This does not happen often.
If ever.
But I whispered to The Professor yesterday that MY recipe for a perfect Christmas morning would include these types of ingredients.
And he so graciously obliged. All gloriously served to me while Kitty Kitty watched, all 25 pounds of him with lashing tail, watching in all his kitty horror that no food had yet been served up in his bowl.
(Sorry Kitty Kitty. We’ll make it up to you with an extra portion.)
Soft swirling snowflakes are beginning to fall.
The house is quiet and peaceful with my very most favorite (all 175 of them) tunes playing throughout the house. A little Van Morrison, Bonnie Raitt, Nanci Griffith, Paul Simon, Bob Dylan, Black Eye Peas, Ray LaMontagne, Tom Waits, Ella Fitzgerald, Eagles, Coldplay, Cowboy Junkies, Michael Buble, Billy Joel, Ambrosia, Jason Mraz, and topping it off with a little Jimmy Buffett.
I have my laptop, typing, still wearing my ratty pajama bottoms and my ancient black Hollywood tee shirt that I’ve slept in for a week. Aside from regular visits to the kitchen for a little left over turkey and oyster stuffing, I have no agenda today.
Nothing pressing. Maybe a movie.
I’m leaning towards Black Swan (psychological thriller in which the heroine must confront her “dark side”). So my type of movie.
The Professor is pushing The Fighter, about a young Irish boxer. He leans a bit more to an uplifting story on this day.
A
day
of
giving.
I guess we’ll be going to The Fighter.
If only I could stay in my ‘jams.
And oh yeah, Merry Christmas and all that.
yours truly,
missing the mom gene
