As we closed the door on our last set of guests, l began getting ready for my television interview with Marcia in Chattanooga. She’s starting the new year with a program on starting over, and feels that I may have some insights into this topic worth sharing with her fans. How can anyone say no to a woman who used to be “Miss Marcia” on Romper Room School? She taught millions of kids how important it is to be a “do bee” and to reach for the stars. I certainly took those lessons to heart, and am thrilled that “Miss Marcia” wants to talk to me.
By the time our guests leave, I’m always rung out, physically and emotionally; but my spirit is super-charged. These are the times I have to be careful; after going ninety to nothing for weeks at a time I’m prone to planning too many new projects while in my supernova state. The best way to avoid that is to lie down for a while until the urge to orchestrate passes.
I already have so many plans for the new year that I’m raring to begin. In addition to the television interview, there’s the book I’m writing with Mamie, and the retreats I’m planning with Gayle and Julia. There are cooking and craft classes to be gotten together with Holly and Josie. Aunt Mabel wants to write a Cajun cookbook with me. Jack has another set of stories to get published, and I’ll need to set aside time for my books in the works. Thank goodness, Camille is talking about becoming the business end of my various ventures; I’m hoping that Suzanne comes through as my typist.
Between our Holidays in the Holler and Ms. Marcia, I went to Atlanta to take Rachel and the girls on a Christmas gifts exchange shopping trip. On the way back from Chattanooga, I got a call from a woman wanting me to write and publish a book about her heroic police captain son killed in the line of duty. I couldn’t wait to get back to the quite of Richard and our Tennessee Mountain Home to begin sorting all this out. We still have to de-Christmas our house, but that can wait. After all, tomorrow is another day.
I’d love a couple of days without a plan. It seems like forever ago that I meandered through a day, letting things just happen, come what may. I’m hungering for a long, lazy day of being snuggled up in my big bed with a book, or one of those cold rainy weeks when I do nothing but sit tapping away on the keyboard in front of the roaring fire. But, maybe I’ll have to wait until I’m dead to have that much down time.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Hunting In the Holler
When Rachel’s family comes to visit, they sleep in an outbuilding that Larry used to call the “rat shack” because what we thought to be rats’ nests covered the space between the ceiling and the roof. The building had been abandoned by all but the rodents for some time before we bought our Tennessee Mountain Home. Rachel insisted that it could be turned into a nice cabin, which her family proceeded to do, putting up insulation and wall boards, and furnishing it with bunk beds and country curtains. They now lovingly call it “Morrissey Manor.”
Rachel and family hadn’t been to their little cabin for many months, so the critters, once again, set up house keeping in the overhead crawl space. Upon the Morrissey family’s arrival, they discovered that all their linens had to be laundered to remove liquid golden gifts that had streamed down the walls onto the air mattress. Rachel changed the sheets while Larry packed the spaces between the rafters with poison pellet packets; and they called it a night.
The family finally got nestled all snug in their beds, when the “rats” declared war. Larry jumped up, determined to eradicate the enemy. With much fanfare, he began tracking the rodents, giving frequent updates to Rachel, whose only wish was a bit of sleep. Larry was determined to identify the intruders, so Rachel suggested that he photograph them to keep her from having to go into the below freezing temperatures on rodent patrol.
The next morning, a bleary-eyed Rachel reported all of this while we waited for Larry to appear with pictures of his prey. It turns out that the rodents were squirrels. Scott immediately got online to identify the type of squirrel – flying-- and the best method for disposal. It was now time for a Lowe’s run to get a trap. Scott became the great squirrel trapper while Nick wished that the rodents would turn out to be chinchillas, so we could make some money on the ordeal.
Meanwhile, Rachel sent Miya and Sarah on dead rodent patrol, afraid that one of the five dogs in residence may eat a poisoned pest. The outside of Morrissey Manor looked like a picnic ground. It seemed that the squirrels had greatly enjoyed their feast, but didn’t want to litter their space with the empty packets. The bright yellow paper was strewn all along the area of the entry door. There was no sign of the squirrels, alive or dead.
Scott and Richard returned with a squirrel trap, and Scott baited it with peanuts. The following morning, the peanuts were gone, but still no sign of Rocky the flying squirrel. Miya suggested that since they were flying squirrels, maybe they flew in, grabbed the peanuts, and flew out; and that’s how they avoided tripping the trap.
Such excitement! That’s the closest to a big game hunt we’ve come at our House in the Holler.
Rachel and family hadn’t been to their little cabin for many months, so the critters, once again, set up house keeping in the overhead crawl space. Upon the Morrissey family’s arrival, they discovered that all their linens had to be laundered to remove liquid golden gifts that had streamed down the walls onto the air mattress. Rachel changed the sheets while Larry packed the spaces between the rafters with poison pellet packets; and they called it a night.
The family finally got nestled all snug in their beds, when the “rats” declared war. Larry jumped up, determined to eradicate the enemy. With much fanfare, he began tracking the rodents, giving frequent updates to Rachel, whose only wish was a bit of sleep. Larry was determined to identify the intruders, so Rachel suggested that he photograph them to keep her from having to go into the below freezing temperatures on rodent patrol.
The next morning, a bleary-eyed Rachel reported all of this while we waited for Larry to appear with pictures of his prey. It turns out that the rodents were squirrels. Scott immediately got online to identify the type of squirrel – flying-- and the best method for disposal. It was now time for a Lowe’s run to get a trap. Scott became the great squirrel trapper while Nick wished that the rodents would turn out to be chinchillas, so we could make some money on the ordeal.
Meanwhile, Rachel sent Miya and Sarah on dead rodent patrol, afraid that one of the five dogs in residence may eat a poisoned pest. The outside of Morrissey Manor looked like a picnic ground. It seemed that the squirrels had greatly enjoyed their feast, but didn’t want to litter their space with the empty packets. The bright yellow paper was strewn all along the area of the entry door. There was no sign of the squirrels, alive or dead.
Scott and Richard returned with a squirrel trap, and Scott baited it with peanuts. The following morning, the peanuts were gone, but still no sign of Rocky the flying squirrel. Miya suggested that since they were flying squirrels, maybe they flew in, grabbed the peanuts, and flew out; and that’s how they avoided tripping the trap.
Such excitement! That’s the closest to a big game hunt we’ve come at our House in the Holler.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Auld Lang Syne and Then Some
If the septic system crisis didn’t put a damper on our holiday hilarity, we certainly weren’t going to let a little drizzle dampen our demeanor. All nine kids, ranging in age from eight to eighteen, set up a “beauty” salon in our master bedroom and bath, where they went through a pint of Richard’s hair gel creating weird and wondrous hairstyles on both boys and girls.
As the house filled with even more people filling every chair in the house, many of us moved outside. At least the night was relatively warm; and Nick and Albert had built a huge bonfire. This was in addition to all the firewood they worked with Richard to cut and stack for both indoor and outdoor blazes. The kids moved outside to play hide-and-seek in the woods and shoot fireworks while the adults monitored them from the fire pit.
Our living room was filled with folks listening to David’s guitar in front of the fireplace. The guest/playroom was an escape for cousins who had much catching-up conversation to share. Our kitchen contained more conventional fare than that which we served at our first New Year’s Eve bash in the boondocks. That year, Scott brought up sixty pounds of fresh gulf shrimp and his boiling rig. We rang in the New Year with Cajun boiled, head-on shrimp and all the fixin’s on our deck. Several of our guests couldn’t bring themselves to eat food that was looking at them.
This year, we had Rachel’s jambalaya, cookies, and artichoke squares, which we brought back from her Christmas open house. I used left-over Italian mushroom squares made by Rachel to create an Italian frittata, which we served with marinara and parmesan cheese. Buffy and Rachel helped prepare chorizo and cream cheese-stuffed pickled jalapenos, much like Holly had served us several months ago. Rachel and David were greatly relieved that most of the mountain folks found these too hot for their tastes, leaving most of the peppers for them. I suppose we’ll never have a holiday happening without a little Cajun cuisine.
I reinvented a favorite 1970’s mushroom in dilled sour cream hors d’oeuvres recipe which we served with garlic panatini. Buffy requested this recipe after one taste. We also had various cheese balls and spreads to go on crackers and chili-cheese stuffed banana peppers. To round out the menu, Buffy poured barbecue sauce over Little Smokies, and Rachel sliced the fruitcake that I had made in her honor.
It’s traditional in the mountains to replace the ball drop at midnight with a possum drop. Charlie takes care of this detail. Full disclaimer: There are no animals harmed in this ritual, as Charlie’s possum is a fluffy stuffed animal that usually hangs in his saloon.
By the time we toasted 2010 with champagne, both real and non-alcoholic, and Charlie dropped his possum from the dog run, we were all covered in mud from slipping and sliding in the drizzly rain. I had fallen almost into the fire pit, taking Deborah with me. Camille had bruised her butt taking a tumble down the muddy stairs, and Albert had slid into home plate on our front porch. Thankfully, no serious injuries were sustained, but I guess Richard can add slip-proofing our deck and stairs to his New Year’s honey-do list.
As the house filled with even more people filling every chair in the house, many of us moved outside. At least the night was relatively warm; and Nick and Albert had built a huge bonfire. This was in addition to all the firewood they worked with Richard to cut and stack for both indoor and outdoor blazes. The kids moved outside to play hide-and-seek in the woods and shoot fireworks while the adults monitored them from the fire pit.
Our living room was filled with folks listening to David’s guitar in front of the fireplace. The guest/playroom was an escape for cousins who had much catching-up conversation to share. Our kitchen contained more conventional fare than that which we served at our first New Year’s Eve bash in the boondocks. That year, Scott brought up sixty pounds of fresh gulf shrimp and his boiling rig. We rang in the New Year with Cajun boiled, head-on shrimp and all the fixin’s on our deck. Several of our guests couldn’t bring themselves to eat food that was looking at them.
This year, we had Rachel’s jambalaya, cookies, and artichoke squares, which we brought back from her Christmas open house. I used left-over Italian mushroom squares made by Rachel to create an Italian frittata, which we served with marinara and parmesan cheese. Buffy and Rachel helped prepare chorizo and cream cheese-stuffed pickled jalapenos, much like Holly had served us several months ago. Rachel and David were greatly relieved that most of the mountain folks found these too hot for their tastes, leaving most of the peppers for them. I suppose we’ll never have a holiday happening without a little Cajun cuisine.
I reinvented a favorite 1970’s mushroom in dilled sour cream hors d’oeuvres recipe which we served with garlic panatini. Buffy requested this recipe after one taste. We also had various cheese balls and spreads to go on crackers and chili-cheese stuffed banana peppers. To round out the menu, Buffy poured barbecue sauce over Little Smokies, and Rachel sliced the fruitcake that I had made in her honor.
It’s traditional in the mountains to replace the ball drop at midnight with a possum drop. Charlie takes care of this detail. Full disclaimer: There are no animals harmed in this ritual, as Charlie’s possum is a fluffy stuffed animal that usually hangs in his saloon.
By the time we toasted 2010 with champagne, both real and non-alcoholic, and Charlie dropped his possum from the dog run, we were all covered in mud from slipping and sliding in the drizzly rain. I had fallen almost into the fire pit, taking Deborah with me. Camille had bruised her butt taking a tumble down the muddy stairs, and Albert had slid into home plate on our front porch. Thankfully, no serious injuries were sustained, but I guess Richard can add slip-proofing our deck and stairs to his New Year’s honey-do list.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
We Love Leal
The only thing Robbie really wanted to eat during their visit was Leal’s cranberry spice bread. Unfortunately, for Robbie, I had already eaten most of it, because it was so good. He was not pleased in the way that only two-year-olds and drama queens show displeasure. He adamantly refused to eat anything else. His favorite way to show displeasure was throwing himself, face first onto the floor. I had an eight-year-old nephew, twenty years ago, who would do the same thing and fall asleep face-down on the carpet. I just love kids who put themselves in time out.
Rachel’s and Scott’s families arrived the day after Bill’s group got here. It had been many years since Rachel and Scott had contact with Bill or his children. Jay and Albert, nephews from Texas, joined us while Bill, Ingrid, and Robbie visited. Everyone, kids and grandkids, really enjoyed Uncle Bill, with his zany humor and love of board games. His grandson Robbie seems to concur with these opinions of Bill.
Meanwhile, Larry noticed that the ground by our side steps was getting very mushy, and we weren’t having any precipitation to cause this. Upon closer inspection, he found that our septic system had been overwhelmed. We couldn’t get Roto Rooter until the next day, so the rest of the day we imposed the rule, “If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down.” Mercifully, Bill’s party, which had been staying at one of the Charest’s cabins, said their goodbyes and headed homeward.
I decided that we needed more septic system space, even if our guests were willing to sleep stacked like cordwood on our floors. Mamie offered to let Albert and Jay use her garage apartment, but we were expecting at least seven more toilet flushers and shower takers as overnight guests – not to mention the eight to twenty neighbors who had been invited to stop by for our New Year’s Eve celebration. Coker Creek Village came to the rescue with the use of their Creekside Cabin. Leal, the office manager at the village, turned out to be, not only Robbie’s favorite food provider, but also our angel of “no room at the inn” mercy.
While this crisis was being handled, Albert discovered that all the people using Richard’s WWII Museum computer to check emails and such had reactivated a virus that Richard thought had been cleared off his computer. New Year’s Eve morning was spent having our septic tank pumped in preparation for even more flushes and showers than we were already having our tank handle, and Larry and Albert debugging Richard’s work station.
The big “do” was that night. Ginette and her kids were due at two, and Camille was set to arrive at four. Neither of their groups arrived before dark. It seems that my family leaves wherever they are at whatever time they’re due at their next destination, no matter how many miles there are to the next stop. None of them arrived before dark. I wasn’t even surprised this time.
Rachel’s and Scott’s families arrived the day after Bill’s group got here. It had been many years since Rachel and Scott had contact with Bill or his children. Jay and Albert, nephews from Texas, joined us while Bill, Ingrid, and Robbie visited. Everyone, kids and grandkids, really enjoyed Uncle Bill, with his zany humor and love of board games. His grandson Robbie seems to concur with these opinions of Bill.
Meanwhile, Larry noticed that the ground by our side steps was getting very mushy, and we weren’t having any precipitation to cause this. Upon closer inspection, he found that our septic system had been overwhelmed. We couldn’t get Roto Rooter until the next day, so the rest of the day we imposed the rule, “If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down.” Mercifully, Bill’s party, which had been staying at one of the Charest’s cabins, said their goodbyes and headed homeward.
I decided that we needed more septic system space, even if our guests were willing to sleep stacked like cordwood on our floors. Mamie offered to let Albert and Jay use her garage apartment, but we were expecting at least seven more toilet flushers and shower takers as overnight guests – not to mention the eight to twenty neighbors who had been invited to stop by for our New Year’s Eve celebration. Coker Creek Village came to the rescue with the use of their Creekside Cabin. Leal, the office manager at the village, turned out to be, not only Robbie’s favorite food provider, but also our angel of “no room at the inn” mercy.
While this crisis was being handled, Albert discovered that all the people using Richard’s WWII Museum computer to check emails and such had reactivated a virus that Richard thought had been cleared off his computer. New Year’s Eve morning was spent having our septic tank pumped in preparation for even more flushes and showers than we were already having our tank handle, and Larry and Albert debugging Richard’s work station.
The big “do” was that night. Ginette and her kids were due at two, and Camille was set to arrive at four. Neither of their groups arrived before dark. It seems that my family leaves wherever they are at whatever time they’re due at their next destination, no matter how many miles there are to the next stop. None of them arrived before dark. I wasn’t even surprised this time.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Daring the Darkness
What part of “Get here before dark.” don’t they understand? We tell them about how to drive the hairpin turns without causing everyone in the car to grab a barf bag. We tell them about having no mobile phone service once they get off the main highways. We tell them that our house is not on many GPS devices. We tell them that we live in the forest, and that Smoky the Bear doesn’t have a phone that they can use to call us if they get lost. But, do they listen?
Bill was scheduled to arrive at three, with plenty of time before dark descended. He had a three hour drive from Camille’s house. No problem; except, as he left Camille’s house, he pointed his car away from our direction to visit our older sister and our mother, who was visiting this sister. He ended up leaving Suzanne’s house an hour before he had anticipated arriving here.
I tried not to panic as the sun began going down, but it didn’t keep me from pacing. I vacuumed the RV, and swept the porch. I put the pot roast in a serving bowl. I set the table. And I paced, peering out the window for signs of Bill every time Gypsy began to bark.
By the time Bill drove into our driveway, it was dark – very dark. Supper had been ready for over an hour; thank goodness it was pot roast, which can hardly be overcooked. It’s bad enough driving around the forest in the dark alone, but Bill also had his daughter, Ingrid, and twenty-two month old grandson, Robbie, with him. I envisioned one cranky baby after all the hours underway, but Robbie bounced out of Bill’s car, happy as can be.
As we settled down to supper, Bill entertained us with stories of Robbie’s exploits and other of his travel adventures. He’s quite an accomplished raconteur. Ingrid could hardly get a word in edgewise, even though she is also very entertaining. After dinner, we offered to share some of the goodies that Mary and Ruby graced us with for Christmas, along with some of my homemade fruitcake. Bill chose the fruitcake, so I guess Rachel isn’t the only person, other than myself, who actually eats that Christmas delicacy.
Then it was time for opening presents in front of the fire. Robbie entertained himself with several books that he’d brought from home and a couple of glow sticks. What a delightful child! Ingrid is such an attentive and relaxed mom, we could actually converse all evening. The fact that Robbie adores his paw- paw also doesn’t hurt. By ten, Bill was ready to call it a night, so we led him to his cabin.
The road up was very steep, but we made it with tires spinning and spitting gravel. By the time we kissed Ingrid goodnight, her already big eyes were like saucers. “I don’t think I like all this woodsy. I’ll have to keep Robbie inside because he might fall off the side of the mountain,” she said. I promised her that, if she wasn’t comfortable in the cabin, we had space for her at our house in the holler – and at least four acres of flat land for Robbie to run.
Bill was scheduled to arrive at three, with plenty of time before dark descended. He had a three hour drive from Camille’s house. No problem; except, as he left Camille’s house, he pointed his car away from our direction to visit our older sister and our mother, who was visiting this sister. He ended up leaving Suzanne’s house an hour before he had anticipated arriving here.
I tried not to panic as the sun began going down, but it didn’t keep me from pacing. I vacuumed the RV, and swept the porch. I put the pot roast in a serving bowl. I set the table. And I paced, peering out the window for signs of Bill every time Gypsy began to bark.
By the time Bill drove into our driveway, it was dark – very dark. Supper had been ready for over an hour; thank goodness it was pot roast, which can hardly be overcooked. It’s bad enough driving around the forest in the dark alone, but Bill also had his daughter, Ingrid, and twenty-two month old grandson, Robbie, with him. I envisioned one cranky baby after all the hours underway, but Robbie bounced out of Bill’s car, happy as can be.
As we settled down to supper, Bill entertained us with stories of Robbie’s exploits and other of his travel adventures. He’s quite an accomplished raconteur. Ingrid could hardly get a word in edgewise, even though she is also very entertaining. After dinner, we offered to share some of the goodies that Mary and Ruby graced us with for Christmas, along with some of my homemade fruitcake. Bill chose the fruitcake, so I guess Rachel isn’t the only person, other than myself, who actually eats that Christmas delicacy.
Then it was time for opening presents in front of the fire. Robbie entertained himself with several books that he’d brought from home and a couple of glow sticks. What a delightful child! Ingrid is such an attentive and relaxed mom, we could actually converse all evening. The fact that Robbie adores his paw- paw also doesn’t hurt. By ten, Bill was ready to call it a night, so we led him to his cabin.
The road up was very steep, but we made it with tires spinning and spitting gravel. By the time we kissed Ingrid goodnight, her already big eyes were like saucers. “I don’t think I like all this woodsy. I’ll have to keep Robbie inside because he might fall off the side of the mountain,” she said. I promised her that, if she wasn’t comfortable in the cabin, we had space for her at our house in the holler – and at least four acres of flat land for Robbie to run.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Getting Ready for Guests
We worked hard all day, and got a lot done. Cassie came over and helped me clean. She even helped me sort the papers piled on my desk. As a morale boost for me, we put our illuminated village scene on the top of our kitchen cabinets.
Cassie was masterful at tiptoeing across the counter tops and placement of each porcelain piece. Now, Santa is sledding down a snow-covered hill, and the milk man is delivering his goods; the school bus stands ready to pick up the children as the snow plow clears the roads. And all the miniature houses and businesses are aglow with lights in their windows. We were quite pleased with ourselves as we stood back and admired our work.
After completing the village, Cassie was still game for more assignable tasks. We got the bows and labels on the remaining gifts, and placed them under the tree. Meanwhile, Richard went to Mamie’s.
Mamie has offered to let us use her garage apartment for overflow guests, so we agreed to get it ready -- preparing for the event that we have to take Mamie up on her offer. Armed with every manner of cleaning supply, Richard went forth to prepare the way. What busy bees we all were.
Six hours of Cassie’s help, and I can’t even believe that all the gifts are now wrapped. There were over one hundred this year. I can actually see the kitchen floor. There’s no wrapping paper or ribbon strewn across the room, and all the remnants of roasted pecans, macaroons, bourbon balls and various jams have been scrubbed off the linoleum. Our home is, once again, habitable, for the first time in over a month.
I found our manger scene, and Baby Jesus rests in his bed of straw. The angel is now heralding Jesus’ birth from the top of our Christmas tree. Richard returned from Mamie’s and is in the kitchen, preparing one of his sumptuous salads. I’ll make mashed potatoes from Richard and Mamie’s passel of home-grown spuds. With the addition of some of the simply delicious mixed greens from our freezer, Richard and I will have a feast, the last alone until our guests depart.
I must remember to call our air evacuation organization to make sure that all people here are allowed air evac’s emergency care. Living in the forest, we have to plan ahead. My brother is due tomorrow with his daughter and toddler grandson. I think we’ve gotten as ready as we need to be. The next day, the parade of people begins. Can anyone ever be ready for that?
At last count, we’re expecting fourteen adults, if you consider eighteen-year-olds adults, and nine children, ranging in age from less-than-two to fifteen (or eighteen)-years-of-age. There will also be five dogs, ranging in weight from less-than-ten pounds to ninety-six pounds. We hope a good time will be had by all, including our four-legged guests.
Cassie was masterful at tiptoeing across the counter tops and placement of each porcelain piece. Now, Santa is sledding down a snow-covered hill, and the milk man is delivering his goods; the school bus stands ready to pick up the children as the snow plow clears the roads. And all the miniature houses and businesses are aglow with lights in their windows. We were quite pleased with ourselves as we stood back and admired our work.
After completing the village, Cassie was still game for more assignable tasks. We got the bows and labels on the remaining gifts, and placed them under the tree. Meanwhile, Richard went to Mamie’s.
Mamie has offered to let us use her garage apartment for overflow guests, so we agreed to get it ready -- preparing for the event that we have to take Mamie up on her offer. Armed with every manner of cleaning supply, Richard went forth to prepare the way. What busy bees we all were.
Six hours of Cassie’s help, and I can’t even believe that all the gifts are now wrapped. There were over one hundred this year. I can actually see the kitchen floor. There’s no wrapping paper or ribbon strewn across the room, and all the remnants of roasted pecans, macaroons, bourbon balls and various jams have been scrubbed off the linoleum. Our home is, once again, habitable, for the first time in over a month.
I found our manger scene, and Baby Jesus rests in his bed of straw. The angel is now heralding Jesus’ birth from the top of our Christmas tree. Richard returned from Mamie’s and is in the kitchen, preparing one of his sumptuous salads. I’ll make mashed potatoes from Richard and Mamie’s passel of home-grown spuds. With the addition of some of the simply delicious mixed greens from our freezer, Richard and I will have a feast, the last alone until our guests depart.
I must remember to call our air evacuation organization to make sure that all people here are allowed air evac’s emergency care. Living in the forest, we have to plan ahead. My brother is due tomorrow with his daughter and toddler grandson. I think we’ve gotten as ready as we need to be. The next day, the parade of people begins. Can anyone ever be ready for that?
At last count, we’re expecting fourteen adults, if you consider eighteen-year-olds adults, and nine children, ranging in age from less-than-two to fifteen (or eighteen)-years-of-age. There will also be five dogs, ranging in weight from less-than-ten pounds to ninety-six pounds. We hope a good time will be had by all, including our four-legged guests.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Magical Morning
A perfect pear for Christmas breakfast,
With warm pastries from Tellico Grains.
Skies are clearing; creeks are running high
After last night’s strong winds and hard rains.
A cozy wood fire in the fireplace
To start our holiday morning right.
The power came back on at our house
With it, our many colorful lights.
Jesus was not yet in the manger;
I’m still looking for our manger scene.
But our Nativity ornament,
We have displayed on our tree of green.
Ornaments are hanging on our tree,
With the popcorn string that’s wound around.
Carols are playing on the TV;
Creating joyous holiday sounds.
We’ll lunch with our children and our grands;
Last trip this year with Santa’s red sleigh.
Then back to the holler and to bed,
To rest before our guests come to stay.
With warm pastries from Tellico Grains.
Skies are clearing; creeks are running high
After last night’s strong winds and hard rains.
A cozy wood fire in the fireplace
To start our holiday morning right.
The power came back on at our house
With it, our many colorful lights.
Jesus was not yet in the manger;
I’m still looking for our manger scene.
But our Nativity ornament,
We have displayed on our tree of green.
Ornaments are hanging on our tree,
With the popcorn string that’s wound around.
Carols are playing on the TV;
Creating joyous holiday sounds.
We’ll lunch with our children and our grands;
Last trip this year with Santa’s red sleigh.
Then back to the holler and to bed,
To rest before our guests come to stay.
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