Someone said to me today "I love your new banner... nothing funny happening to you these days?"
My initial reaction, the one that comes from my gut (hey, stop looking at it), is "Nope. Nothing at all. Funny-Free Zone over here."
I look at this blog periodically and I think, I should say something today. But I'm just blank.
Except that I love that first week after Thanksgiving, when you can almost hear the starter pistol blasting the Christmas Season onto the calendar. We got our tree (at Baums, thank you very much) and dressed it. It's a fight every day to keep it dressed, with so many little hands that can't leave shiny things alone! You'd think we erected a toy stand in the living room. It's FAO Schwartz in there and Jed and I are always barking at them to leave it all dangling in the air. Sheesh.
And I love dusting off the old Christmas mixes. Jed is something of a Christmas Nazi in that from Boxing Day to Black Friday our house is a No Christmas Zone. No movies, no music, no nativities (actually, it's pretty hard to take Kershisnik's Nativity down from above the mantle, and sometimes it stays until January something, something). He does this to keep the holiday special, and I guess it makes sense. But as much as he might seem like a Grinch in January and July, he has made 5 or more Christmas mix CD's. His music library is full of Bing Crosby and Burl Ives. Some of my favorites this year come from this album, produced by our friend, Scott Wiley. (This record is actually a few years old, but somehow escaped us until last week.)
Don't let the really bad cover art (sorry if you took this picture) dissuade you, it's a really beautiful record, featuring the vocal stylings of some of our friends, Paul Jacobsen, Ryan Tanner and Sarah Sample. Mindy Gledhill's In the Bleak Midwinter brings me to tears, and Debrah Fotheringham's With Wondering Awe is the best thing anyone's ever done with that song (you don't even know that one, do you?).
And I love that Julian is starting to pray out loud with the family. Actually, if he had his way, no one else in the house would get the chance. Mostly his prayers are a string of incoherent vowels and stops, followed by an airing of grievances. Tonight, he threw dad under the bus, something about how he said No to the Legos when it was prayer time.
He's listening, kid. Really, there's no better shoulder to cry on.
So, sorry, but nothing else is really going on.