Old-fashioned Christmas

Whatever happened to Christmas like we saw in the 1945 movie, Christmas in Connecticut? The perfect tree, snow on the ground (where no footprints appear as party guests walk through), horse-drawn carriages, fur coats and brightly wrapped gifts. Maybe it's the black and white film or the romanticism of the 40's...or maybe it's the pairing of Barbara Stanwyck and the handsome and suave Dennis Morgan...but it just feels like Christmas today is missing some of the sparkle and shine of Christmas as depicted in that film. Oh sure, skeptics will say 'it's only a movie', and of course they would be right. I only know that for me, it's not really Christmas until I've watched Christmas in Connecticut and shed quiet tears at my happy ending.

A Dog's Life

My dog Rascal is a Shorkie (shi tzu/yorkie mix), and he is the love of my life (sorry Randy, no offense intended). Three years ago I couldn’t have imagined being this much in love with a little furry creature (Randy’s not all that hairy) and made fun of those people who doted on their dogs, taking them to daycare and showering them with gifts and cleaning up after them. And now here I am with this little bundle of love who sleeps in our bed (in fact, is often in charge of the bed), often moving me right to the edge in his attempt to snuggle as close as possible. I’m pretty sure Rascal knows he’s landed well and is one pampered pooch. But what he doesn’t know is that I’m the lucky one in this relationship. From him I get complete and unconditional love. Someone who’s thrilled to see me when I come home after a long day, even when it’s been a bad one, and who just can’t wait for me to pick him up in my arms and shower him with kisses (again, I’m drawn back to Randy and the way this seems like a negative comparison…not my intent). He’s never happier or more content than when he’s settled into my arms or into his afghan (formerly my chenille throw) on the couch, right at my feet…in fact, right on my feet. Yes, Rascal is really spoiled. He gets chicken stock in his dry food every evening, and all he has to do is woof and Randy is down on the floor rough-housing with him and he goes on adventures with us as often as possible (who knew the hardware store could be such great fun?). But I’m the one who has been blessed by adding him to our family.

Women shoppers

What is it about women shoppers who stop right inside the door to a store and carry on conversations with other women? Do they not realize they can step further inside the store to chat? Or possibly find a comfy place to sit and really get into the conversation? Or here's a thought...keep walking and actually accomplish two things at once! It's so annoying when you're trying to enter a store and you're stuck by two or more bodies blocking your entry. And they're oblivious to the fact that they're not the only people on the planet...that's right, there are actually other people who would like to enter the store and actually occupy space in the universe. It's just mind-boggling to me that someone could actually just stop dead in their tracks without giving a thought to the people who are trying to follow them into the building. And if you have the audacity to say "excuse me" and try to move them along or at least get around them, they cop that attitude that says they're really irritated you interrupted their conversation. Really?