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One of the things that I most wanted to see on this trip was the new Acropolis museum in Athens. We saw it on Tuesday the 16th, and it was our very best day in Athens. In the early 1800s the British bought the crumbling pediments of the Parthenon from the Greek government (which at that time was the Ottoman Turks) and removed them to bring to England for display. About half of the marbles fell into the waters around the port at Piraeus while attempting to load them on ships. The others made it to London and have been on display at the British Museum ever since. The Greeks have wanted them back for nearly two centuries. "They are Greek marbles," they said, "and belong in Greece." Mostly the Brits said, "We bought them, they are ours." But at some point in the late 20th century a British diplomat expanded and said, "If we hadn't 'saved' them, they would have been destroyed by war and pollution. You don't have any place safe to keep them or display them. You should thank us for keeping them safe for the world." Well, that was a mistake.

The Greeks, their country proud but impoverished, built a new museum. It is huge, gorgeous, modern, climate-controlled, and was built with a whole glass-enclosed floor just to display the marbles from the Parthenon. Which are in the British Museum. I don't think they will ever be returned. But no one can say that Greece doesn't have a place for them.

We took a cab from the hotel to the museum. The building is an angled, geometric structure of glass, metal, and concrete starting at ground level below the acropolis and rising several stories so that the top level looks out almost level with ancient buildings on top. When I say glass and metal I mean everything. Including the floors. The ground floor is all see-through glass so that you can look directly into the on-going excavations below. It's more than a little disconcerting, and the only way I could manage it was to look ahead and not down.


The caryatids from the Erectheum are also on display in this museum. The ones actually on the acropolis now holding up the building are now replicas. One of the most interesting parts of this is that you can now see the backs of these female bearers of burdens, and the backs are in much better shape than the fronts since they spent a couple thousand years protected by the roof and not facing out into the elements. And of course you all know that all of this was originally painted in bright colors - no bland white marble for the early Greeks.

The top floor is, as I said, all glass-walled. With a wide bench around the whole thing. So one can sit and stare at the few existing bits of sculpture left, and at the pictures of the sculpture that is gone. It's like looking at the original pediments of the building almost at eye height. And through the windows you can see what is left of the Parthenon itself where Greeks are working a complex jigsaw puzzle to put as many original bits back where they belong and to replace missing stones and columns with replacement bits. You can also see the other hill of Athens, Lycabettus, rising above the city a bit farther away.



And my favorite part of the whole thing? Not only are there built in benches around the sides of the top floor, there are cube shaped benches throughout the building, and a theater with real chairs where they show a (quite political, but who can blame them?) film on the history of the Parthenon. That means that old, wimpy folks like me can enjoy several hours in the museum and see everything without giving in to exhaustion.

And speaking of politics, our day at the Acropolis Museum was the day that the city of Athens had a restaurant strike. All restaurants and tavernas and sidewalk food vendors in the city were closed. We had resigned ourselves to granola bars for dinner. But the café in the museum was open! The young woman who waited on us carefully explained that the wait staff belonged to the museum workers union, and when museums were closed for strikes, the waiters went on strike with them. But on that day we ended our expedition with a lovely hot meal of excellently prepared food, and I got a glass of Greek cider that was tart and tasty.
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Today began at 8am. Actually, the alarm rang at 7:20, but it took us a bit to get up and showered and dressed and put all our laundry in a big canvas bag. Promptly at 8am (when the doors opened) Kent delivered it to the National Laundry right next door (and not to Zenio's a block up the street) where for a princely sum per kilo they promised to have everything washed, dried, and folded by 4pm. This gave us the day free.

Breakfast at the Hermes has always been pleasant and plentiful. We've been coming here off and on for 30 years. I'll take some photos tomorrow and add them in. The ceramic duck full of boiled eggs is especially nice. The hotel seems to be giving a nod to most western breakfast groups, while concentration on a traditional Greek breakfast. So in addition to a gallon of freshly made yogurt (served in the basin of the yogurt-maker) with bowls of various honeys and jams, there are a couple of plates of cheese and sliced cold cuts for the Germans, a warming dish of scrambled eggs and one of beans for the Brits, little baked croissants for the French, and along with all that OJ, water, toast, tea (with the water nearly hot enough) and a machine with pre-measured 'coffee' combinations where you press a button to get espresso, cappuccino, cafe americano, cafe au lait, etc. The machine is icky. But next to it is a device where you press a button labeled "Large Black Coffee" and hold it down until your cup is full. I peeked in the back, and it's a big urn of regular coffee that someone brews back in the kitchen. Pretty good coffee too. But you have to add your own sugar and milk. The milk offered is evaporated milk (took me a while to sound THAT out in Greek), but one can also cheat and go over to the cereal stand and pour either cold milk or hot milk from pitchers. There are daily Greek specialties. So far we've had spinach pies, sliced Feta, little crustinis with sliced tomato and a dollop of yogurt, and, of course, plates of olives and tomato wedges. We made a good breakfast while discussing what to attempt to do today.

Our original plan was to see the Byzantine Museum. Kent and Rivka went there in 2004, but I have not seen it. However, like several of the top museums, it is near Syntagma Square (Parliment Square) and that's where the students are planning a march today in remembrance of the 17 November 1975 protest against the reign of the Colonels. We were warned that all traffic would be closed off by noon. Since I'm pretty darn dependent on my daily taxis, I didn't want to risk it. First I sat and read for a while in the lobby and let my anti-inflammatories kick in while Kent went searching local jewelry stores for a Christmas present for a friend. Then we walked slowly down through the Plaka (old town) towards Hadrian's Library. Apparently in addition to building a Wall in Britain, he also built a Library in Athens. Quite the man!

On the way we bought one more Christmas gift, and a dozenish post cards. Tired from the walk (well, I was) we had lunch at a cafe on the square. The kolokythia keftedes were quite good - the recipe tasted just like the ones Kent makes but deep fried like fritters instead of baked or pan fried. We asked for lamb souvlaki, and got something mildly tasty which might have been lamb but was not souvlaki (miniature kabobs) but was some spiced minced meat molded onto sticks and grilled. I drank lemonada and Kent drank Pepsi Max which seems to be the sugarless cola of choice in Athens at the moment.


We talked a bit about how thirty, almost forty, years ago when I first started coming to Greece, Coca Cola was pretty much the only international soft drink available. I was a Pepsi drinker in those days and found drinking Coke a challenge. Ah, how young! How innocent! But then Atlanta 'stole' the Olympics from Athens, and the entire country boycotted Coke products for decades. You can now buy a coke in a store, but I've yet to see an actual restaurant serving one.

Hadrian's Library is a sizable site about two stories down from street level. It sits on the side of the Acropolis opposite the Parthenon and you can clearly see the Erectheum and the Proplyum on top of the mesa a few blocks away.

I was pretty pooped out, so my exploration was from bench to bench with a few photos as I sat. Hadrian's place wasn't as big as Alexandria. It had only 16000 or so scrolls (books hadn't come into fashion yet), but that's still pretty sizeable. There are several walls standing where you can see the niches where cabinets of scrolls were stored.

And there were two small auditoriums (as in, places where lectures or readings were given), and one had a bit of metal roof over a little shed where a large cat was curled up soaking in the warm sun. The other cat, equally large, was a dark tabby with white bits strolling around the library grounds and being massively pregnant.

Kittens in November are pretty unusual in the US, but I suppose in Greece with it's milder climate that is different.

I wasn't sure I was going to make the ten blocks back to the hotel. My energy was gone and my back was cramping. But we found benches twice to stop and sit. And in the cathedral square I got to look not only at the murals above the front door, but also at iron work swans on a second story balcony - something I would have missed entirely.


But back in the room I took a muscle relaxant and lay with my knees up for almost an hour until it was time to pick up the laundry. It was all clean and neatly folded into a gigantic, thick plastic carrier bag that Kent and I carried by each taking one handle. Our fabric laundry bags had been washed and folded as well.

So tomorrow we start the second part of our trip with a taxi ride to Piraeus to find the Viking Venus which is likely at Terminal A, unless it is a Terminal B, but it might well be at dock E11. Wish us luck.

And if anyone can give me advice about how to post a photo from my laptop, please do. Otherwise, no photos until I do a bit more research.
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Kent and I are sitting in reasonably comfortable chairs at gate D41 at Charles DeGaulle waiting for our Aegean flight to Athens. After a restless night in a very different time zone Kent woke suddenly at 8am - an hour later than we expected to be downstairs eating a leisurely breakfast before departing for the airport. We rushed about madly, I got one cup of coffee of poor coffee and some buns, and made it out to our taxi right on time for our 9:30am reservation.

Our driver was from Ghana - NOT Guyana - and seemed surprised that I knew the difference. He told me Ghana was a former British colony. I told him I was from the US which was also a former British colony. This surprised him enormously. He spent several years in New York City but had never heard that. Whatever his experience in NY, he knew the Paris airport well. He whizzed past a long barely moving queue of cars waiting for Terminal 2B, whipped through Terminal 2C, and buzzed right into 2B by the back entrance. He even knew where the Aegean counter was, and gave us directions while snagging a cart and piling our luggage on it. And that was the end of fast and efficient for the morning.

There were only two gentlemen in the line for Aegean Air. That looked good. And then just as it was their turn to go forward Mamma came to join them, coming from the wrong direction - opening and closing belts on any stanchions that happened to be in the way. Apparently, according to a combination of my limited Greek and French, the family was taking an afternoon flight to Athens and wanted to check their luggage now so that they could go into the city for lunch. Impossible. It was not yet the time. Yes! Yes! It must be now! Eventually the agent gave in because the line was getting longer and longer. But first, says Mamma, her younger son must take things out of one checked bag and put them in the woven carry on that she hands him. They argue. Then younger boy, maybe 40 or so, gets down on the floor, opens his suitcase, and starts taking out sweaters and underwear and chocolates. They finish. The agent checks the bags. Mamma - perhaps five feet tall and dressed in very chic clothing - leads off her boys - each well over six feet - in the wrong direction. The agent tries to call after them then shrugs and motions Kent and I, the easy, organized Americans, to check in.

The agent takes our luggage, glances at our vaccination records, and hands us our boarding passes. Covid tests? Not requested. She does ask if we have our Greek Passenger Locator form. We do! All is well and we are off to security.

Security is a madhouse. But not an angry madhouse. I think that is saved for US airports. One uniformed guard sees our walking canes and scoots us to the crew line. There another guard whisks us to the front. And now I feel like the Greek gentleman - nearly everything must come out of my carry on and be placed in a separate container. Kent must remove his belt. We are both allowed to keep our shoes. My metal-filled body sets off all the alarms at the station. A pleasant woman comes over and feels me up and down. She finds no knives or guns, but does examine the bottoms of my shoes. She smiles but does not speak. I am allowed to bypass the two minute description of how I am to be searched that is required of all TSA agents. We reassemble, find an elevator, and with only one five minute stop for me to rest (and us to watch an injured agent - cut her pinkie - be bandaged up by another agent) we arrive at the waiting area for our flight.

The female flight attendant puts my bag up into the overhead and brings me a seat belt extender. We take off and are quickly served a restaurant-worthy meal of veal and potatoes in a tasty Greek sauce (with salad, bread, cheese, and dessert) and miniscule glasses of Coke. We eagerly drink two each for a total of about 8 ounces. The wine glasses for our seatmates across the aisle are much larger. I nap. Suddenly we are in Athens.

We deplane and queue up for vaccination control. But wait! Kent, magnificent, omnipotent Kent, has printed off our Greek Passenger Locator forms! We are moved immediately to the head of the line. A clerk glances at the logo at the top of the form and waves us through. Our luggage is first onto the baggage carousel. We exit in the green line still waiting for someone to request our vaccine cards, our covid tests, our passports. Nope. We are done.

Except there are no toilets in the terminal. Sad. Awkward.

My "Kale mera, sas." is apparently in a good enough accent to get me a spate of Greek from the taxi driver. He recognizes "Hotel Hermes, Plaka" and that's all the conversation in his massively high-speed sprint into town. Appollonus Street looks like it always has - narrow and dirty and full of people. Nikos Taverna - my favorite place in the Plaka since 1984 - has not survived the plague. But the Hermes welcomes us and sends us one by one up the tiny elevator. Our room is small but comfortable and there is a plug point right by my bed for my CPAP. The bathroom as a walk in shower with half a glass door. All is well.

CPAP

Oct. 2nd, 2021 08:53 am
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I have accomplished CPAP. After a year or more of increasingly troubled sleep, I went - quite unwillingly - for an overnight sleep test at Delta Waves. Not a positive experience. Then I had to force my way to an appointment with a pulmonologist (because the office person at my doctor's office gave them the wrong phone number) and after a somewhat unpleasant session got set up for a meeting with a CPAP provider yesterday. Seems to me that the assignment of a machine should be done by a third party, not by the people who sell the device, but that's not how it happened. Do I seem very negative? Yes. Yes, I am. But Lisa helped me get it set up in the bedroom, and I used it all night, and slept 8 and a half hours with only one brief wake up to turn over. The evaluation app on my phone gave me a successful 93 points out of 100. So I guess it worked. And I guess I will use it for the rest of my life. Amazingly, this does not thrill me.
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Yesterday we had an Open House to celebrate thirty years since that August day in 1991 when we moved into the house on Allegheny. I remember thinking that Colorado would be like Montana, and was fully expecting snow the first week of September. And then I remember padding out to the mailbox at the end of the driveway with bare feet for weeks and weeks waiting for the bad weather to start - not realizing that September is usually the very nicest weather that Colorado has to offer. We've been here a long time. Longer than I have ever lived anywhere. And in the back third of the attic there are still boxes and bags and stuff that got moved there when we first arrived and unpacked from DC and that haven't been touched since. What an adventure for my children when they come to clear out the house someday!

Mountains

Sep. 14th, 2020 09:38 am
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On Wednesday LisaJulie and I are heading up into the mountains for a few days. We haven’t really planned where we will go but are heading up towards the Black Canton of the Gunnison. We will carry blankets, flashlights, food, water, and extra masks. Montrose, Silverton, and Grande Mesa are possible destinations. We will bring you all along with photos and posts. Yes, we will stay away from the fires. Yes, we will be careful.
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At the instigation of Melissa McDowell I have moved my LiveJournal account (gilraen2) over to DreamWidth (memelaina). The import program was incredibly swift and so fast that I'm thinking something must have gone wrong, but it doesn't seem to have. I'll leave the LJ account sitting there for comparison, if necessary, until it expires at the end of the year. I'm still not sure how "friends" work on DW, but I'll work on it. Feel free to friend or follow me if you would like. Looking back over entries on LJ this past couple weeks, seems like I made longer, more blog-like posts than I do on FB, and that I talked a lot about various travels.
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Yesterday we missed what is probably ou only chance in life to visit the town of Washbrook Copdock. Instead we took the back roads through Thetford, Ipswitch, Ixworth, and Downing Market to avoid a road closure on the A14 and get to Ely from the north. We are now seated at the Minster Tavern awaiting the delivery of steak and ale pie with chips and mushy peas. I am drinking cider. Just outside the door the lantern tower of Ely Cathedral rises over us. Photos to follow.



Then on the way from Ely to Corby where we are staying next we took the backest of back roads. Not even B roads. Roads that only had names - Forty Foot Bank (through the fens) to Witchwyth Over to the Ramsey Road towards Wayton Minor. When we arrived at the hotel I took back the phone to check what was happening and found that Kent had us using pedestrian mode rather than driving mode. We had just had a lovely walking tour of East Anglia.

He says it is my fault because I changed the map to pedestrian mode when we were in Ely. He might even be right. But he COULD have changed it back. Really.
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We were eating in a little restaurant off Queensgate in Kensington last night and I ordered a pate parfait as a starter. I came cold, very cold, in glass jar with a metal bail holding on a glass lid. Inside was a generous half cup - or a little more - of pate under a chilled solid layer of schmaltz.

I broke and removed the schmaltz and ate the really quite excellent pate in solid little chunks on the two (count them, two) toast points. I then had more than two thirds of my serving left. Kent got some artisan bread with butter and dipping sauces and I stole some of his bread, buttered it, added some of the now thawing pate and it was even better than before.

I asked for some more bread and it came just before my butterflied lamb chop. the chop was very nice, but by this time the pate was room temperature, spreadable, and absolutely grand. The serving size ofthe pate was really more than that of my lamb entree.

My questions: Why was this a parfait? Because of the schmaltz? Do people eat schmaltz? Why was it served icy cold? At room temperature it was great but as served it was difficult to handle and not nearly as tasty. At room temp you might have been able to spread the fat on the bread, but as served that was impossible. Why only two toast points for a very large serving of pate? The pate would have been enough for chunky or three delicate full-sized sandwiches. I felt like I was doing something wrong, but the pate was really too good to waste.
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I've had a phone since about 1997. A cell phone. First I had a pager, but then one day I was stuck in traffic on the freeway when my boss paged me and she was NOT happy. The very next morning there was a phone on my desk and666 I was instructed to carry it with me at all times. I did for the next 19 years. First it was big and chunky and had a thick, little arial sticking up from the corner. It made and received phone calls. That was all it did. It was enough.

Eventually the company provided me with smaller and more powerful phones. One that texted (remember texting on a number keyboard where each key could be one of three letters?). Then there was the year that my phone broke. Literally broke in half. And the only phone the company would replace it with was a brand new - but already two versions out of date - iPhone. I had a 2, a 3, a 4, and then my current 5s. I came to do many, many more things on my "phone" than make and receive phone calls.

But you know what I never did in all those years? I never PAID for the phone service. And yesterday, for the first time in my life, I went into AT&T and started to do that. SIXTY DOLLARS A MONTH FOR BASIC PHONE SERVICE!!!! Insane. I won't do it. At least, I won't do it long. But because of issues here at home, I need to have phone service during our time in Europe over the next few months. So I have a $60 a month service, and a $40 a month "international package" on TOP of that. I only need the international package in months when I will be in Europe. And I can delete it in months when I am not. But - wait for it - you can't get the international package without the "basic" $60 a month service for it to ride on. So until September I am stuck.

What's the purpose of this rant? I need my friends and family (who were my friends and family long before anyone trademarked "Friends and Family"TM) that while I am in England and Iceland from the 30th of January to the 16th of February PLEASE, please, please DO NOT PHONE ME. Send me texts. It will work just fine. It is free (for some value of free). If you phone me AT&T will charge me for each minute or part of a minute that I am on the phone. Texts are fine. Text all you want. If you really need to phone, then phone the house and the folks there will take your message and pass it on to me as a text.

Thank you for your cooperation in this new and exciting venture.

When September rolls around I'm moving to what they call a "pre-paid" phone where I get the same service for $25 a month but I have to pay for the service before they give it to me instead of after I use it.
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About this time exactly one year ago I was heading into the operating room for cancer surgery. It's been a year. With the wonderful help of friends and family - Lisa and Kent and Megan most specifically - I have recovered and, praise God, have had clear quarterly cancer checks. Three of them. Next one is the end of February.

It's also Epiphany. Those are two big reasons why I chose this as my last day of work. Thank you all for everything you've done to keep me going and keep me recovering my health over the last year.

As my sister Juanita tells me, may your next year be your best year. So say we all.
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Today was my last day after more than 21 years at Oracle. Yep. That's the corporate entity that I used to work for and whose name I carefully never mentioned in social media. Lots of hugs from people in the building, but not even an acknowledgement from management that I was leaving. No exit interview. No one assigned to take my badge, or my credit card, or my office key.

I went into my office planning to do a set of a dozen or so reports and re-write one macro. And found that the only thing I had access to was email. So I re-coded the macro, tested it, and mailed it out to my co-worker. Then had a phone conversation with him about the reports that he is going to have to take over - because I no longer have access. He asked how he is supposed to get access and I didn't know. I've had it since the system was created. No idea what people do now. And that, in a nutshell, is how I feel about leaving. I am very glad I don't have to go to work on Monday. This or any Monday. But I have no idea how my team will manage to get things done. They've been told just to absorb my work. There will be no replacement hiring. And while I care personally for the efforts and overwork of my friends and co-workers, I don't really give a fig for whether or not Oracle accomplishes it's ill-managed purposes and tasks. I've done too much, for too long, with too little reward. Screw 'em.
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It is Wednesday. Friday is my last day of work. I'm madly packing up my cube. I've taken home two or three shopping bags of stuff each day this week. Twenty years of acquisition results in a lot of trinkets and trivia. Hope I can manage to get it all out of the building by Friday.

Terry is currently at the Center at Centennial doing Physical Therapy and rehab. She has a meeting with the staff and doctors there today at 2pm to see what the next steps are. I'll be attending the meeting and will know more afterwards.

Alexandria

Dec. 30th, 2016 08:26 am
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Thirty-four years ago today Kent and I drove to the courthouse in Alexandria, got our marriage license, picked the closest JP from a list, and went to find Nicholas Colsanto to marry us. He had no secretary and typed in his part of the license on an ancient manual Underwood. He was also ancient. He told Kent, "Always come home." Then told me, "Never say no." Then he did the deed. We saw his obituary in the Post a couple of weeks later. He was 92. Did a good job though. I think 34 years counts as a success.

Jelly!

Dec. 29th, 2016 09:39 am
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Dear Friends and Neighbors and assorted acquaintances,
Some lovely person sent us a wide variety of jams and jellies (lots and LOTS of little jars) and a tube of chocolate lip balm. Unfortunately there was no note or any identification with the gift. Was it you? If so, please let us know. In any case, many thanks for the strawberry, raspberry, and elderberry jam. And yes, Valentine, you can now say your mother smells like elderberries.
A slightly sticky Mem
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For Papersky

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It's quiet in the house this afternoon. And the only one who doesn't miss the children even one little bit is Sappho who perches calmly on the back of her chair and surveys her solitary realm. I'm back from my second run to the Denver airport in as many days and Megan and her brood have headed off to Crested Butte to ski. There's a fridge full of leftover roast beef and potatoes. I have more Christmas cards to send. And Christmas present's to enjoy - Stephen Mitchell's translation of the Odyssey and two "Minecraft" manuals from my grandkids who can't wait for me to start building things. I'm also reading Jodi Taylor's Chronicles of St. Mary's, and (having finished re-reading all the Samaria books) Sharon Shinn's first Elemental novel - Troubled Waters.

I have six more days of vacation after today - and then four days of work at the office and I'm done. Retired. Out of the corporate world.

Perhaps best of all, it's quiet in the house this afternoon.
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On Saturday my SIL Kurt (along with the kids) bought and put up a Christmas tree in our living room and did the lights. This is a traditionally masculine job and he did it with skill, courtesy, and aplomb. Then the children went up to the attic and brought down the Christmas boxes. We still haven't found the box that has the tree-top angel, but there were many boxes of ornaments and I went through one box - explaining briefly the meaning behind the various ornaments (who made them, who bought them, how old they were) - and the girls rummaged the other box and hung what they thought was pretty. This way we did get two of the bread dough angels from the Christmas when I was pregnant with their mother (40 years ago now) and three of the four Nurnberg ornaments and the sisal mouse that we got the year Valentine (Michael Mouse) was born and also a number of ornaments I hadn't seen in years. The tree is lovely and glows gladly into the living room.

Robin and Fred arrived yesterday afternoon to my great joy. Kent make weinerschnitzel for dinner with a great German potato salad and we all sat at the table for a long time talking. I made pumpkin pies and there is enough left over to have for breakfast.

One of the three remaining package deliveries was made yesterday so I have one last thing to wrap. We worked hard this year - all of us - at NOT making presents the focus of our celebration - and I am very glad! Valentine arrives today from Chicago (at the whims of Spirit airlines...) and John and his lady arrive tomorrow evening.

Anyone who hasn't yet gotten a Christmas card can expect one sometime next week when I am off work and have more free time. There are, after all, twelve days of Christmas. Let's use them every one!
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Megan and the Schwartz family will arrive late this afternoon. I'm finishing up the present wrapping to have all that out of the way, and Kent is making spaghetti for supper. Tomorrow night we get to have the kids to ourselves while their parents go to a grown-up party.

Robin and Fred arrive on Wednesday, Valentine on Thursday, and John and Jessica on Friday. Then we have Christmas weekend. Then everyone leaves in dribs and drabs through the day on Tuesday the 28th.

It will be a lovely, full, busy, loving week. And I totally refuse to get hassled or cranky. If anyone doesn't like my cooking, housekeeping, or Christmas plans they have my smiling permission to change things and do it themselves. I'm going to sit in my chair, drink cocoa and egg not (separately, not mixed) and commune with my family.

Oh! And we are getting family photos done on Saturday morning at Fox Run Park! Huzzah!
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So Saturday evening I was sitting in the living room listening to the wind roar loudly around the house - we were having a chinook for those of you who know what that means - and there was a sudden crash and the cat jumped straight up and fluffed out. I went back to look, thinking a window had blown open. Nope. A window blew OUT. All the way out. Frame and all. And there in the wall of our master bedroom was a blank hole 66" by 88" (yes, we measured) with the wind rushing through and the trees whipping their branches and the cold moon shining in. Very odd feeling.

I carefully approached and looked down and could see the double window frame lying on the ground 10 feet below.

We are very lucky in our friends and neighbors. The magnificent Ted and his son Connor packed up the pickup and came running to the rescue - stopping at Home Depot on the way to buy two big sheets of plywood. Our neighbor Dan was already settled in by then with three ladders, two sawhorses, a drill, a circular saw, and A PLAN!

Kent went outside and was allowed to hold flashlights. I held two lamps out the window from above until there was no more window opening to hold them from. Dan, Ted, and Connor cut up the plywood, climbed the ladders, screwed the boards firmly and exactly onto the outside of the opening, and then taped all the edges with gaffer's tape. Then Ted came in and we put up some insulation and sealed a plastic dropcloth over the inside.

As he walked home with his two story ladder my neighbor Dan said, "Thank you for letting me help!" and as he headed out the front door (to return to trimming his Christmas tree) Ted asked, "Now is there anything else I can do?" I don't need good fences. I've already got good neighbors.

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