11.22.16 in General

11.22.16

Fifty three years ago an American president was assassinated. We still don’t know all the details, but that uncertainty fuels an entire conspiracy theorist industry.

Twenty nine years ago my son was born. Twenty nine? Jesus, how did that happen?

His mother, who was barely 30 when she gave birth is now 59. Assuming she is still alive. I haven’t heard from her in almost two years. That was the series of shrieking threatening messages left on my answering machine. Noodledoc said “do not engage.” I said “roger that.”

It snowed yesterday. All day. It was too warm for it to stick, so we just had a day of softly falling snow until the sun went down. Then it started to stick. This morning we had about a half inch on the grass and trees. The pavement was mostly clear.

The winter warlock is still sharpening his spurs.

Traffic is out of control. At first I couldn’t figure out why, then I realized that GDBIW and the subcontractors all have Thanksgiving and Friday off, so they take three days of vacation to get a week off. Can’t blame them. Other than it makes the traffic flow suck.

In the kitchen I have five pounds of russet potatoes, five pounds of sweet potatoes. A half pound of raw garlic. Brown sugar, spices, mini marshmallows. Pecans.

The fridge is stocked with cream cheese, cream and sour cream.

Any guesses what my contributions to the family Thanksgiving dinner will be?
The folks are putting up their tree on Saturday. Nephew and grand nephew will be in attendance so I get a two-fer week of picking up Mireya to head back to ‘Salem’s Lot.

I haven’t decided yet, but I may put up the tiny tree I have in the garage. I seem to be feeling the season more than I have in awhile.

Dear Santa…

Cindy Burbano. Proof there is such a thing as too hot.

Last updated November 22, 2016