Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Almost Christmas and Rosemary's Birthday

Cards are all sent, both trees are aglow, all the decorations I plan to put up are up, but the pies still aren’t made. I cannot find the pumpkin pulp in either freezer. I know it is there, but we had so many left-overs from Thanksgiving that somehow I have covered up the pumpkin. I may have to buy canned pumpkin when I go to town tomorrow. I did make one pan full of bar cookies today—the first cookies I have made since I made some for the Women’s Club at the first of the month.

Erin had flown down to Georgia this weekend to help her dad and Geri Ann in a softball camp, and she and Geri Ann drove up last night in Geri Ann’s car. (Erin’s car and dog Sadie were here at the farm.) It was almost 2 a.m. when they arrived here this morning, so we were glad to find them sleeping here when we woke up this morning. Erin had to go to work, so she and Sadie were off fairly early although she did delay a bit after Gerald told her he wanted to wash the salt off her car when he used the high-pressure washer on his truck.

Geri Ann had a well-deserved opportunity to sleep in before she took off to have lunch with her friend C.C. and to go to her cousin Drew’s away game tonight and then on to Crainville to spend the night with Erin at Erin’s house.

When I sat down to blog awhile ago before midnight, I realized as I had early this morning that today is my sister’s birthday and I had not phoned her yet! I knew her card would not have reached her yet in far-off Amarillo, because when I got ready to send it last week, I could not find it. I had bought a special card weeks ago, and it has been on top of the dining room buffet waiting.

Alas, it had disappeared when I was ready to mail it. (I found it today when I put up the last of the Christmas cards off the dining room table. It has been covered up so well that even though I looked there, I did not see it.) So I sent her a substitute non-birthday card I had saved for her in the distant past because of the roses on the front. (Her name is Rosemary, and we usually call her Rose or Rosie.) The envelope for this substitute card was missing, but I found a substitute envelope that worked even though not perfectly. But this was a few days after I intended to mail her card. Since I still haven’t mailed her little birthday gift, I will just enclose the real birthday card with that.

With all this forgetfulness going on, I did not want to also neglect the usual birthday phone call. Fortunately, Rose and her husband Phil are night owls and don’t go to bed until 1 a.m. or so. So I am just not back to blogging after a good birthday talk with my sister.

I learned all the latest news of their very large and complicated extended family created by their adopting four daughters long ago. Philip Todd is still in Iraq (again—many times), and his wife Jennifer and son Philip Ray had come down from Colorado Springs for a pre-Christmas visit in Amarillo before she goes back to spend Christmas Eve with her mother. They were at Rosie and Phil’s most recent weekly Friday night supper for all the gang who wants to come. Shiloh had brought his date and introduced her to the family that night. Katelynn, Ty’s daughter by his first marriage, was in town to visit with her Gpa Herman and Gloria, so she was there with them. And on and on.

It is always fun to hear about all their great grandkids who love to play together at Phil and Rosie’s—just as their parents used to do. Rosemary said today she had practiced saying, “I am 85,” but it still seemed unreal to her. It is unreal to me too since she goes to Tai Chi twice a week, teaches at an after-school Good News Club once a week, plays the organ every Sunday and Wednesday at church, and on and on.

Rosie has always been my mentor and inspiration, and she continues to set a standard I will never live up to. She was eight when I was born, so she loved lugging me around, our mother told me. When I was in grade school, she was off to college, but came home on the weekends and led our children’s group at church on Sunday nights, and she was always giving us parties at our house. When I was in high school, she was still my confidant and gave me good advice. Sometimes in my journals, I have called her my mother-sister because she has always been there for me.

I am glad Phil cooked her a special breakfast this morning of two strips of bacon and egg, toast, apple butter and coffee—all prepared just the way she likes them. She needed that substantial breakfast for energy to enjoy all the cards, visits, and phone calls that kept her busy all day continuing through my near-midnight call.

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