That is a literal post title. My shingles area has spread around my side, pretty much doubling in size. We will see what today brings. There is more itching. At least I have a quick response to those who inquire, “How was your holiday?” Shingles. This case of shingles could turn out to be like the stories  little old ladies told about their gallbladder operations before surgeons adopted the little incisions.

I was so lucky; I was in the first wave of the new surgeries – I had a two-inch incision and a three day hospital stay instead of the same day four tiny incisions and home. When my nurse friend explained to me how the old procedure reached all around one’s side and included drains and a long hospital stay and lots of pain, I felt like getting down on my little post-operative knees and giving thanks. Instead, I did it from my bed while sitting Indian fashion. She couldn’t get over seeing me like that.

But, now that I have the shingles, I will get everyone here at the PBC&R to wait on me. I’m just itching to get them to hop to and bring me foldovers and Diet Cokes and twinkies and . . . twinkies?

Last night we watched TV footage of cars sliding and slipping all over the area. The Toll Road, which was built partially on our old farmland, was a parking lot – semis could not make the small inclines and many vehicles went off the road. Had Mother been home she would have seen a ribbon of headlights and taillights in the distance out back. Or, wait, there was heavy fog; she probably would have seen nothing – not even the old schoolhouse.

Of course, some people would say she wouldn’t see the old schoolhouse because it is no longer there. Well, that’s true, but after around a hundred years of being there, we locals just call the air above the site “the old schoolhouse”.

A few days ago I was in a wind chill of -23 and more; now the warm rain is washing away snow. Oh, did I mention they cancelled the ice carving festival at Shipshewana? Well, the did. The guys did the best they could on the small blocks of ice, but the weather wouldn’t permit the combined blocks to fuse for the giant statues.

Many big sales . . . but few could get to them, although I think maybe today the mall will be filled with sopping shoppers.

I have started my rehabilitation program – I lay on the floor in the pre-exercise position. I am cutting back on diet soda and going for the citrus flavored iced tea drinks.

Lordy, this sounds like a memo with a little clickety click rhythm. I will report for posting therapy . . . and then maybe I will look at all the slashed prices in the ads. Yes, yes . . . that sounds promising. Gosh, I feel my pocket getting hot – better hurry to beat the hole.

We had enough of a break in the weather that I could scurry over to the nursing home to see Mrs. Feller and take the cookies Alison and Summer made – and a can of candy. Plus 34 episodes of Bonanza with three bonus episodes of Wagon Train with Ward Bond. Kathryn got a phone call and when she came back, I was the one almost napping on the bed. I will say this: It was warm and cozy in their room and the bed was – I think I’m quoting someone here – just right.

The eggs are boiling for deviling, but right now I have my legs stretched out on the sofa and my shoes are off. oooooooooh. stretching and streeeeeettttccchhhing and then do it some more. Oh, golly gee, it feels so good.

Ah, I forgot about the devilled eggs . . . so another trip to the grocery. One of probably many last-minute forays. I have a tradition of closing down a nice department store on Christmas Eve and sucking in the Christmas Eve spirit – sometimes at Chili’s. But we are in the middle of partially melted ice and new ice coming. So . . . it is . . . wait for it . . .  Wal-Mart and Kroger’s.

Soon I must poke the turkey and see if he is defrosting on schedule of if we need the cold water treatment – and the turkey breast which will be tucked under his legs, not to mention the extra drum sticks. It is a big roaster. A big old roaster.

Two salads are made and on the top shelf of the refrigerator – Strawberry Pretzel with cream cheese and cool whip and butter and brown sugar and strawberry jello and strawberries and a lemon-lime affair with pineapple and jello and cream cheese and cool whip and sugar and pecans. Today I will tackle the Buttermilk salad, if I can find the recipe. The recipes for the first two are on mimeographed green paper with duct tape holding the torn folds together. On one, Mother has written “very good”.

i do not like to cook or bake, so my Christmas present for folks is to suck it up and just do it. I have found the Christmas plates and now must re-start this sucking up business and head for the kitchen.

I will be dancing with the deviled egg in the pale moonlight.

I do not know the Smurfs’ names; I did not know they had names. I did not know the recently-stated admission until about five minutes ago when I decided to take the quiz on how your mind works. I thought it would be a series of pictures and the questions would be along the lines of: What did you see first in this picture? Can you identify this part of a whole? What color appeared dominant? and whatever else. But, the little push button to take you to the quiz just led to a batch of multiple choice questions. And one of those questions wanted you to name your favorite Smurf. I had to randomly pick one; there was no “I have no idea who these guys are other than part of a blue group.”  I had issues with a couple of other questions as well, sort of like a witness being forced to answer “yes or no” and not allowed to add an important condition.

Example:

Was the phone ringing?

Yes, but it is faulty and rings all the time.

or

No, it is broken.

But back to Smurfs. I remember when they were popular;  I remember when Christmas paper featured them for one year . . . and then everyone realized blue folks didn’t go too well with red and green decorations. I did not know they had names, although I am acquainted with Cindy Lou Who of Grinch fame.

Oh well. One thing, though, the quiz didn’t want to know who my favorite Duggar is.

I’m logical, by the way. Old, but logical. But I suspect that is only when I am not in my customized alternate universe.

I have a copy of “Absence of Malice”; Sally Field, Paul Newman, the Quaker Oats man – Wilford Brimley. Made in 1981, the year Quentin was born; we watched it on VHS in Palatine. I could go in a grab it and stick it in the machine anytime, but I don’t. But this morning, I turned on AMC and a movie with Jennifer Jones and a very young Rock Hudson was just ending and the screen popped up with “Next . . . Absence of Malice” and I took it as a Christmas Stocking gift . So here I sit, watching – all cozy and warm with Sydney – just waiting for the really good scenes where Eliot Rosen “gets it.”