Here. in the northern hemisphere, that is. nights’ve been gittin’ longer. ‘n longer, but savory sunrises, sometimes.

Milli’s proclivity for arms of couches.

We attended the ritualized & final farewell for Betty Cotter a couple weeks ago. Wife of a long-time former workmate of mine, Ed.  She was just 60 years old.  Unexpected departure. After the ritual (ritual? A Baptist church service) we were pre-ordained to a brief yet intense re-acquaintance with a dozen former cohorts.  The Cotter’s daughter, Chalorie, was a good friend of our daughter.

Chalorie and Rachel had even traveled to Europe twice together as team-mates of an “all-star American” soccer team to play tournaments abroad.

And …  as Ms. Betunada (“the other” Betty) pointed out a couple daze later — there was another recent departure, of a former neighbor.   Dave Dible was the father of our son’s good friend, Marine Captain Ben. “Somewhat of a strange coincidence,” Betty B marvelled, especially as Dave was also 60 years old.

Okay, even if we don’t especially look for it/them, the coincidences … them’s there, aplenty.

As if we didn’t have enough to do, the weekend of the Solstice Betty decided to rent a gas-powered log splitter. Not only did we tow the “mo cheen” trailer back and forth through the still-falling snow across town, I was the hod-carrying (wood-hauling) Dominican Lou to Betty’s adroit handling of the MoCheen. Pixured is just half the pile we had accumulated, as B replenishes the firewood “fence” along the driveway.

& … the obligatory Christmas lites Tour. (I’ll spare the reader the bulk of my inadequate photographic representation and show most of those in a separate post).

Bleu Whirl-wind …
And, a week prior to Solstice-day we drove south and up through more snow to capture our “Hanukkah bush.” On the way, the usually reclusive 9-Mile-Hill Desert Bighorn herd was not very reclusive. We didn’t get pix of a nearby flock of wild turkeys.

Obligatory pixure of the finished product, following.  We were a bit late for Hanukkah, but this object d’art endured up to and just past that other seasonal holiday.  Driving home at night I’d see the lights through the opened curtain from a distance and it helped festify things more than just “a bit.”

This sheep models fancy ear-rings.  And a necklace …

Yep … not very reclusive.  We are about 7 miles from our house!

Below, Walldough is the “Gray is the new Beautiful” model.

The dogs haven’t been gettin’ out much, so here’s Rocksea soakin’ up some snow …

During this recent desert romp she slows down for a roll in the white stuff.  Below, peer intently in the middle of the photo to note that the Inuk-Thingy of Whitewater continues to abide.  Like the Dude, ya’ know.

Some people in our town go all out with the illuminatingness of the season —

Betty sez “Milli, pose for our portrait” but he is happy just to be a lap-warmer.

Warming his own lap quite nicely, thank you, is the furry orange footbawl … cat.

We rarely see our son (and his good friend) — we met to “do breakfast” at the Dream Cafe while they were passing thru’.

Yup — Beautyful Gray … cat, and flash-bulb-lites-in-the-eyes Rocksea.

Oh yes, the Eternally-Leaking Sandwich, below.  Okay … there is not, I’m pretty sure, a sandwich, but bear with me.

the eternally leaking sandwich

Before there was Gary Larson & The Far Side, there was a cartoonist named Ben Kliban.  One of his cartoons depicted “the eternally-leaking sandwich.”  Patrons in a museum would stop and gaze at the sandwich, suspended from the ceiling, something (mayonnaise, perhaps) dripping slowly, but continually, to the floor below.  So … several weeks ago we heard what sounded like a water leak downstairs.  A steady ‘drip drip drip.’  We hoped there wasn’t a leaking pipe in either the wall or the ceiling.  I finally found the source — the dryer vent, which exits the house into a window well, has a hinged flap.  As I type this, it is quiet.  However, for what seems to be the majority of the time, it clangs.  Continually.  Not exactly a “clang” but a “tap tap tap.”  It isn’t powered by anything, this hinged door allows the exhaust from the dryer out, and closes when the dryer is off so outside air (or snakes) are deterred from entry.  There must be air pulsating in-and-out, the house breathing, perhaps.  Tap tap tap tap …