The path we shoveled yesterday is full and overflowing today. The snow hasn’t been this deep since our wedding day.

I should probably unplug the outdoor lights. The bushes are buried so deep in the snow, the light’s don’t even show now. But then, that would require me going outside, and going outside would require shoes, and I can’t find them. I took them off somewhere in the house last night and I forgot where I put them.

Hub finally made it up the driveway with the truck. The snow is so deep, he had to use it like a snowplow, going a few yards, then backing up and charging forward again and pushing some more snow away, then backing up and charging forward. . . well, you get the idea. He did that about two dozen times before he made it to the road. He’s going to town to check on the two moms and get some eggs. He’ll forget the eggs, of course, but I bet he comes home with two or three grocery bags of something. It’s very expensive to send him to the grocery store.

I need to call Daughter in a few minutes, to warn her not to try and bring her car down the driveway. There is no way it could work.

It’s very dry in this house. I feel like I’ve touched Rogue’s bare skin.

I’m tempted to dig out the Christmas stocking chapstick. There’s an old tube of Daughter’s in the big bathroom but it’s cherry-flavored and I loathe flavored chapstick. When Santa bought the chapstick for the stockings, the old fella had a coupon for a package of three, and since there are only two stockings hung on the piano, I figure he meant the extra one for me. I’m taking it, anyway. Hmm, I wonder what kind of bulk deal the old guy found for stocking candy? Maybe there’s some extra there, too. Sweet.

Speaking as Santa’s personal shopper, I already know there’s no extra candy. I did it on purpose, too. When there are Snickers and Reese’s Trees dangling in my face, I cave every time. But Santa knows I would never touch my children’s Christmas candy, so he buys JUST the right amount every year. Darn him.

The hour is approaching fast, my dears. Soon it will be Christmas Day. Hey, that’s catchy! Do you suppose. . . nah, nobody would ever hum a phrase like that.

I’m making almond bark. All you have to do is step on its tail.

And pecan pies. And cinnamon rolls.

Aren’t you all sorry now, that you didn’t invite me to your Christmas parties? You’d have been safe to do so; I can’t get out of the driveway, and Hub’s gone with the truck.

He’s going to stay in town till the children drive down. We’ve told them to leave their cars at Grandma’s house and to ride home with their father in the four-wheel-drive.

We are supposed to go to Michigan the day after Christmas, but I don’t know if we’ll be able to in this weather. We’ll have to wait and see.

I hope we can, though. Hub’s family lives up there, and what is Christmas without a joyous reunion?

We do his mother on the eve, my family on the day, and this year, his extended family on the day after.

Families are wonderful things. They sing, they laugh, they play, they bicker, they share, they kiss and make up. . . . they’re like kindergarten. And as we all know, everything we ever needed to know, we learned in kindergarten. Not everything we learned was good, unfortunately; but sometimes a bad example is a better example than a good example. Most of our families are mostly good. There are a few bad apples in every barrel. I’ve been really lucky. The baddest apple in my family is probably me. Oh, okay, maybe not. It depends on who you’re talking to.

Hub reports that our entire county road is BAD; unplowed and dangerous. Once he got to town it was better, but still bad.

I’m glad I went to the grocery store before it hit. Too bad I’ve already used most of the eggs; I hope he remembers.

BE tells me that most of you have big family plans coming up in the next few days. I think that is wonderful. I hope all of you, every last one of you, has a holiday beyond your wildest good dreams. Sit around the table and really look at each other. A tableful of snowflakes, no two alike. Appreciate each other. Groove on each other. Promise you’ll always be together, and keep that promise no matter what somebody does or says. Love each other. Sometimes you have to force yourself, but do it. Unlovable people need your love more than the cuddly ones do.

Love them all. Whether they love you or not.

(Did I really say “groove on each other” up there? Holy shit, I’m old!!!)

And now I’ve gone and said ‘shit.’ Twice. And Hugh Grant isn’t here to console me for it!

(What movie, huh? Huh? What movie?)

Back to the kitchen with me. Like the scullery maid I was born to be.

Poetry in motion. Lots of motion.

For example, when I turn around really fast, my fat is still facing the other direction. I’m like a wacky window walker. Only I don’t glow in the dark.

Not till New Year’s Eve, that is.