#GreenFriday #OptOutside

We failed a little in our efforts to buy absolutely nothing today on #BlackFriday. We decided it was necessary to buy suet for the birds at the local IGA and the Better Half wanted to get some seasonal decorations at the local florist. We did much better as participants in #OptOutside and #GreenFriday. We moved the pumpkins from the porch to under the pear tree behind the house. We'll see if the local whitetails wanted to nibble on them. Several of the pines from the South side, and one small cedar from the North side of the drive have been converted to front porch Christmas decorations. (In recognition of our carbon footprints and climate disruption, we'll plant some replacement trees next Spring, but in a more sustainable location.) If today's rain doesn't short out the lights, we'll share pictures tomorrow of this year's front porch!

Franco is sure every day must be Christmas

Photo by J. Harrington

After a morning's work by their owners, the dogs got a belated Thanksgiving treat (chopped up giblets etc. with their dry kibble) this day after Thanksgiving. Being dogs they asked how come they didn't get fed that way every day. We're starting to wonder if they've been reading Ray Bradbury's Dogs Think that Every Day Is Christmas. Maybe we should read it to both of them to be sure they pick up more of the spirit of the season. We're finding seasonal spirits to be a challenge for us today since the temperature is close to 50℉ and rain is forecast to literally put a damper on attendance at Taylors Falls Christmas Lighting parade this evening.

SiSi acts like every day is Christmas

Photo by J. Harrington

The parade has lots of floats and participants wearing lights. We're not sure we want to be around to see how well they work when wet.

how would all these lights react to rain?

Photo by J. Harrington

Christmas Mail

By Ted Kooser

Cards in each mailbox,
angel, manger, star and lamb,
as the rural carrier,
driving the snowy roads,
hears from her bundles
the plaintive bleating of sheep,
the shuffle of sandals,
the clopping of camels.
At stop after stop,
she opens the little tin door
and places deep in the shadows
the shepherds and wise men,
the donkeys lank and weary,
the cow who chews and muses.
And from her Styrofoam cup,
white as a star and perched
on the dashboard, leading her
ever into the distance,
there is a hint of hazelnut,
and then a touch of myrrh.

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