In which I continue writing like a madwoman, and ponder gifts
“You say that every Saturday,” she told him solemnly.
“I do say that every Saturday,” he agreed with her. “And every Saturday it is even more true than it was the Saturday prior. Isn’t that an amazing coincidence? Maybe we should call the record books or something.”
“Yeah, Dad. Sure,” she said, trying to sound sarcastic, but smiling at him shyly instead. She had actually always loved her dad’s Saturday morning waffle routine.
He had kept up the waffle routine for her even when her mom swore off waffles for life, (“I can’t ride with all those carbs, Michael!”) and he made a point of waffle-Saturdays even after the divorce. Then, he would pick her up early on Saturday mornings at her mom’s house—or sometimes, at her mom’s barn where they’d spent the night after a long week of clinics and lessons with visiting trainers—and drive her back to his apartment to make waffles and plan their weekend together.
Sometimes they would go fishing, sometimes they would go to the zoo, and sometimes they would just stay home and read books and watch movies. But always there were waffles.
“Maple syrup today, my dear? Or strawberries? Or…” he checked the contents of the freezer, “Yes, it looks like the blueberries survived the long and perilous journey across the state to the vast unknown wilds of this new and untamed freezer. Would you like to reward their tenacity by devouring them on waffles?”
“Yes, please,” she told him. “I’ll heat them up in the microwave if you want some, too.”
He nodded, and she carefully poured little frozen blue marbles from the bag into a glass measuring cup, and put them in the microwave for half a minute. Serving the blueberries this way had been the invention of her mo—um, her grandmother really liked blueberries served this way with waffles.
Isn't this just the cutest little thing? I've named him "Luck" and he will actually have a very important role in the next few chapters of the story. Thanks, Mel!
Now, can we talk about gifts?
The "holiday season" for ME is Hallowe'en and Thanksgiving and NaNoWriMo. After my mom's birthday on December 1st, I prefer to pull the covers over my head and sleep until the Pacific Northwest Endurance Rides' annual conference at the end of January. Don't bother me with Xmas, Hannukah, Kwanzaa or Junkanoo, please. I will arise for a brief celebration on Solstice (days getting longer, hooray!).
Other than that, just leave a message and I'll get back to you in early Spring, right?
But there's this "gift thing" in December that is morbidly fascinating to me. I find it almost almost interesting enough to stay awake:
The Fabulous Useless Gift of the Year.
Jim and I love to try to discover these unreal items by watching the newspaper ads (we don't do television or commercial radio, so I'm sure we miss stuff...but that's another post).
He's betting on this for 2009:Yes, you guessed correctly. It's a Food Tumbler. People are starving in the world, and somebody wants to waste electricity to marinate meat. Sigh.
I haven't found my entry for 2009 yet. I'm still boggled by this:
2008 Truck Antlers. >shaking my head<
So, what does the discerning Poet/Farmer appreciate in a gift?
Jim and Willy hit the jackpot at the lumber yard the other day:(HINT: Lumber yard= good place to shop for farmer gifts. Hardware store = even better)
Not only is this a nice-quality single-hand folding knife with a locking blade, it's PURPLE. And also GREEN. And also SHINY! I used it to hack up the jack o' lanterns so the chickens could eat them.
Now that is a gift.
Life is good!