What Am I Missing?

This year, we shopped again at the nursery that names all its trees, and our Christmas tree is named Hezekiah, which did not factor into our choice at all. Even so, I was curious as to why anyone might choose that name for a tree, and I did a little research once we had things all set up. 

The name Hezekiah has no popular culture reference that I could find, much less one related to Christmas. Biblically, he's an Old Testament king, apparently known for his efforts to rid Judah of idolatry and his successful prayers to extend his life for fifteen years. Perhaps the namer of our tree was going ironic on the first part and pragmatic on the second, as in Christmas trees couldn't possibly be construed as false idols (wink, wink), but hopefully this one will stay fresh a really long time!

I guess I'm cool with that sentiment.

First Project of the Day

Heidi had an early meeting this morning, so I got up early, too, to make coffee and pack her lunch. By 6:30, she was gone, and I was standing on the counter by the sink, cleaning the window and removing the screen so that I could thread an extension cord out to the front porch. 

Our condo association is redoing all the exterior lights, and while the new sconce by our front door is a nice upgrade, the LED light does not allow us to replace the bulb with the plug-in adapter we used for our holiday lights. We briefly discussed having an outdoor outlet installed, but it would be a bit costly and involved. 

I've been mulling the situation for a few weeks now and had yet to come up with a resolution when our neighbors began asking Heidi why our annual lights weren't up yet. "They seemed genuinely disappointed," Heidi reported. 

Nothing is ever as easy as it seems, though, and getting power to the porch involved WD-40 to lubricate and swing the ancient window open on its cleaning hinge, removing the brittle screen, finding some foam to fill the air gap and cushion the extension cord, and rigging a block so that the window would stay secrely closed since it couldn't be locked. 

Fortunately, all of the tools and supplies were available, and by 6:45 AM, we were ready for the lights! And, I was on such a roll that I washed all the colanders on the pot rack (having seen how dusty they were when I was up on the counter), made bread, baked cookies, swept the porch, blew all the leaves, and walked the dog, all before 9.

MVT

We had the fourth quarter of the Bills game on the radio as we drove to get our Christmas tree this afternoon. They had been behind the Bengals for three quarters, and Heidi wanted to know if she could wear her Bills gear or not tomorrow. Buffalo was only behind by three points when I turned the ignition, but before we were out of the complex, Cincinnati scored a touchdown. "There's still plenty of time left," I shrugged. "Josh Allen is good under this kind of pressure."

And indeed! Allen scored as we turned onto Route 7. A few moments later, Benford intercepted and ran for a touchdown, and Buffalo did not give up the lead again. Even so, both teams battled it out in the snow, sacking and slipping and sliding and scoring 34 points between them in the final quarter. The game was not quite over when we pulled into the parking lot of the nursery where we have purchased our tree in recent years, and we sat with the heater running until Allen took a knee on the snap, and the win was assured.

"That was exciting!" I said as we made our way to the tree lot and started looking for the perfect fit. This place gives every tree a name, and we laughed when we saw Sarah Connor. "Come with me if you want to live," I said in my best Austrian cyborg accent. A couple of rows over, we saw Albus Dumbledore and the White Witch, but one was too skinny and the other too tall. 

"Look!" Heidi pointed, laughing. "It's Josh Allen!" As we inspected the Fraser fir, she added, "I feel like we should get this one!"

"Yeah," I said, "but look at it." I pointed to some gaps and broken branches on the tree, which was leaning heavily to the right. "It's so beat up! It's like it actually played in the game."

First Saturday of December

"We have three parties to go to tomorrow," our neighbor laughed last night as she told us about her weekend.

"We're in town this weekend for parties," Heidi's dogwalking pal, who has a place in the mountains, told her this morning when she texted to suggest a visit to the dog park.

"Why is everybody going to parties except us?" I wondered aloud this evening as I leashed Lucy up for a walk.

Heidi shrugged. "They have a different social situation than we do. I guess it could be age or job or personality." Then she laughed. "Do you wish you had a lot of parties to go to?"

"Not necessarily," I answered crossly, "but an invitation or two doesn't seem that far-fetched."

The sky was darkening as Lucy and I finally crossed the threshold and headed up the hill, and the streets were silent as we wended our way through the neighborhood past apartments and houses, she sniffing, I admiring all the holiday lights. We walked on, enjoying the quiet evening.

"I guess everyone else is at parties," I said, looking at my dog. "Lucky for us."

Irregular Joe

"It's very tea-like," Julie, my nephew Victor's fiancée, said thoughtfully.

I nodded and sipped my own coffee, considering her comment. Victor, his brother Treat, and I love coffee, and we love a taste test, too. That's why the morning after Thanksgiving found us weighing the Ethiopian beans Victor had brought from Germany and brewing them two ways —pour-over and Aeropress. We served the coffee in pairs of the dozens of tiny juice glasses our rental house came equipped with, soliciting impressions from anyone in the family interested in a blind tasting.

The end results as to which was better were mixed, although every taster was able to distinguish a difference of details between the two preparations. Treat poured his together, then declared that the best cup of coffee would have to be prepared both ways and mixed.

As for the tea comment, it stuck with me. For the last couple of weeks, I, an inveterate coffee and cream drinker, have switched to black, the better to appreciate the nuance of my brew. It's been fun, especially since we splurged on a coffee Advent calendar again and have enjoyed a different bean every day since December 1.

Memory is the Best Sauce

After my observation yesterday, I drove over to see my aunt, since I was in the neighborhood (sort of). School started early over there, and so I was taking off my shoes and sitting down at her kitchen table by eleven. "I'm heating up turkey soup for lunch," she told me. 

"Does it have tomatoes and rice?" I asked, remembering how my mom used to make hers after Thanksgiving.

"Of course!" my aunt laughed. "How did you know?"

I can't say I loved my mother's turkey soup when I was a kid; there was something about the combination of bony broth, tiny shreds of turkey, chunky tomatoes, and frozen mixed vegetables that put me off. And as she'll tell you herself, my aunt is not known for her cooking.

But that soup? Was delicious.

In the Wheelhouse

I was nervous this morning when I stepped into the first grade classroom for my first coaching observation, but I needn't have been. The 18 kids were adorable as they quietly listened to their teacher lead them through whole-class phonics instruction. I felt right at home as I slid into a tiny chair and pulled out my notepad and pen, jotting observations and questions as the lesson progressed. When it was time for independent work and small groups, I circulated through the class and assisted as needed. 

An hour after I arrived, I waved at the teacher. "I wish I could stay all day!" I laughed. "See you next time."

And as I headed back to my car, I couldn't help thinking that maybe? I should just unretire and be a first grade teacher!