I was down in the barn when Deb and Craig left yesterday, and they stopped the truck in the driveway, honked, and hollered, "Love you!," and I called back, "Love you!" That's the way every visit ends, and it couldn't be more fitting. The house always seems so quiet after all the chatter and laughing. After straining and jarring the milk and washing the buckets, Bessie Anne and I snuggled up in the recliner and spent most of the day dozing off and on and watching old movies. The cats were disinclined to go out into the cold, and they found a patch of sunshine in the back room and slept on the bed. In the afternoon, Tree Guy's sons came and did a bit more trimming, and also cut back a branch from the oak in the front yard that was dragging on the power line; that's been worrying me for awhile. During the storm on Saturday, another widow maker had fallen, too close to the pickup for comfort, and I moved the truck out to the point for safety.
The quest now is to find a date to celebrate Christmas. Sometimes getting this group organized is like herding cats. We'd briefly thought the eighteenth would work, until someone double checked their calendar and found a prior commitment. Clay's days off are irregular and split, so we try to hit one of them, and it can't be on the twenty-fifth because that's a big, go-visit-everyone day for Craig's family. Moving it too far up would catch everyone unprepared, and it doesn't seem reasonable to wait until January. It's a dilemma. The only thing for certain is that the menu will include chili verde. After the rich foods of Thanksgiving, we all crave something spicy. Well, it's a start.