Superman ("Faster than a speeding bullet...") has nothing on Time. I'm sure it was just a few days ago that I was complaining about the unsufferable heat and now I'm trying to keep the wood stove lit. I'm still working on Thanksgiving leftovers and making plans for the next holiday. Oh crum. I looked at the calendar and see I'm running out of time there, too. I'm going to get caught with my Christmas tree down again if I don't get a move on. I have no idea where Time goes or why it zips past in a blink, but it does, and I can't keep up!
Lap space these nights is at a premium. Celeste bulls her way onto the lap proper, while Ralph fits himself wherever he can, sometimes in the most uncomfortable positions, but he is determined. Poor Bess Anne is odd man out and has to settle for her comfy bed and blanket by my feet, or else snuggle down in the other recliner or on the couch. She'd really like to join the pack, but there is only so much room and I have to tell her no.
Barely first light and I feel I'm already behind the eight-ball. It's not visions of sugarplums dancing in my head, it's lists of all the things I need to do while there's still time. Time is not my friend.