…without really trying.
After we ate dinner yesterday afternoon, The Squire and I started on our Christmas cards. We always try to get this job out of the way as soon after Thanksgiving as possible, because we always have an Open House on Advent III. This year, Advent IV is a full week before Christmas, so it really cuts us short.
The Squire found an appropriate Bible verse, and we printed off the cards, and then I started addressing them. My handwriting is marginally better than his, but that is faint praise, indeed.
First, I had to fix us each a cup of hot chocolate. About twenty minutes later the phone rang; Harford County 911 said there was a fire alarm at church, and they couldn’t get anybody else. The Squire was ready for bed, so I had to call around and see if I could rouse somebody. Address one card, then I needed an address for “new person”. Get The Squire back down stairs to rummage around on his computer.
The dog wants out. The cat wants in. The dog has been out too long, so I called him. Nada. His empty collar is on the end if the rope. Get a Milk-Bone and his leash, pull off my slippers and put on my boots, and fall over him sitting on the door step.
Back to the business at hand. Address two more cards.
It took me four hours to address two dozen cards.
This morning we got the winter clothing out of the attic. Sorted, tried on, and tossed. I went up to the Goodwill store and dropped off a huge bag of stuff, including two short, stubby glasses (highballs?) engraved with a “P, courtesy of my parents, and an old tackle box. Both had been on Freecycle twice with no takers, so out they go.