluids hidden behind or within my prominent proboscis do sometimes leave a lump in my throat. Thank goodness for my raisin' because, if I'm outside, I can go for distance and clear my throat at the same time. If I'm inside, I still have to be somewhat discreet.

If the graphic nature of the preceding paragraph disturbs you, imagine how my sneezing, wheezing, and hacking would affect you. In deference to my colleagues and to my recovery, I stayed home today. I wasn't idle. I still checked a couple of documents and coordinated on some projects. But I was here swigging soluble vitamin C, popping tablets, and generally annoying only myself. But that is lonely. Tomorrow, I'll likely be returning to work. There's no containing the joy this brings me. I only hope I have sufficient tissues on hand.

I really should stop by the drug store and get some stuff to disinfect my cubicle. And I doubly really should begin with my coffee cup. Now there's some real culture(s).

...and the holidays keep rollin'

We extended the premature holiday by having some friends help us work our way through leftovers.

After the normal Monday evening riding lesson, Pookums and I returned to a home made even more inviting by the presence of two friends. K & N had come over to join us for dinner. It was an instant replay--turkey, dressing, jellied cranberries, marble rye bread, and scalloped potatos. And the chaser? Why, pumpkin pie, apple pie, and fruitcake (the kind with the soft center where all the brandy has collected).

Now it is off to bed, because the reports are flowing in, change is afoot, and the pace of work is keeping pace with the holidays.

To all a good night.

Have Yourself An Early Little Christmas

Things get busy this time of year. It's as if we are all Santas with a bag called time. Nothing will do but that we fill that bag as completely as possible, then go out and spread the cheer. Inevitably, there is little cheer left when the holidays arrive in earnest.

To forestall the Holiday Crash and Burn Syndrome (HoCraBS), we are getting together with my in-laws this afternoon. Either fortune has smiled upon us or we are making the best of a bad situation. Apparently, the freezer door was left ajar at their house. Somebody went downstairs to retrieve a fresh tub of ice cream and it was a toss-up whether it was best to consume it with a spoon or a straw. Friday evening, we received a concerned call. Saturday morning, we showed up with coolers, brought the goodies home, and grilled 5-7 pounds of hot Italian sausage. The house hound happily perfomed quality assurance on the sausage. He's still with us, so I guess we caught the sausage in time.

A turkey in the same freezer was afflicted with a nasty case of thaw. It is in the oven now developing a lovely case of cook. In another hour or so we will sit down to a turkey dinner, chase it with fresh pumpkin pie, then wash it down with hot coffee. Since we won't be here to celebrate Christmas, this is all working out very nicely. We're not tired of turkey and sweets at the moment. We enjoy being together on Sundays. And we don't have to wait to open our gifts. I just got off the phone with my sister-in-law and they are shipping their presents north tomorrow. So we may do this again soon.

If you plot this on a calendar, it will have roughly the same rhythm as tracks spun by a DJ with the DTs: M-M-M-Mer-Mer-Merry Chr-Chr-Christ-Christ-Christmas. M-Merry Chr-Christmas. Merry Christmas. These aren't exactly the 12 Days of song, but they're not bad, either.

Who can get enough of a good holiday?

Fumes

The other morning (Friday, to be exact, although it feels like ages ago) my lovely bride and I responded to the call of duty by making it a point to get into work early to meet a deadline. At 4am, ours was the only vehicle in the parking lot. We were on the case and confident that we could turn the necessary work around by 8am to surprise a task manager whom we both very much respect. At 5:30am, that task manager poked his head into my cube, said, "Good morning" and asked how things were going. Busted.

We didn't surprise him except by our presence there at such an early hour. We did work through all we needed to accomplish and we were out of the office by a decent hour that afternoon. The energy gauge was down to about half.

On the way home, we collected our darling child at high school, then pulled into Jiffy Lube. Clifford now has new, synthetic blood coursing through his veins. While we waited, we visited Great Sage, a local eatery catering to repentant carnivores. Testament to the viability of the words "tasty" and "healthy" in the same sentence, Great Sage provided a flavorful oasis of nutrition and calmness in the midst of a busy day. I left early to go check on the progress at JL. They had been looking for me. It seems to have been important to leave the keys with them. poop.

With fresh fluids, we drove a couple hundred yards down the street and stopped to look for a Carhartt hoodie for Precious. We found one in the color she coveted. Now we're teasing her that she can't have it until Christmas. It's a strange relationship, but somehow she realizes that the more I bug her, the more I love her. (K., if you're reading this, that hoodie is MINE until the 25th).

One more stop. Fuel. Sixty-two dollars later, we make it home. Mrs. C. crashes. I stay up to watch a television movie with Whatsherface. It was good. Can I just say that Naomi Judd still looks fine? Then a little computer time and before you know it, it's 1am. So much for catching up. The energy gauge is down to about one quarter.

Saturday was a morning of reassembling the grill from the Tailgate Party at work, collecting thawed foodstuffs from an open freezer (see above), and cooking up a storm. We had my in-laws over for lunch. After all, they did supply the meat. At 3pm, I headed for Clarksburg to play bass for a church service. We started with a piece from Trans-Siberian Orchestra. I don't know what kind of message that sends, but it sure was fun to play.

Sane people would go home and crawl into bed right about now. Instead, I drove to Catonsville to attend the Christmas Party for the worship teams at church. My first party of the season. Good food. Really good people. Oh, my. It's 10pm. Time to drive to Columbia to catch the first set of Into the Sun as they play at Sonoma's. The energy gauge is down to one-eighth.

Into the Sun sounded great. I talked to their new bass player and he turned me onto a book on slapping and popping. I need to go to Westminster soon and see if I can find it at Coffey's Music. I got home around midnight and in bed by about 1am.

Precious spoke at the early service this morning. Afterward, we stopped by the Owen Brown village center and got our locks clipped. Then we collected my in-laws and we're doing an early Christmas. Energy gauge is about one-half again. We'll see what tomorrow holds. Now it's time for a little Early Christmas.