Finally, finally, I got a bit of Christmas spirit and sat by a roaring fire watching movies with two grandchildren, who were actually co-existing and joking. Then I thought I should go out to a 24-hour store before tomorrow when they will close for a few hours before they will again be open constantly for 364 days. I need to stand in a parking lot and yell, Merry Christmas you old Bailey Savings & Loan . . .

Forgive me for this next paragraph, please. It is just so ludicrous I have to write it.

I went into the bathroom and I while staring into space, daydreaming, I realized I was looking at a hole in my underpants. Heavens, I knew my standards were low, I just had no idea how far down they had slipped. I was horrified. I pulled off my boots, pulled off my pants, pulled off my underpants and put on a brand-new pair. And then I put my pants and boots back on. But, gosh, it’s hard to get the festive back on.

But I’m going to try.

I have in my pile of “things I found at GoodWill” a couple of very nice little pictures with holiday themes. I believe they came from a very organized person’s home because placement instructions are on the back of each. “Laundry room” is written in red marker on one. Laundry room? Okay, someone is very neat . . . and it is not me.

I am indulging in a Christmas without prompts. Yesterday I decided that. I reached in boxes and grabbed bits of garland and snarled up coils of bells and shiny balls and stuck them here and there – including the middle of a double doorway. Just keep to the right and if you brush the hanging “decoration”, well, every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings, right?

I found a tree about 15 inches high that had been packed under something heavy; it was flat – spatula flat. I sat there with it between my knees and tugged and twisted little branches until it was rehabilitated, added some red berries and tiny silver bead garland and sat it on a window sill with a little stuffed hedgehog completing the outdoorsy motif. At least I think it’s a hedgehog; if it’s a tiny beaver, there could be trouble.

There was a to-do about Duck Dynasty? It is already the week-end before a mid-week Christmas? I receive text messages on my phone asking, “Where are you?” and read them hours later? Perhaps my phone and laptop and ipad are syncing and forgetting about me – which makes me think of some futuristic movie I once saw, but can’t remember anything more about it.

So, in visualizing my situation, I am thinking of those twisting ribbon loop problems on tests – you know, the kind that want to know if Point A in on the outside or inside of the loop. Still, giving it a bit more thought, I see my circumstance is different . . . Heck, I’m not even on the loop.

Being an action figure this week may be tricky; maybe I should just be an applique on a pillow.

I’m back, and guess what, there are no maids at this place. And Christmas a week away! Zounds! So this is what I am going to do: I am putting my iphone in my pocket after selecting “music” on the menu, placing earphones in my ears, and then tying a scarf around my head to keep the earphones securely in place. Some of you think I am kidding; others definitely do not. As my husband says, I grew up at an age when I thought “I Love Lucy” was a training manual, so you can bet the latter group is correct.

I am using my iphone so little beeps will tell me if a call is coming in. I don’t know how much cleaning and preparing I will get accomplished but I, myself, should be a festive sight.

I feel wimpy; I remember temperatures in double digit negative numbers and wind chills to boot. It is only 8 degrees outside and I scurried like a little squirrel to run out into the back vestibule. What if I don’t have the courage to reach out the front door for any packages being left for Christmas delivery?

You know, I may have to break down and actually PUT ON A COAT and ear muffs . . . because I am getting older and wimpier. Or, perhaps, just maybe, could it be? I am getting a little common sense. Naaaah. Not AmeliaJake.

Of course, if you really want to see people who laugh at any temperature above zero, you can come with me and watch the high schoolers pour out of the building after school . . . some in shorts. No kidding.

Actually, this cavalier attitude is more of a modern thing – not much in evidence when we walked to school, did not have enclosed malls, had mailboxes out by the roadway . . . and were handed a snow shovel and aimed out the door

The storm slid on a southwest to northeast slant south of us; Indianapolis got whammed and the snow reached up to the south of Fort Wayne. Der Bingle came up on I-75 in Ohio through slick snow, but entered a perfectly dry driveway here. It was cold here, though, and his car stood out in parking lots – it was the only one with crusted snow on it.

But last night, we had some and this morning we have a 2-hour delay at East Noble. I know; these trivial tidbits are boring. Our Christmas tree is up, but undecorated; that’s boring too. It does have a beautiful shape – maybe we should just go for the real nature look, although I do have that reel of colored lights I bought when the getting was good at Wal-Mart and carried around in my trunk for about a month.

Yes, I bought lights in November . . . because these days buying lights in December is too late. We could have a crazy decorating theme: one person holds the reel and another goes skipping through the house, letting the long, long strand play out. That would probably lead to tripping the light fantastic, which would lead to the ER.

I don’t know; maybe I should just wrap the lights around my head and flirt with electro-shock treatment. Or perhaps I already did that . . .

Der Bingle does not like The Irish Tenors; I have no idea why, but he just does NOT like them. And tonight I am listening to Fairytale of New York from the We Three Kings album.

Does anyone remember my listening to Count Your Blessings all the way from Kendallville to Fairborn? Well, that’s the way I’m listening to Fairytale of New York – over and over and over again. Each time through I wait for the part about the boys of the NYPD choir and Galway Bay. And each time I am relaxed because I don’t have to worry about Der Bingle whacking me on the head – not that he ever has . . . but he does have other ways.