It’s 533am in ADG land and not a creature is stirring ‘cause I’m the onliest creatsture (As Ernest T. Bass would pronounce it) in the house. And I’m rested at 533am because I fell asleep real early last night. 430am arrived early Christmas morning—not by design per se but I was gonna get up at 5 anyway.
Christmas eve and morning were great culminations of what was a harried two weeks leading up. If you wanna more thorough rundown on the LFG/ADG Christmas tree, I refer you to last year’s post for an ornament, by ornament manifestation of our eclectirandoyulishness.
Wow, what a difference another blessed year makes and wow, how quickly this one blew by. Last year our tree was up by the typical 2.5 to 3 weeks before Christmas. This year LFG and I were lucky to get the thing up at all. We are no less manifest in Yule cheer but it’s just been maniacally busy for us all. As I think of it, the idea of not getting on a plane until January 6th is more comforting than most of you can probably understand. And yes, I repaired the “blowed up Saab”…only time will tell if rescinding my decision to “not put another penny in this thing” was a good one.
Our Old Angler’s Inn get together with LFG’s mom was so nice—in every way. I’ve said it to the point of redundancy…as long as we remain focused on what’s best for LFG; we are fine amidst these special occasion summits. Old Angler’s had a nice little menu for Christmas Eve and being our little princess, LFG was allowed to go off the menu and pounce on a cheeseburger.
The Santa visit manifested visual evidence that LFG is not a cuddly little baby anymore. Clothes and electronics pretty much did it for this gal. Her “big” gifts this year were a replacement pair of Uggs and the Nook reader from Barnes and Noble. Uggs need replacing a couple of times each year because they provoke, at least from my child, an odiferous funkorama that scares me.
And the Nook…LFG begged and begged for this thing—for months. I’ll still insist (we’ll see how that goes) that she read regular books but here’s my bottom line on e-books…If the vehicle will enhance my child’s already strong appetite for books; if this platform will synergize even slightly, her love affair with words then I’m all in.
I won’t personally relent till I get an iPad…which is inevitable. But I like owning my regular books. I revel in the therapeutic unguent that two hours in a used bookshop offers me. I love that cerebral sleight of hand I inflict upon myself when I rationalize the expenses associated with my used bookshop forays as well as my dangerously capricious Amazon One-Click impulsivity. I’ll have the Larry McMurtry autobiographical trilogy finished by tonight and I’ve concluded that McMurtry, sitting down in his Hay-on-Wye attempt called Archer City Texas, writes books and screenplays to finance his addiction to collecting books. Actual books…you know, the ones whose pages can be fingered and re-read and dog eared and whose tight spines, despite the admonishment of the ancient librarian Miss Duffeld, late of Royall Elementary school, can be hyper bent-back amidst the glue crackling, for better page turning. Well there you damn go. All the reason in the world that for me, e-books won’t ever completely replace the real thang.
So LFG got all jazzed up over her orange covered Nook and we scurried soon thereafter to the airport and a handoff to mommy.
Nothing sad or somber here. My little gal’s just not quite awake yet. And no I didn’t endanger either of us while snapping these little shots. The iPhone 4 offers a reverse mechanism for shooting pictures. You just hold it over your shoulder and click away. One’s bound to be a decent enough snap to make the blog cut. Leastways by my definition of decent. Shut the ____________.
Whew. Let’s talk togs and shoddings. One of my nicest little surprise gifts was a navy blue box from Ralph. One your fellow readers bestowed upon me two pairs of great Fair Isle socks for Christmas. Nice.
And thanks again M.O. for the socks. I wore a pair yesterday. With Alden shell cordovan tassels…colour #8.
Colour #8 is the classic Alden ox blood-burgundy tone that shell cordovan is mostly known for. But I gotta tell you, the Alden shell cordovan tassel classic in what Alden calls Cigar is a stunningly patinated contrivance. The evidence above is courtesy of Elegantologist…my buddy Chris from Easy and Elegant Life. Santa bought him at my urging, a pair of Cigar shell cordovan tassels. He wore ‘em all day yesterday. Who knows, the boy may be sleeping in them right now.
My week in shoes. Just the kind of random eclectasy that had it not manifested during a week of no travel, one should worry. My travel week in shoes is just the opposite…one pair. It’s a tactic that is crucial for me to manifest my no-checked-luggage strategy. And how did that strategy play out in 2010? Perfect actually. I checked a bag once…when I went to London last January. Sorry but I’ve said it before, in a fact positing way, not in a braggadocios crow, that it’s easier being a guy.
Braggadocios Crow…shit…I’ve gotta try my hand at writing a short story...if for no other reason than to use that name for a character. Braggadocios Crow…man…he’s either an Atticus Finch archetype or a farmer or a wide receiver for the Dallas Cowboys.
I’ve never tried my hand at fiction that I’ve declared up front to be so. This entire blog is a sham so that I suppose, is one version of fiction right there. But let me give Mr. Crow a shot at life. “Bragg Crow represented anyone in Prunella County who needed a lawyer. And more often than not he was paid with chickens and butter…or a desperate promise of money sure to come, now that the farm was vaguely out of foreclosure.”
Or... “On Sundays Bragg Crow could always be found on the front pew, white dress shirt buttoned to the neck but awaiting the necktie that was not to be. Cleaning up for church was as important as being in church but a necktie always eluded Bragg Crow. Maybe if he wore one, the rain his crops so desperately needed—the rain he so anxiously mumbled for in prayer—might finally arrive, before it was once again, too late.”
Or… “Braggadocios DeLamante Crow was off the game day and the practice clock. The wide receiver was wide-ass open tonight but not in pads. Bling and champagne replaced tape and steroids as adornments for assuring victory. Tonight his three touchdown game would manifest in victory over one LaShonda Veronique Scipio, head cheerleader for his team. Rules be damned, he and Ms. Scipio were hot tub bound and he’d just have to pay the thirty thousand dollar fine for cavorting with Shonda’nique’s pom-poms.”
Ok, I won’t quit my day job. Shut up. But look at these fuzzies! I found my way to the Conrad Hasselbach website courtesy of Laguna Beach Trad links and found this. This Prussian manifuzzstation of tasselocity. Hold me back.
But only after you release me long enough to consider taking vert title to these grün shoddings. Again, even though it’s the holidays. Shut up.
And finally, with all of the randomosity aside, what was the most enduring gift that you gave this season? My Christmas card from a long time friend in Houston exemplified giving in the truest sense. She has a friend who now has a renewed lease on life, courtesy of one of her kidneys. God bless you both.
Merry Christmas from the Royal East Kents Regiment.