For a while, it looked like Harold and Rose might go to a local dance to celebrate the close of 1929. But, in the end, they decided on a quiet evening at home. (Harold was pleased by this decision, as he really is not the best dancer.) So, they dialed in this radio special—ending, of course, with Auld Lang Syne—to herald in their 1930.
No matter how you’ve decided to celebrate the end of 2016, we (Harold, Rose, and I) wish you the best for 2017. Happy New Year!
Rose is listening to Sally Hamlin‘s recording of The Night Before Christmas (c1925) while she waits for Santa. Ho! Ho! Ho!
Only three more days until Christmas. Are you ready?
Rose is. She finished up Harold’s gift—embroidered hankerchiefs—yesterday, and, today, she and Harold chose and cut their modest pine. Of course, she’s done crafting her ornaments and is settling in, just now, to trim the tree.
Cue the Christmas music. Continue reading
… with boughs of holly / fa la la la la / la la la la¹
My house has been decorated for Christmas since the day after Thanksgiving. I’m not sure who decided this was the time to be Christmas-ed, but it is always the day my daughter insists upon. One year, though, we were in the middle of a kitchen remodel. For the longest time, it looked like we would never decorate. But then, Christmas Eve Day, my cabinets were installed while my mother and daughter and I put up the tree and ornaments.
It was the best Christmas.
Rose isn’t in the middle of a renovation and yet Continue reading
Charlie let the silk float over his fingertips, trying not to imagine the contours of Rose’s leg as the stocking slid past calf and thigh. Damn! He was supposed to be helping Harold find a Christmas gift for Rose, not coveting the man’s wife.
Hanlon’s was a smallish store, but they offered a good variety of merchandise. Surely there was something less… personal…
“Did you find something, Charlie? What’s that?”
Charlie dropped the hosiery as if on fire. “Ahhh…” he stammered. “Just the perfect gift for a man to give his wife.” He pointed to the display, not daring to touch the elegant gossamer again lest Harold notice the wanton lust on his face.
Harold’s eyes, however, were riveted to the display ad. “‘Holeproof silk hose with Paris clox.’ A dollar ninety-five? Geez, Charlie, I can’t afford that.”
That didn’t stop him from exploring the silken heaven for himself, though, and Charlie watched as the look on Harold’s face changed from sensible farmer to starry-eyed husband.
If the man didn’t already have Rose, Charlie’d feel sorry for him.
Poor Harold. Continue reading
I started Christmas shopping.
It was a dismal affair. Mainly because my inner Grinch decided to come along with me. In fact, I had quite an entourage roaming the mall with me, once you figure in the fictional characters that are always lurking at the back of my consciousness.
As usual, I began wondering what Rose would be doing. But instead of her being knee-deep in gift-giving ideas, I found her in a much messier bog.
Believe it or not, Christmas is hardly an afterthought for Rose this time of year. There’s no tree yet. No decorated house. If she’s making presents, she has started them, but gifts are a task to be addressed when the other chores are finished.
No. Early December has Rose knee-deep in the gory, cold, slushy mess of hog butchering. And I think she’s a bit traumatized by it all. Continue reading