(but not permanently ....)
So. It's the night before Christmas. Norad is tracking Santa Claus and I believe he's somewhere to the west of Edmunston, New Brunswick, right now. The rain's been steady here in Chicago, but I believe it will end. Eventually. And what has Your Humble Scribe been up to?
In the last 21 hours I have:
- Discovered (at midnight) that my car had either been stolen, or towed from the building's parking lot. Pause here, for a brief explanation. About one quarter of the condo building's owners, us included, don't have a parking spot in our lot. However, since our old treasurer moved and hasn't yet sold his unit, folks have been parking in his empty space with no problem. Two nights ago I did so, with no problems. Last night, I did so. With the ensuing problems.
- In the morning, after trying fruitlessly to phone current or past members of the condo board to find out which towing company might have taken it, learned from a friendly towing company lady that I could call the police, and they'd know if I'd been towed. I knew that. Why did I forget? No matter. The good news was that our invalid 1995 Ford Taurus hadn't been stolen; that Lincoln Park Towing, Chicago's own Lincoln Park Pirates, had towed it. So off I slogged through the slush to the CTA station, climbed aboard the No. 22 Clark bus and jolted down to the pound. A mere $170 later, the poor thing was back in my hands. Oh, and the ex-treasurer called back, quite surprised to hear that anyone had been towed. It was the first time he'd heard of Lincoln Park Towing doing its job.
- In the afternoon, written a heart-warming story for my editor. It had a dog in it, and that's all you need to know.
- Baked bread.
- Put together the two kinds of dressing we'll be eating tomorrow. Baked them.
- Made a pumpkin pie. Oh, and I fell off the stepladder while retrieving the pie plate from the upper shelves, falling into the sharp corner of our kitchen island and putting my elbow squarely down on one of the cooling loaves of white bread. It survived, amazingly. My left thigh, on the other hand, hurts like a mother. The pie's still in the oven, refusing to cook in the center.
- Watched as our Christmas tree fell over, breaking several ornaments and spilling water all over the (boy, am I glad it was there and not simply the grey carpet) green plastic sheeting. It's back up. Some of the garlands are kinda, sorta back up. The downed ornaments will be put back on and the garlands given one last hopeful straightening, tomorrow. The water's sopped up, but I'm leery about turning on the lights since one of the extension cords had to be wiped off, and I'm illogically certain there will be electrical havoc if I plug everything back in.
I've cried. I've bitched. I think I've gotten over all that, but I reserve the right to be less than completely jolly. Although I am, I think, going to make the policy decision that being jolly is better than the alternative. And what's next Christmas without the stories about this Christmas?
Oh, look! Jollity already!
Yeah, not so bad ... Friends and dear ones out there, Merry Christmas to you!