I'm Building a Shrine

We ordered a standing rib roast for Christmas Dinner. From Whole Paycheck. Christmas comes but once a year, and so we splurged. When I saw what our splurge was going to run us I got a little faint, and thought maybe we shouldn't eat the roast, we should just...worship it. Raw and bloody, sitting on the dining room table, surrounded by roasted potatoes and a side of Yorkshire Pudding.

And then I remembered that meat doesn't keep very well. So I'll roast the Very Expensive Roast, and it will be delicious, and we'll eat leftovers as long as they last, and then pasta forever and ever, world without end.

There's Always a Hitch Somewhere

Yesterday the Spouse and I went out in the drizzle to acquire The World's Loveliest Noble Fir. Because said Noble Fir had been sitting out in the rain for several days, we decided to let it dry in the basement overnight and put it up in the morning. So this morning, after I had used up the leftover pumpkin in pumpkin bread, I went up to Avocado's room and got all the Christmas decorations and the tree stand from the attic closet and brought them down.

One leg of the tree stand is AWOL, and even diligent searching in every place we could think of would not turn it up. So in addition to going to Target for T-shirts for the spouse and some stocking fodder, we went to ten stores looking for a new tree stand. Wanted to see if we could get one somewhere other than at a Christmas tree lot, because there they charge an arm, a leg, and a slice of standing rib roast for such things. Alas, defeated by all the damned early shoppers who had already bought their tree stands, we retired to the nearest Christmas tree lot and bought a Cadillac among tree stands, which damned well better last long enough to be passed along to our children.

The tree is up. I have sugar cookie dough chilling in the fridge. I am now in the basement supervising Squeaky Toy play with Emily, who insists on shoving the toy under something until it gets stuck there, then barking at it until a) the thing magically comes loose; b) she discovers that by coming at it from a different angle she can grab it easily; or, c) I get it out of its stuck position. I suspect that Emily does not admit of the Squeaky Toy's insentience, and feels that if she just barks enough it will roll out on its own. Silly dog.

A Plague on Both Your Vinyards

Bubo Wine
Originally uploaded by madrobins

Is this the worst name for a wine ever? Well, maybe "Pissing Dog" would be worse, but...ugh.