TheBanyanTree: Thanksgiving Weekend Comes to an End

[Margaret R. Kramer]

I’m waving good-bye to Thanksgiving.  It’s been a nice LONG weekend.  We had
a little winter weather.  We had a great turkey dinner.  Now it’s time to
begin the acceleration towards December, Christmas, New Year’s and all that
wonderful craziness of the season.

Our Christmas lights are twinkling at night.  Maybe that big fat full moon
can see them.

The dogs have been walked and taken in that invigorating cold air.  It’s not
cold enough yet for Axel the beagle to wear his fake leather coat.

Ice is forming on the lakes.

I’m going for a run this morning with Susan.

Ray and I watched “White Christmas” with Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney.
They don’t make them like that anymore.

I bought the new Vince Flynn book.  It’s been calling out to me, but I’ve
been trying to save it for my work trip this week – something to read in the
airport and on the plane.

I have to pack today.  I dread going this time.  One of my co-workers, who
is basically a nice guy, has a desperate need for attention.  He’s like the
whiney little brother you can’t get away from.  He never shuts up.  We had a
half hour meeting scheduled and it lasted over an hour, because he just can’
t stop talking.  I honestly believe he makes things up to get attention.  He
tells the most outrageous stories and his timeline doesn’t work out.  I don’
t call him on it, but I suppose I should.  Most of my co-workers accept him
for what he is and just ignore him, but he crawls under my skin, and I want
to smack him or at least tell him to please BE QUIET.

I’ve traveled with him before and I’ll get through it, but it would be great
if he got laryngitis or something, and then I wouldn’t have to listen to him
yammer on and on.

And my NaNoWriMo continues . . . word count = 46,921.

Margaret R. Kramer
margaretkramer at comcast.net
margaret.kramer at polarispublications.com

Thanksgiving is the holiday of peace, the celebration of work and the simple
life... a true folk-festival that speaks the poetry of the turn of the
seasons, the beauty of seedtime and harvest, the ripe product of the year.
~Ray Stannard Baker