Adventure day four unfolded as a postcard – a memory filed for eternity in the shoebox of my mind. It’s late, I’m tired, unable to put thoughts to ponder. All I can offer is a single image, a little teaser until my ponder takes shape….
Christmas at my house always involves board games, I’m revisiting Monopoly because it defined so many Christmases
As a child we played a lot of board games – Monopoly for the most part – more often than not, it ended long before any satisfactory conclusion. Not that it mattered, the rules were simple and it was something to do.Every family had a Monopoly game; expressions like “get out of jail free” or “do not pass go” became part of popular culture.
Monopoly wasn’t something I would ever classify as fun; the premise of collecting property by forcing others into bankruptcy struck me as vicious – perhaps explaining why the game rarely reached a conclusion. I can’t recall a single game with an amicable parting of players. If we didn’t lose interest, it was guaranteed someone stormed off in a huff.
Before Christmas, shopping found me in a game store. Years since I’ve paid the slightest attention to boxed games on store shelves. I’m can’t say for certain…
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I can’t think of a nicer Christmas wish than Playing For Change Guantanamera. Listen to the beautiful voices of Cuba, then click on the link for a message transcending politics.
Christmas strikes me as an absurd mutation – Jesus wasn’t born in December, ( Romans slipped the occasion in with Pagan solstice celebrations to make it more palatable – Christmas trees mimic early Pagan rituals of cutting branches in mid-winter), Santa Claus mythology is just about as non-Christian as it gets. (Fundamentalists want to ban Harry Potter yet a red nosed Reindeer flies Santa around the world in one night). Does anyone even know why we exchange gifts? Apparently “miracles” happen at Christmas – who performs them?
Pondering “Christmas spirit” led to a conclusion. Christmas needs an overhaul. Instead of painful, politically correct seasonal marketing, why not put our foot down and say “Christmas gifts are no longer required”. I propose Christmas be a time for awareness – giving not to our family, but to the global community. Imagine the possibilities – if we applied even a smidgeon of money spent on gifts towards global initiatives. what might we accomplish?
Ask yourself why we exchange gifts – if reason escapes you, maybe it’s time for a Christmas overhaul.
It started without incident, my last day of work before Christmas. No surprises, a repeat client – over and done in time for a quick nap before heading out to power shop Christmas. So far, so good.
Most years my shopping takes place over a frantic day and a half before 5 PM curfew on Christmas Eve. Not much for online shopping, my decision a few days ago to order a wide angle lens for my husband’s camera, brought me to Amazon for the first time. A babe in the woods – pleased with myself for taking his gift off the list, happily clicking on “guaranteed delivery” by December 23, seemed well worth the minimal extra charge. Believing my credit card purchase would be processed before shipping struck as reasonable. Not so fast – logging into Amazon I discovered an “import fee deposit” of $45 in addition to taxes and expedited shipping fee. Hmm? I came home from work to find the package sitting on the doorstep, logged into my Visa account – holy crap! $45 had turned into $136. With taxes, shipping, and mysterious import fees – a $310 lens cost almost $500. Unimpressed is putting it mildly.
Live and learn notes. Time for that nap and shopping, at least his present was tucked away.My husband and I hit the mall. It was remarkable – giddy with progress, within half an hour it was back to the car to unload. Up went the glass lift-gate, in went the parcels – oops, the top part of the gate wasn’t locked. He opened it again (don’t know what possessed me other than trying to be helpful) I reached in to manually lock the gate just as he slammed it down. I can’t say for certain my finger is broken – without question the middle finger of my right hand is cut, bruised, swollen double size and sports a worrisome “bend”. It wasn’t his fault.
Time to call it a day. I’ll go home, pour myself a glass of wine, post some of his photographs – that will make me feel better.
Anyone who’s followed me a while knows about my Black Widow spider trouble. I’ve lost track – I think the one under the wood valance in my bedroom is number 13. I spotted her a few weeks ago. Not very big, incredibly polite, I cut her a deal – mind your manners, we’ll get along just fine.She thanked me for not vacuuming her to oblivion by keeping her end of the bargain. Until tonight.
I said goodbye this morning, she hasn’t strayed more than an inch or two in days.we were getting along famously. A few minutes ago I looked up – perfect, I’ve lost my spider.
Another black and white glimpse of Vancouver.
All images taken by my husband over the past week.
Tired feet made me remember this post……
I never liked my feet. My mother used to tell people that when I was little, my footprints in the sand; looked like a duck had waddled by. My foot shame grew as I did; shapely legs, slender ankles came to a grinding halt at the abomination called my feet. Nothing dainty about them. Size 9, just about as wide, and the ultimate cruelty; a second toe longer than the first.
Growing up on a farm didn’t help the situation much. As soon as school ended for the summer break, the shoes came off. We called them our “summer feet”; they were impervious to pain. My siblings and I put a lot of effort into this pursuit. For the first week of vacation we hobbled about gingerly – hot pavement, gravel, brambles – miraculously each of us declared the arrival of our leather feet. We became unstoppable; we ran like…
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