If I knew everything there was to know about the heart,
I would be Ann Landers and Michael DeBakey combined.
Throbbing like a dynamo, bringing blood to the flexing pricks and lubricious cunts of a lost and lusty world.
I wish I knew where everything fit. I would be bring every faux phallus to life on New Year’s Eve. And every Top who ever strapped on and wondered would know. And real jizz would spurt and every toe would curl.
The Dreamers who long for a working cunt would get their wish and then some, a matching clit that throbs and shoots electric sparks to every tingling nerve.
Meanwhile, in Melbourne, New Zealand has just bowled out Marnus Labuschagne, by Colin deGrandhomme. With Labuschagne and David Warner out, the Black Caps have dispatched two of their biggest nemeses in the crease. Looks like a good match is shaping up.
It was a pleasant Christmas. Family, in a small dose, gathered at my sister’s. J, #2 son. sister, brother-in-law, my stepmum (age 94) were there, along with me. Brother-in-law fixed a bread pudding from a panettone, mushroom tarts, other yummies. Gifts were exchanged. Sister gave me an antique fruit cake tin, (ca. 1958).
Fruit cake is kind of a snarky joke in The States. It was quite in vogue about 60-70 years ago, but has fallen out of favour. Every few years or so, a “gourmet” or other foodie type decides to “re-invent” it. The way it was made back in the day was just fine. My sister told me the mother of one of her music students (she teaches piano and strings) once offered her homemade “Christmas Cake”. They were a Welsh family and a Welsh Christmas Cake is very much the equivalent of what we Americans call fruit cake.
The mother of the family said she would understand if my sis refused, given Americans’ disdain for fruit cake, fostered by advertising. (A more unimaginative lot than advertising copywriters cannot be found, imho.) My sister accepted tbe proffered confection and found it quite delectable.
The fruit cake tradition left our family with quite an inventory of empty fruit cake tins. They usually had a Christmas or winter theme. We used them to store little items, easily lost, like crayons.
My Dad used a fruit cake tin to store 8mm ammunition from the Japanese Nambu pistol, he acquired during The War. The ammunition stayed in the tin, unused, till the day he died in 2011, 66 years after its acquisition. My nephew, a law enforcement officer, then took the now dangerously detetiorated ammo away for safe disposal,
Mum would put sewing notions in them, thread, needles, bobbins. She called them a “catch-all box”. (I still hear her saying it).
Sewing notions. These items I associate with the past seem so distant, but they aren’t really. There was a time when many women sewed, just as they did home canning. I suspect many women still do and are quite proud of these skills of self-reliance. It is just an image that isn’t so popular in the culture promoted by mass media.
As I write this, my Australian, English, Irish, Canadian followers are now or soon will be celebrating Boxing Day, with Pantomime (UK), or a hockey game (Canada), or cricket (AUS vs NZ test) We go buy more stuff in America or return gifts that don’t fit, don’t need or don’t want.
#1 son and his wife picked up Lila. She is such a sweet dog. But I was relieved when she left, much the same way grandparents are when their grandchildren leave, I suspect.
The love remains. The lights twinkle. I think we should have a midyear Christmas Dress Rehearsal to 1) remind us it is coming and 2) consider new food, decorations, potential traditions. Besides being reminded the weather will cool off when we’re sweating like hogs is always a nice thought.
I just saw the word “Saviour” (capital S) in the subject line of an e-mail. Was it from an earnest evangelist proclaiming the birth of Jesus Christ, whom Christians revere as their saviour?
No. Want another guess? OK, I guess not.
It was the topic line in an email from a retailer, asserting that 10% off a gift card was a “Last Minute Saviour”.
This isn’t about a sacrilege on the part of the retailer, the context and the use of the word are perfectly OK. It is just a confirmation that people don’t think in terms of needing ASaviour. It’s kind of a joke to even admit to that need.
The Incarnation of God in human form is what this Solemnity of Christmas is all about. Jesus came into the world to save sinners from eternal estrangement from God. His mission, his purpose was, no, is, to draw humanity back to God, the divine source of humankind’s creation. And of all that is good.
Who thinks they need saving? This is the question. An alcoholic or addict whose life is trapped in the throes of their sickness may say yes. Those who have tried to succeed in the World on the strengths of their skills and failed may accept their helplessness. No longer trusting in their own strengths, they may seek the help of God. They may see their definition of success change and find satisfaction working a job that offers a new sense of freedom and power.
A human trafficker who sold thousands into slavery had a moment of metanoia, spiritual transformation, and subsequently redirected his life. He acknowledged the evil that he caused and sought to make amends for the wrongs commited. That person was the slave trader John Newton, who wrote a popular hymn in the Eighteenth Century about his conversion. That hymn is AmazingGrace. Most of us, Christian or not, are familiar with its words.
There is more that can be said, that needs to be said. But not right now. This is a day to put aside the books, to dance and be merry.
First of all, I am totally stoked over my houseguest. She is a pit bull, strong enough to pull Santa’s sleigh all by herself. When I took her for a walk, I could feel her power as I held the lead. She did well on her walk, pooped, came back in.
I find myself talking to Lila as if she were a human, tbe same way I did when we had Choco The Beagle and Bailey The Westie.
Earlier tonight, I had my swim, did 2500 meters (1.5 miles). I went to a meeting at noon.
For someone who is not a big Christmas fan, having this dog around is all the present I could hope for.