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Christmas has come and gone, but not without my family celebrating it in a degenerate way that I don’t exactly recommend: spending too much of Christmas Eve and maybe even some of Christmas, and certainly the days after watching Seasons 1 and 2 of Sons of Anarchy. My husband tricked me into watching some episodes of season 4 this fall and with the Netflix instant thingie suddenly working on our tv and our children home, it just seemed like the thing to do to use our quality family time to watch people killing and swilling. It’s hard to argue with the warmth of the family gathered round the profanity-and blood spewing television. I have to admit, I do a damned good Katey Sagal cussing impression.Makes my kids proud.

During our holiday preparations, my daughter was baking molasses cookies and simultaneously catching up on an episode she’d missed on her laptop. I came in to the kitchen to see this and couldn’t resist snapping a photo.Blood and guts and batter. Such a heartwarming scene.The cookies turned out quite well, I might add.

 

Yum

As of yet, we have not been struck by lightning or more likely if we lived in Charming, the town where the motorcycle club’s activelifestyle takes place, gunned down by a hail of bullets with all the violent and disturbing (and occasionally funny) viewing going on here during this season of peace. Katey Sagal does say “Jesus Christ” an awful lot, so maybe we’ve got the Christmas spirit, after all. And I can remember the Jesuits who taught me in college sending out a Christmas card one year with the message, “Born to die” or something durned close–ok maybe there was a reference to the resurrection there, too, but I don’t remember that. I remember being somewhat shocked by the starkness of the message–exactly their point. So Jesus would feel right at home with this gang.

Didn’t have to dream of a white Christmas or think “I wish it would happen to me” this year though did watch the so bad it’s good movie at my mother’s house yesterday.  She is the proud owner of both Phil and Betty dolls (sorry, Bob and Judy), and my siblings and I are odd enough that that’s the sort of thing we will fight over when the time comes. And yes, if you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, I feel sorry for you.  Watch White Christmas–and wait for the scene where Bing Crosby’s body in his undershirt makes you want to vomit, closely followed by him showing his tighty whities and too much upper thigh. A classic for all the wrong reasons.

After the snow came down before Christmas, my husband and I walked down our back through the foot-deep snow to a neighbor’s house for dinner. It was like walking in a black-and-white world–It’s A Wonderful Life maybe, though without the angels and angst–to continue the Christmas movie theme.

Ok, so this photo was taken in the morning, but the night was bright, too. Last year was a white Christmas, too, when we arrived at my sister-in-law’s house in Denver late on the 25th. The next day it became a black and blue one when I tore my ACL and MCL falling down (though I remember my legs going up above my head being the problem) one of those big damned mountains. Hurt like hell for a moment, but then as Ed and I were waiting forever for the ski patrol to rescue me in the 5 degree night, I stopped worrying about my leg and wondered if we’d lose our fingers and noses.

When the guy finally arrived by snowboard, he set me up in a toboggan and I had the highlight of my short-lived ski vacation that I didn’t want when we careened down the mountain at top speed for at least five minutes. Very fun even if I was frigid and covered entirely by a tarp, so I didn’t exactly get to see the sights. If only the resort had offered that immobilized snowboard/toboggan ride as an expensive option in the first place, I would have accepted and skipped the schussing and the cussing, and saved all that money that I later spent on surgery and rehab.

I’m back!

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