December the 24th, 2010

Hey, folks - again, apologies for the long layoff. It just seems like Facebook has taken so much of the wind out of the blog's sails -I communicate with pretty much everybody that way, and update videos there and give quick news items out and post photos...The blog seems strangely quaint and antiquated. But somehow I don't want to let it go; I like to write, I like to have it out there, like the traps I used to lay for muskrats and foxes, and then occasionally forget about, only to find them, months later, with a skeletal muskrat disintegrating in them. The blog lies out there in the ether, waiting to be stumbled upon or remembered by someone who knows me, and I'm sure somebody occasionally checks it out. I'm attached to it; it's a sentimental space. So I'm keeping it around.

Though I have to say, by the time I have time to sit and write on it, most of what passes for news around here has been communicated. So I wind up painting some particular event in vivid colors. Perhaps that's the tack I should take: it's an outlet for intensely-seen events, things I found moving or which piqued my interest, which I then share in a detailed way. Like what? Oh, I don't know - I could paint for you our Christmas Eve morning.

Rolled out of bed late (for me) - 8:05, which is pretty typical for a weekend day - and found the fire roaring in the woodstove, thanks to the little lady of the house. Well, the larger of the little ladies. Very cozy scene - breakfast had been had by all but me, the pets were lounging by the fire. I dedicated myself immediately to eliminating a minute of footage from the ping pong video in the previous post - I had shown it to Janneke the previous evening, and we both agreed that it had dragged a bit. Didn't take me long. Q watched and approved, but T was uninterested, rapt as she was in a particularly thrilling episode of "Max and Ruby". TV on Christmas Eve?! Yep. We're sometimes that sort of folk.

Mid-morning, the four of us piled into the car to take Clarabelle to the Cole Fields (unofficial) Dog Park, either to let her run in the woods, should there be no hounds about, or to let her cavort and canoodle with her own kind. The kids brought along their plastic toboggans, knowing as they did of the steep path that leads from the football practice locker facilities down to the fields. I didn't think there would likely be much snow to slide on, but I figured, hey, let them have their illusions.

Not a soul around when we arrived - the top of the hill, where the road goes down to the fields, had a sign that said "Road Closed for the Winter". But there was hardly any snow, and the brand-new VW SPortwagen war mit den Schneeraeder ausgerustet. (Sorry - it's hard to talk about the VW ohne dass mein Gehirn sich wieder nach dem Deutschen kehrt.) So, we rolled down the hill, snow tires and all, damn the torpedoes, and parked, then dragged the toboggans back across the field to the slope.

Which turned out to be pretty darned rocky. While the kids scrambled to the top, Janneke and I hand-scooped snow to protect them onto the most up-jutting of the rocks, and they did a few runs without major incident. Clarabelle sprinted up and down after them, her pseudo-dwarfish legs bouncing in that odd, rubbery way she has when she's gamboling along. To me, her legs really look like they have the basic architecture of Basset Hound legs - odd little subtle out-turnings and in-turnings at the joints, high and bulgy, compact musculature - but they're long and quite quick. But that little boing-boing she does, particulary when she's slowing down at the end of a sprint, is the most adorable thing, and I love to watch it happening and ponder whether it's a function of her unexpressed dwarf genes, her rubbery puppiness, or just the way that sort of running works.

Walking around looking for easily-picked-up snow to throw onto the rocky parts of the sledding path, I decided I'd head to the pond, since the vast quantities of uninterrupted snow could be easily scooped into the sled that wasn't in use and hauled wherever necessary. And as I scooped, I was struck by the very fine quality of the ice beneath the snow. "It's too bad we don't have shovels," I said to Janneke. And before long I had convinced myself that the thing to do was zoom back to the house and come back with shovels, and make ourselves a little rink.

Soon all four of us were scooping and shoveling, and in a jiffy we had a small rink cleared. We finally tired out and headed home, but were very excited about the possibilities of the following day. We could spend Christmas skating on our own little rink, with no one else around!

Christmas Eve, Janneke prepared for us a phenomenal meal, with Brussels sprouts, beef tenderloin, and fingerling potatoes. Utterly delicious. Once the kids were in bed, the usual ritual for me and Janneke: Wrapping presents in front of the TV and the woodstove, watching "It's a Wonderful Life" and drinking, Janneke her wine, me the beer I made with Rob Mathews. Just grand. Off to dream land - but not before I had snatched the cookie plate and the milk glass back out of Janneke's hand to replace them by the tree. She's such a fastidious home-cleaner that she'd automatically brought them back into the kitchen. It was a close thing to make sure they didn't get washed and put away.

More later, perhaps - it's starting to feel like a busy day. It's now Tuesday, the 28th, and a few other things have happened - including the Packers dismantling the Giants. It's been a great staycation so far - I feel utterly rested and content. Or as close to it as a guy like me is ever going to get.