Small pleasures: Merry Christmas Wreath!

Well, so I have become one of those people. I have hung a Merry Christmas wreath on my car.

I know, right?

I first saw this phenomenon when I was working at Lafayette College in the 1980s. A student that I worked with and loved, the perky R.A. Sarah, had a wreath on her sporty little car, and I both loved and hated her for it, because I'm that kind of person.

I mean, it wasn't that I hated wreaths or Christmas or Sarah or cars -- and I loved the idea of a Merry Christmas wreath tied to the front of my own fun little red car. But I could never gather the wherewithal and motivation to get up off my ass to do something about it.  It never occurred to me to ask Sarah where she got her wreath or how she had attached it to her car -- or maybe even just to ask her to help me do it (translated = do it for me).

Over the years, my lazy ways hardened into a kind of Grinchiness that mocked the festive cars sporting their tidings of the season. Well, maybe I wasn't displaying full-on Grinch symptoms, but a definite crankiness crept into my attitude. I think part of it has been that whenever I saw a car with a wreath, I thought, "Dang it! Another year and I haven't gotten my wreath act together."

Well, not this year! I got me a wreath, and I got me some florist's wire, and I figured it out, maybe. I have no idea how long my handiwork will last. But as long as it does, my car will be fa-la-la-la-la-ing all over town!

+++++++

Here's a sweet little book that evokes memories of old-fashioned Christmas anticipation. Christmas in the Country, written by Cynthia Rylant, describes the winters of her childhood, when she and her grandparents prepared for Christmas as the snow gathered in their mountain home.  The decorations, the shared cocoa by the fire, the baking -- all are described in loving detail. It's a great reminder that some of the joy of the Advent season lies in the waiting, and in the preparation itself.

Small pleasures: it's red, y'all!

So here I am coming out of blogging seclusion, and it's to share the fabulosity of this awesome red stapler. Because so often it's these small little pleasures that make my day better. 

And yes. I've seen Office Space. I still love my red stapler. 

Cicada song

When you listen to the sound in this short little video that I recorded in my front yard, I want you to realize that the steady thrum in the background is the sound of millions of cicadas.  We live smack in the middle of the seventeen-year cicada Brood II emergence.  It's quite an event!  The eerie, echoing song is enough to drive some people nuts (one of my friends noted that he feels like his morning coffee is enjoyed to the soundtrack to a 1960's sci-fi movie).

Others are creeped out by how many, many cicadas have emerged.  It is impossible to overstate their everywhere-ness.  We sweep them off the porch every morning; we brush them out of our hair before we get into the car; the dogs either chase them or bark at them or stop with a jolt every time one buzzes by an inquisitive nose.  In this part of the country one can find on-line guides to planning a wedding around the cicada emergence.  Tip for the cicada-savvy:  skip the gazebo wedding if you plan to marry this summer.

I am fascinated more than grossed out.  I find their life cycle oddly compelling and even (am I weird?) endearing.  The males will serenade their lady friends throughout May and June, and then we will say good-bye to them for another seventeen years.  So -- don't be hating on the homely cicadas!  Their visits are so infrequent and so brief, and all they're looking for is a little romance!

All character, no plot: garden

 

These are leftover herbs from last year's garden pots.  Theme = resilient.

 

The sage is out of control.

The lemony-smelling something that I can't name but love to smell has taken over its pot, but the rosemary has found a way to lean way over to the side so it can get some sunshine.

We have wild strawberries everywhere.

It looks like I planted a pot of little pansies that are now thriving, but really I bought a pot and plunked it in this larger ceramic pot, thinking I would transplant it later.  That never happened, so the pansies just soldiered on without me.

This pot also came from the grocery store (just like the pansies).  I plunked it down beside my mailbox three years ago, because I thought it was festive:  it had daisies, and something red that died almost immediately, and a cabbage-looking something that was green and purple and that lasted through the first season.  The daisies do this every spring, and then burst into bloom at the end of the summer.

And I don't do a thing. 

Small pleasures: Virginia countryside

These are some of the pictures I took on the way home from the softball game in South Boston, Virginia. 

This is a lovely part of the Old Dominion -- surrounded by lakes and rolling farmland. 

I can only imagine how old some of the homes in these little towns are . . .

Virginia is so beautiful.  We can offer you mountains, and beaches, and cities, 

and artists, and history, and hiking . . .

You should come visit -- you'll love it!