Even thought it was Christmas, the Gnomdelion ambassador, whose name by the way, has not been accurately translated from his native tongue, and which sounds like “ducks are walking” said very, very fast, spent the morning in deep sleep. One would almost think he had been up visiting other people’s dreams.
Fortunately, quiet little elves delivered a learn while you sleep device while, indeed, he did sleep. It was implanted in his little brain and his first “cultural” enlightenment session began.

Do you remember this guy? He is the ambassador from Gnomdelion and last night he waited until the usual Christmas Eve visitors had left and then waltzed into my nighttime with a vision of Summer’s Yet to Be. Dandelions covering lawns – two at least to the square inch. Garden gnomes skipped among them – YES, they were do longer non-moving statues – scattering the magic fertilizer of amazing growth.

Summer decided to bake a loaf of bread with peanut butter things in it – this is the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse, after all. I am not certain if she had a real recipe for it or not, but with a lot of time left to bake, the loaf pushed the lid up and she “pushed it back down.” When the cycle was mercifully done, Der Bingle remarked that it looked like a mushroom cloud . . . or did he just say mushroom. I can’t remember; maybe the disaster theme was influencing my hearing.
I have had sort of a witless week in which I have not prepared for Christmas Day, although I have mentioned it. That means I am announcing it is going to be very low-key in an attempt to disguise my lack of focus with a “laid back” theme of relaxing good will. But everyone here knows me and understands Grandma’s motto is Semantics is my friend, and realizes the truth of the matter is that my inner elf was lazy.

Oddly enough, however, I always seem to have energy for conniving and while typing this. have started to think about buying some fancy bread and sticking it in the bread machine early Christmas morning before anyone gets up.
I’m incorrigible, dontcha know.

First of all, I just discovered the yeast bread-making people have been using is not real fresh. It was past the expiration date! I did the President’s Yeast Fitness Test and this is the result:
And then there is the Nutcracker Army. Apparently, “Incoming!!!!” was shouted last night.

I may be in a bit of trouble here because I decided some of our patrons should have a prime seat for the festivities; I may have been wrong because arms and legs have been poking out and the rope chair is located above the firestove.

Today we must decide on all the ingredients we need for Christmas dinner. I don’t think it’s going to be that elaborate. And heaven help us with the gravy; we didn’t take the time between Thanksgiving and now to practice on another turkey in the new roaster. We’re in trouble. I’d make a buttermilk & jello salad, but Der Bingle and I are the only ones who like it – and it’s an adventure getting it out of the mold.
Oh, and this is important . . . I’d better remember to pick up my $4 blood pressure medicine at Wal-Mart. Just a little reminder to myself there.
On a topic apart from food: Where did I hide those Christmas presents?

We have been baking bread here, using two machines – one an Oster and the other a Sunbeam. Quentin is cursed by the Sunbeam. We believe the recipe for some of the more exotic breads is flawed – not enough liquid. The machine also seems to be behaving strangely. Of course, Cameron had an unexpected result when he selected the dark crust option; the loaf turned out as firm as a bowl on the outside and he ate the bread by excavation.
Quentin took a picture of the first “loaf” with his phone, but it doesn’t do the disaster justice since it looks as if it could be a molded cake with a powdered sugar coating.
We are thinking about using the express cycle so we can get through the misbakes faster.

No, this is not a serious post – not really, unless you are a candle Pilgrim. Ah, Pilgrims . . . I have written of them often. But these are not the most-recently mentioned Pilgrims of the ornament kind; no, they are candles. Little candles for sitting on a Thanksgiving table and, usually not lit, but put away for the next year.
Last year, a couple of them got scooped up and mistakenly put in a box that went to the hot attic. I believe they were with Christmas things – you know how I like to leave the Thanksgiving guys out for Christmas. (I even have a turkey hanging on the tree, well, maybe two turkeys . . . or more.)
So, awhile back while going through a decorations box, I found this Pilgrim.

I was aghast; I put her aside. But yesterday, I showed her to Quentin. Here’s the complete picture with Shane really interested in the background:

Quentin decided the best thing to do was let her fulfill her destiny. So we put her on a plate and lit the wick. Then he and Der Bingle took Shane to the fairgrounds and a few minutes later I was yelling at Summer, “Hey, her head’s on fire! Oh my gosh, her head’s on fire in two places!”
Then she was a glob of wax; it just didn’t seem right to take a picture of that.

Shane put on a Santa hat.

Then last night there was noise in the back vestibule and he ran out barking; he barked following the person who had entered and was walking out to the porch. And, then, he realized the Santa hat had magic: Quentin was home.

YES! We have wreath. We wreathers wreathed wreally. Okay,  I am cheating for alliteration – a little cheat, not a soul-selling one.

Yesterday I stripped the wreath down to its fake evergreen garland, redid it with old-fashioned mini lights, rehung the bead strands, put a big reflective Christmas ornament in the middle and hung that baby out front. I also put some big bulbs on the bush behind it – the kind of bulbs that are too hot to use on anything artificial.

And it all glows. Golden.

I did not stomp the old lights; I saved the bulb-shaped colored plastic that fit over the really bright LED lights. At least that part was okay – nice rich colors. I may net have a use for them later, but it is just a small storage bag and my intuition tells me to keep them.

When I was a teenager and young adult, I would take a hula hoop and tie real fir branches on it, add lights and whatever and we would hang it in the big front window at the Grandma up to Scott Town House. It smelled so good while I was doing it . . .  and the aroma lingered for about 24 hours on my hands that had been tattooed by sharp needles with resin.  My hands also stung every time I put them under warm/hot water – but it was worth it.

None of the red-headed regulars at the PBC & R helped me this year when the wreath became difficult. “But we have no fingers,” they said, holding up their raggedy ann mitten hands. I asked how Lydia played her piano and heard Foo whisper, “Do you think she knows about our retractable fingers?” She was then silenced by a loud chorus of “Shhhhhhh.”

Yes, sitting inside my little spaceship, I have worked hard to make a critical piece of equipment function. And now, after numerous tries, I have failed. I look out the window . . . and the earth is getting smaller.

Sometimes I do this, pretend that the task at hand is a part of the movie where the hero must quickly negotiate the trickiest of maneuvers to save himself and/or the world from disaster. Often I hear the fateful KABOOM in my ears as I fumble one thing or another. But I go on.

Now this time . . . with this wreath . . . this blasted wreath, I don’t feel the second of disintegration; unfortunately, somewhere along the line, the movie scenario became one of “must fix this to get back to earth and not float off into space as my oxygen runs out and I enter an eternity of silent drifting in the stars.”  Yes, the entire light system has failed! Internet inquiries reveal that many people have found this model of cheerful lights defective. I lay my head against my cabin window and watch home get farther away.

BUT WAIT!  Maybe if I string together the lights on the control panel, I can get this wreath working. (Control panel? Wreath actually on spaceship? Actual spaceship? My mind must be confusing scenario with reality.)

Focus, AmeliaJake. Can you cobble together something to save the day? Forget fixing what is broken, find something else to serve the purpose.

Yes, tie flashlights to the evergreen. Okay, no. All our flashlights always have dead batteries. Candles? No, it is windy outside. I must think . . .