It’s 72 degrees (Fahrenheit) outside right now. In a mere fifteen hours, it will be 16 degrees. Wow, what a drop! I insulated my outside faucets because I won’t be watering for a few days, though by Wednesday, it will probably be warm enough to give my lawn a rinsing.

It will be good to have a break. Too often, standing out there watering, staring at all that green, I find myself thinking that grass is like hair for the ground. And just like hair, it needs periodic trimming and conditioning, shampooing and rinsing (mowing and fertilizing, watering). As you can see, not a whole lot goes on in my head when I am taking care of my new lawn.

On the other hand, when I am out and about, too much goes on in my head. For example, I’ve been seeing Santa Claus decorations, and for some reason, I have taken a dislike to the mythical old gent. (St. Nicholas may or may not be a myth, but the obese, red-garbed, bearded gent who harnesses wild animals to take him around the world in a single evening sure is.)

I think this dislike started around the time of that Polar Express movie. Here’s a kid who doesn’t believe in Santa Claus, but he’s taken to the North Pole, meets elves and sees a huge Christmas present manufacturing system, and then it still takes a huge leap of faith before he believes in SC. Why? It should have been obvious from the beginning that something was going on. Then, when he gets older, he’s rather smug about still believing. Um. If you know something for a fact, if you’ve seen with your own eyes, then it’s not believing. It’s knowing. And how can he feel superior to those who didn’t go on the Polar Express, who had only their own mundane experiences to go by? As you can see, that ridiculous movie still brings out the curmudgeon in me.

Although I’m not particularly religious, religious decorations don’t bother me at all, mostly because they are an intrinsic part of the Christmas story, beginning a couple thousand years before the bearded guy was ever thought of). Mostly, though, the decorations that speak to me are the seasonal ones. As in seasons. Holly. Wreaths. Trees. Cranberries. Snow. The snow part is decoration, you understand; I’m not particularly fond of white Christmases. I’m surprised more people aren’t leery of snow at Christmas. Obviously, snow makes travel difficult, and so many people do travel at that time of year.

Not that any of this matters. It’s just my curmudgeonly side coming to the fore.

And speaking of being curmudgeonly — apparently, I use the phrase “this matters” (as in none of this matters) rather frequently because almost every day now my grammar check tries to tell me I should be writing “these matters.”

Bah, humbug!


What if God decided S/He didn’t like how the world turned out, and turned it over to a development company from the planet Xerxes for re-creation? Would you survive? Could you survive?

A fun book for not-so-fun times.

Click here to buy Bob, The Right Hand of God.

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