When my kids were young, it never seemed to fail that one or both of them would be ill at Christmas. One memorable year, my two grandmothers and my in-laws from Florida visited, and it snowed in Phoenix. Of course, neither of my children were too interested, as they both had chicken pox! I can’t think of anything much worse than a diaper full of chicken pox. Another year, my youngest awoke on Christmas morning with a raging fever. She stumbled downstairs opened one present and promptly fell into a sound sleep.

But this year may be the most memorable. My grandson and my son-in-law have RSV, my daughter is recovering from pneumonia, and I have contracted some evil, unshakable respiratory infection. Curiously, my physician tells me lots of folk are ill right now. Curiously, my eldest, a nurse practitioner in South Carolina reports the same, as does my sister in Houston, my brother in California, and one of my friends in Ohio. How can that be? Is there something contagious in the Christmas cookies or fruitcake?

The simple explanation may be stress and excitement the holidays bring. Personally, I think these little nasty microbes basked in the sun all summer long in preparation for a full-on attack this time of year. They are merrily dancing across my bed, as I lie there coughing my brains out.

Hopefully, I will survive my self-imposed exile from the parties and celebrations, for indeed the song, I’ll Be Home for Christmas, has taken on a whole new meaning this year.

Merry Christmas!

My life picked up speed this week; there was evidence of the holiday season in full swing. I stood in line for too long in the post office only to discover they were out of flat-rate boxes! Imagine trying to mail a box of oranges across the Mississippi at the regular priority rate. Sticker shock, indeed.

Secondly, it seems the tradition of sending Christmas cards is a lost art. I sent forty, and as of today, received three. I guess it’s my age that makes me continue to send holiday greetings, for I enjoy seeing family picture cards from my young friends.

Thirdly, as a holiday gift, I treated one of my older-than-me friends to lunch and a movie this week. Granted, I haven’t been to a movie theater in over a year, but I was ill-prepared for another round of sticker shock. When did a small bag of popcorn sell for $10, and a small soda cost $7? My friend had a cheese quesadilla, which was a whopping $18! Really? And additionally, I was charged $16 to park my car. (My fault, though, I forgot to have my parking voucher validated.)

The ticket to the theater was reasonable ($10). Of course, that’s the senior rate. The film was scheduled for 12:30, and at 12:15, the theater darkened and the ads and previews ran a full 55 minutes. Finally, Wicked began. I was so jazzed to see it, for I adored the Broadway play. Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo were fabulous, but…. I’ll let you be the judge of the movie itself.

December 15th. Ten days from today, some of us will be marveling, as kids try out their new sleds, snow boards, or skis. Others will watch the children attempt to navigate their paddle or surf boards. Me? I’ll be picking oranges, basking in the sun, and thanking God I no longer live in the Snow Belt!

I love this time of year when we temporarily put away our differences and celebrate our unique, American values. Our neighborhoods are decorated with lights, wreaths, and some most entertaining inflatables of Santa, reindeer, flamingos, penguins, and the Grinch. Our Christmas trees are decorated and our fireplace mantles are decked with pine.

On Thanksgiving week, folk again wish each other “happy holidays” or “Merry Christmas.” Store clerks smile, parents delight in shopping for their kids, parties are planned, and travel plans are made. Most everyone seems infused with spirits of joy. (Teachers? Not so much, as they count the days until their excited students are released for vacation.)

Yet, for some, the festive season is darkened by poverty, homelessness, illness, and war. Social services are in need of donations: food, warm clothing, dog and cat food, and toys for children. Nursing homes are in need of carolers, Christmas cards, and flowers. Those without family need to be included to share dinner with others. We, Americans, are gracious welcoming people; we are not a nation of Scrooges. Let’s join together and spread the joy!

Curious that with so many folk complaining about the economy, over 80 million traveled this holiday and that sales are up over 10% from this time last year. While I only traveled as far as the grocery store, I did binge shop. In fact, the majority of my Christmas gifts have been bought.

With the new regime blustering about tariffs, anyone who wanted an electronic gift from me for Christmas will receive one. Additionally, I’ll be stock-piling stuff for the remainder of the calendar year, such as Christmas tree lights, tequila, several televisions, other smart devices, shoes, clothes, a new car, and every other necessary not made in America. I refuse to pay 30+% more for some ego-maniac’s pissing match with the rest of the world.

Further, with the major of winter fruits and vegetables coming from Mexico and South America, prices will soar. (If you love guacamole or avocado toast, it may become a delicacy. Ninety percent of avocados are grown in Mexico.) Oh, and don’t forget the expulsion of migrant workers. Who will pick lettuce in Yuma, pecans in Tucson, strawberries and citrus in California, apples in Washington, potatoes in Idaho, grapes in New York? Will lettuce cost $10, and a salad become a treat for special occasions.

Thankfully, I have citrus trees and a garden. I know how to can and to freeze vegetables. I can grow lettuce, broccoli, and cauliflower in the winter. So, I will be fine…until his highness crashes the economy.

In 1944, Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer wrote this title song for the film Here Come the Waves. The lyrics encourage us to: Eliminate the negative, Latch on to the affirmative, Don’t mess with Mr. In-Between. I admit since November 5th it’s been difficult for me to be positive.

As I read the newspaper or the news apps on my phone, all I do is shake my head in total disbelief. Loyalty to a demigod equals a cabinet post, a director position, or an ambassadorship. While this practice also known, as the patronage or spoils system, is not new, it is unfathomable in the 21st Century. (Andrew Jackson ushered in the spoils system of patronage in 1829.) I suspect, though, Jackson didn’t use sexual offense charges and FOX news personalities, as criteria for coveted appointments. Further, by all accounts, the majority of foreign countries are laughing at America for allowing inexperienced, ill-qualified folk to assume national positions. Of course, I could rail on about tariffs, mass immigration, and women’s rights, but what good will it do? The amoral, narcissist maniac will assume office in January.

With Thanksgiving next week, Happy Holiday celebrations around the corner, and the inauguration 56 days away, I’m embracing the Epicurean philosophy–eat, drink, and be merry. Or as the song lyrics say: You’ve got to spread joy up to the maximum, Bring down gloom to the minimum, Have faith, Or pandemonium, Liable to walk upon the scene.

Forget the boding pandemonium. Join me in celebrating “the most wonderful time of the year” with exhilaration for the next eight weeks. It may very well be democracy’s final moment. Yet, America survived the lunacy of Andrew Jackson. Accentuate the positive, and best wishes for a festive Thanksgiving!

Last Sunday evening, I began a curious journey with the number seven. According to my horoscope, seven is not one of my supposed lucky numbers, but I put twenty-seven dollars in a slot machine, pushed the reel button, and the lights and bells went off. Wow! I won $7007! Then, I went to dinner, and the bill was $17.77.

After this unusual occurrence, I started thinking about seven–continents, days of the week, notes in a music scale, phases of the moon, and colors of the rainbow. Then came the hills of Rome, wonders of the world, and sister colleges. Even Hollywood portrayed The Magnificent Seven, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, and The Seven-Year Itch.

Oh, I forgot to add the seven deadly sins. Damn, I can’t recall: what number is the next POTUS?

“And the fodder’s in the shock,” a nostalgic poem by James Whitcomb Riley I had to memorize in the fifth grade, and one which I can still recite from memory. From the onset, as a former Ohioan, I’m not a fan of November for several reasons:

First: I absolutely detest pumpkin anything from pie to cookies to lattes! And now Kit Kat bars have been infested with the deadly, smelling orange.

Secondly: Thanksgiving food includes not only pumpkin, but such undesirable food as bitter cranberries and candied yams. OMG! Who in their right mind would “candy” potatoes with marshmallows? Marshmallows belong solely on graham crackers and Hershey bars–duh!

Thirdly: The Presidents of the United States for years have been absolutely correct–pardon the turkey. I can barely swallow its leg meat and am left with copious amounts of dry, tasteless white meat that even gravy can’t help.

Yet, in all fairness to November, it does have some positives. I begin to decorate for Christmas, shop the Black Friday Sales, and schedule holiday gatherings. But the BEST thing about November 2024 is: the election will be over…perhaps and hopefully, peacefully. And yes, I’ll probably lose my right to vote, to have an abortion or IVF, and be forced to provide childcare for my grandchild. So be it. I’ve already lost a number of friends over this election. What will be will be.

Ever since I was little, I loved the magic of a garden and the joy of picking beans and tomatoes, shucking corn, and searching for the biggest pumpkin. When I moved to Arizona, I tried to replicate a much smaller version of the ones my grandparents had. But unlike their Ohio garden, in Phoenix, I could have both a spring and a fall/winter garden.

Yet, this year high September temperatures prevented me from planting until two weeks ago. (It remains to be seen if it will mature and produce.) And given the late start, I was forced to not use seeds, but mature plants of zucchini, broccoli, and tomatoes. Thanks to an ample supply of horse manure from my neighbor, I meticulously tilled, watered, and firmly set each plant. All was well. Until….

Being Type A, my ingrained-morning routine includes a walk to my garden, where I assess soil moisture, plant growth, etc. Much to my horror and disgust, I discovered some varmint had invaded, dug several holes, and pulled up all of my tomato plants. Damn, damn, damn. Gophers? Moles? Years ago, I’d ordered some solar-powered, sonic pest repellents; I’d try those. Alas, they wouldn’t arrive for two more days, and my garden could be decimated by then. With the help of one of my old campaign signs, a piece of screen, and duct tape, I built a barrier. Viola! It worked. The varmint had vacated.

Curious and curiouser. Suddenly, it occurred to me. Given the random holes in my garden and the uprooting of my plants, it wasn’t a gopher or a mole. It was my cabana gal’s long-legged Bernedoodle, who loves to dig anywhere and everywhere.

Tomorrow, I’ll return my unopened sonic repellents to Amazon.

I spent this weekend in Houston attending my niece’s 40th birthday party. Though I missed the freshmen football game on Thursday night, another grand nephew is the center for the varsity team and played Friday night.

Now, I’ve never seen a full episode of Friday Night Lights, but I have been to Houston often enough to know about how revered high school football is in Texas. (In fact, currently one district in suburbia has a $69.5 million bond issue on the ballot to build a new stadium to seat 8,000!) As a spectator for the visiting team, I had to buy a ticket on-line. No cash–not even for concessions.

The school parking areas were full when we arrived, and we parked across the street. The police had strategically and conveniently set up a temporary crosswalk to facilitate our entrance. We walked toward the gate and I saw two, semi-trucks and a panel truck with my nephew’s school logo. WTH? The band equipment!

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I spied the stadium. It outshone any small college athletic facility. In fact, I’ve never seen anything in the Phoenix area of that quality! Unfortunately, I can’t share photos of the field due to a mishap. But thankfully, the school district has its own YouTube channel and not only streams each game live, but replays it all weekend. Thus, I watched both half-time performances and the second half. Had I been in the stands, I would never seen my nephew’s snaps up close and personal.

Curiously, Texas ranks 42nd in public school funding, even though 91% of its children attend public schools. Its governor and legislature has embraced funneling public monies to 9% in the name of choice. Clearly the vast majority attend public schools and support athletics, band, and extracurricular activities. Yet…oblah dee, oblah dah.

(Note: Photo is a $70 million, high school football stadium in Allen, TX)