It was 57 degrees here yesterday. Today it was a few degrees cooler. And it was cloudy. But it sure doesn’t feel like winter — you know, that kind of winter when the sun shines so bright off new snow that you have to go back in the house and put on those old-lady wrap-around sunglasses.
As we drove into Poughkeepsie today to look for shoes for my mother — of course we couldn’t find any that fit her and she’s totally pissed at me for getting rid of the shoes that have gotten too tight for her bunion and hammertoe — I wished I had my camera with me to catch the stretch of haystrewn acreage that included what looked like a “goose farm” and a “pumpkin graveyard.” I don’t know if these geese stay here all winter or if they just haven’t bothered to leave yet because it’s been so warm. But, in any event, they were lined up and down what had been a summer cornfield, heads bobbing for whatever was caught in the hay.
A while back, my local newspaper had an article about how smart the birds are around here. They no longer bother flying south because everyone out this way has birdfeeders. We have several. And those canny creatures clean us out every other day.
If you’re female and over 60 and are looking for a good movie to rent, go and get Mrs. Palfrey at the Clermont. Joan Plowright is her usual exquisite older female character. And Rupert Friend is delicious.
For Christmas, I sent sonb!X the only tangible permanent result of this past year of my life: a bedspread-sized “crochet on the double” item that started out as an afghan but somehow got away from me. I was making the pattern up as I went along, which I often tend to do, not always with usable results. Oh well, I figure that he can use it as his futon cover/blanket. It’s cotton yarn, it stretches, and it’s washable. It was so heavy that the cost of sending it was almost as much as the cost of the yarn. (No, not really; that’s an exaggeration.)
Here’s a photo of it spread over an extra-long couch.

This is my first post in several days. I have been annoyed at myself for being annoyed at my mother for never wanting to leave my side. It makes it impossible for me to take care of my own living space. It’s so dusty that I wake up with a headache every morning.
And the other day I went over to By Bea’s Bedside blog, and discovered that Bea had died. The blog was written by her daughter, who eloquently and lovingly chronicled her mother’s last months of life.
And I’ve been checking in at Jeneane’s, who, I’m sure, will come through into the Christmas season with the same strength and humor that seem to be her hallmarks. Her daughter, Jenna, I have found out by emailing her, has come through her surgery and is doing fine. Here’s to a healthier year, Jeneane.
We spent last Christmas in the hospital’s ICU watching as the staff totally mishandled my mother’s condition.
This Christmas HAS to be better than last, although around here, that’s not saying much.