Now listen up!

That's right, a little "see say" action going on here. So listen up, and listen good. This is what I want for Christmas this year:

1. A round-trip first class air ticket to South Africa
2. A job. A FULL-TIME job. With benefits. Like healthcare. And a 401(k) (pension)
3. A car. And it doesn't even have to be a BMW Z4. But if I did get one, I'd like one in gun metal grey. Thanks.
4. A hunting rifle. I'm in SW PA. I wanna learn to hunt. And yes, squirrels count. I doubt I could ever skin a deer.
5. I want to have my gas switched on (in my apartment). It's horribly expensive here in the U.S. so I am holding off until the very last minute, until I can't stand the cold any more.

That's all I want. Nothing crazy greedy. Just random stuff.

Today at work ...

...my boss' husband told me I needed a hair cut. If I snip my locks, what will keep my ears warm?? Besides, my hair is the stuff of shampoo commercials. Soft, silky, shiny and all those other great adjectives they use.

And tomorrow we are having our Holiday Lunch at Schenley Park Cafe. If you happen to stop by, look out for me. I'll be the one who needs a hair cut.

Someone's been grating ice

Bucket-loads of the stuff by the looks of things. I woke up on Saturday afternoon (yes, afternoon, as in past noon) and this spectacle was beset before mine own eyes!

And to think, just a few posts ago I was saying what a "smattering of snow: looked like. Pffff. Looks like someone up there has been busy. But it looks pretty and it's moer se koud (swearing in Afrikaans).

These were taken around my little apartment in the east end of Pittsburgh. You like?

And then, the next day, the sun came out just to blind us all. Yes, it was still blinding white outside. But it was still mighty purdy. And if you thought driving the highway from Cape Town to Durban was insidiously dangerous, try taking a spin on roads like this.

One word. Brrrrrrrrrrr.

I was born and raised in Africa and spent six years living in the Middle East. I don't do cold.

This year, Christmas will be at my sister's house. Tell everyone!

My sister is an odd creature. She believes that certain things should always - and under no circumstance should this rule be overseen - stay in their place. She likes to organize, arrange, snap at, and make things so that they are just so.

Bless. She is indeed a special one.

And this year, she has decided that everyone and Hitler is invited to Christmas at her house. Ok, so Hitler isn't really invited, partly because my brother-in-law's family is Jewish, so you can just imagine there would be a little tension at the table.

But anyway, Miss Malone is having my mother, my other sister, my younger brother, my mother's love interest, my niece and nephew and her husband all neatly squashed in at the table for Christmas lunch. And let me tell you, she has put together a feast that would fatten up the skinniest African refugee.

I'm guessing there will be one seat left empty because that's where my bony ass should be. But alas, I shall not be there for Christmas. I shall be here. But I am sure that with enough people to start an uprising, her house will be festive, full and bursting at the seams.

... there was CRASH, BOOM, BANG!

Last night, sadness loomed in only a way that sadness can loom.

I arrived home to find my large, over-sized window flung open. Waves of freezing cold air came undulating through my apartment turning it into a cold, desolate cave. And then I saw them.

Years ago, when I was a marooding caravaner strolling through the dry deserts of the Middle East, I happened upon a small hut - quite like most clay huts one would imagine seeing in an arid desert. But in this hut was a lonely pottery thrower. You see, they call people who make things from pottery "throwers". I don't know why because they don't really "throw" the pottery (or clay). Otherwise that could get very messy, very quickly. But I deviate. I walked into this unairconditioned hut and parted with a few Bahraini Dinars for a few pieces of hand-thrown pottery. I was most proud.

My four pieces of hand-thrown pottery made it across the deserts, across the Atlantic Ocean, and across the vast plains of the American wilderness. And all arrived in-tact.

And last night, the wind blew the window open and the window decided it didn't like two of my pottery pieces sitting up on the built-in book shelf, so off they went. And now this is what they look like.

I was sad and morose for a short time for verily these are not items one can pick up from Macy's downtown. But then again, they are merely "things".

Pity though. They were beautiful. And at least I still have two other pieces left.

... I send off my Christmas cards

It's that time of year again - when I head off to various stores and pick up some Christmas cards for the chosen few. In a few days (or, if you're lucky, a few months if you live down in South Africa) mail boxes will be brimming with bright red envelopes, and inside will be a nice big Christmas card with handwritten words that would surely melt even Hitler's heart.

If you're fortunate enough to receive one such hand-written gesture of my holiday generosity, count yourself lucky. I only send out about ten a year. Not because I'm a Scrooge, but because it takes so much effort. Buying stamps, sitting down and trying to be all deep and stuff, then mosying on down to the Post Office and dropping them off in the big blue boxes.

So far I have received exactly zero Christmas cards this year. That's right, zero. As in zip, zilch, nada. But that's ok. Christmas is about giving - and for those folks who didn't send me a card this year, I'll be giving them a long 'what for'.

Ho ho ho!

... I explain what a "smattering of snow" looks like

Last week it was cold. I mean it was bloody cold! Cold enough that the sky opened just a smidge and some white stuff came down. Not a lot, mind you. Just a little. Like someone was shaving God's tears. Or maybe the Big Guy had a spot of dandruff.

Either way, there wasn't enough of it to stick, but it sure was pretty. And that's the only 'snow' we've had here in Pittsburgh so far this winter. It's odd.