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Actually, I’m up at 2 in the morning, not dreaming at all, but if I were, I would set it to music, with a surprisingly Bing Crosby-esque voice:

I’m dreaming of a James River Park license plate–just like the ones I’ve never known.  Which plate-less cars and drivers covet, and we’ll just love it, showing pride in Richmond’s very own.

I’m dreaming of a JRPS license plate, with every Christmas drive, I wait. May your walks, runs, paddles, and bike rides be great, and may all RVA vehicles get JRPS license plates.

It’s only a matter of insomnia till you see the Twelve Days of James River Park Christmas. The only way to make me stop is to help us hit our goal of 350 completed JRPS license plate applications by mid-January. All the info and applications are available at

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!