Grocery shopping would be okay except for all the people. My heart sinks when the parking lot is full. And it was full yesterday. I knew my trip to pick up a few things would be the victim of the holiday shoppers picking up lots of things.

Still wet. Still cold. Going to get colder still. The forecast low Thursday is 14. I’d say that will be a hard freeze. A squeeze the life out of everything freeze.

Sorry if I seem obsessed with present wrapping, but it seems a critical component of a merry Christmas. And I mean, merry, in that I’m happy getting stuff done.

Spent time wrapping presents yesterday. I need to up my game. I’m good at wrapping presents by family group so that I know which paper goes with what group. But the little touches are missing. Ribbons and bows.

Here’s some news I’ve yet to share. Just down the road from me, they’re building a multi-unit apartment complex. It’s one piece of property over. I can hear the construction vehicles constantly.

It’s in the 30s. I know some of my readers will think, oh to be there, but to be fair, it’s still cold. So, it’s sort of a shared experience. Except no snow.

Baby, it’s cold outside. Random song line to describe today’s weather. No point really. It just seemed the thing to do. This tendency toward randomness often happens when I get a good night’s sleep and I got one last night.

Well, that was interesting. A night of dreams. Literally. I went to sleep, dreamed, woke up and did that four times. Four dreams.

I was dawdling in bed this morning, enjoying the warmth of the covers, when I realized I had to get moving. I had things to do. Well, a thing. Get a haircut.

There’s a nice chill in the air and Christmas still seems a long way off, at least to me. It’s a nice sign that time has slowed a bit. Or at least my experience of it. There’s no rush to do anything.

Well, dang. I anticipated rain all day yesterday. It never came. At least not to me. It was just warm and muggy. Real Texas winter weather.

It looks as though it will be a day where we anticipate rain. I like that sort of day. Gray. Full of promise.

I’m wondering what next year will bring while feeling good about the possibilities. And that’s good medicine…

I grow tired sometimes writing about grief. Partly, I suspect because I think, who wants to hear it all the time. But when you’re writing every day about what you see and what you feel, it’s hard to avoid.

December 7, 1941. Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. The country went to war and set off a chain of events that reached all the way down to touch a young woman in Ohio and a young man in Texas.

All the recent tiny rains, the ones the drizzle down over long hours, have done wonders for our bluebonnet crop in the back lots. The ground is wet as far down as you care to dig, and the plants love it.

Fried a pork chop last night. It came out just right. Golden brown with crispy fat. No pink inside. That’s a first. I won’t bore you with the details, except one.

Ordinarily, a gray, rainy day might feel cold and somber. But today’s gray, rainy day feels anything but.

Boom. The Christmas cards are done and in the mail. On the last day in November. He shoots. He scores. Now it’s present buying time. I already have some. I feel as though this may well be as pressure free a Christmas as I’ve had in a long, long time.

I’m nearly halfway through addressing my Christmas cards. Two boxes down, two boxes to go. My rough count stood at 60. I don’t get that many cards in return. The custom seems to have fallen out of favor.