Here in the very western part of the Eastern Time Zone we now are in the month that is a countdown to the shortest day, and, oh yes, Christmas. It is chilly outside and wet and DARK and I am sitting here listening to The Irish Tenors without having to wear earphones. I don’t know why people around me find them annoying, unless it is my predilection to play the same song over and over again until my mood moves on to another song. I particularly like The Holy City; I find it invigorating.

I need to motivate myself to walk about 5o feet and get the alcohol wipes so I can test my blood glucose. Oh, my, it seems such a daunting task. I’m surprised there isn’t an app where I can get a read out from my cell phone. Good thing I don’t have to churn butter; how did they do it in olden times? It all seems so quaint when you see it at fairs and festivals – yeah, because someone else is churning.

It is amusing to remember decades ago when I would watch my grandmother doing some chore and hop up and down, exclaiming, “Let me! Let me.”

Okay, I could use a bit more ice in my drink, so I guess I’ll do the two bird, one stone thing and go and get both ice and alcohol wipes.

A few minutes later: I did it and I added in a bathroom stop and I washed my hands really well and I stuck my finger. Now the sky is getting a wee bit light and maybe, just maybe, I will do something with all this leftover turkey. Then again, I don’t know because using the butterfly wing theory, I might initiate a major disaster across the globe. Maybe I should just sit here.