On my second viewing of “Fellowship of the Ring” with the family on this Christmas Day. Extended version this time.
I very much want to be a hobbit when I grow up.
So much lack of seasonal joy this year on social media. Not quite despair. Much grief, sadness, ennui. This is perhaps nothing new, really, but people seem much more open about it this year. And so many face the New Year with dread, myself among them.
All that said, I’m still wishing us all peace.
Just watched the Kennedy Center Honors tribute to the Grateful Dead wind down. Will never get used to Bob Weir looking like he should be on a box of frozen fish sticks.
Starting my second viewing of “Somebody Somewhere.” I know I keep going on about it, but I’ve really needed this show.
Grief, loneliness, feeling like an outsider, finding one’s tribe. There’s a lot there. And I love it all.
Almost all of my Christmas shopping has been online. Finally got out for a few analog retail errands and it was surprisingly not insane.
Grateful to not have to get out much until Christmas Eve Mass on Tuesday. Fingers crossed that I can log out a little early from work that day.
Happy seasonal Caturday.
Husband found the weighted blanket I feared had ended up into a Goodwill pile.
I am never leaving my recliner again.
Finally getting around to watching “Fellowship of the Ring.” A lot of the teenager’s D&D recaps are starting to make sense to me now.
Whoever came up with the phrase “no regrets” clearly never had a McRib sandwich.
I have finally consumed my first Starbucks cranberry bliss bar of the season. The holidays can officially begin.
I asked the teenager, who is not a fan of news these days for the sake of her mental health, whether she has been keeping up with news about Luigi Mangione and the CEO shooting.
“Not willingly,” she said.
“New Jersey Mystery Drone” is my new band name.
Almost done with my first left-handed Field Notes knockoff. Using these as mini-journals for lists, random thoughts, and venting. These are much less intimidating and more welcoming than fancier journals. After years of trying to keep a diary of one kind of another, I think I’m onto something.
Watching people melting down online over their parasocial relationship with an alleged assassin was not on my bingo card this morning.
It gets so exhausting to be chronically sad.
Watched “My Neighbor Totoro” for the sixth or seventh time (third or fourth in a theater). It’s not the very best of Studio Ghibli—that would be “Spirited Away” or “Tale of the Princess Kaguya,” probably—but “Totoro’s” classic sweetness never wears thin.
The homily at my parish is always a crapshoot. One Sunday it’s an excellent Advent exhortation by one supply priest to be prepared for Christ; the next Sunday it could be a warning from another supply priest that plants bought from a Masonic yard sale could bring Satan into your household.
Ever have a day where you feel so overwhelmed and out of control at the end of your work week that you desperately need Vietnamese comfort food and an avocado shake for dinner to calm you down?
Only me? Oh.
Watching old episodes of “Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations.” It was my comfort viewing when I was on maternity leave almost 17 years ago after my sister said she liked it because Bourdain’s snark reminded her of me.
It’s now comfort viewing because it reminds me of E. Not a bad way to grieve.
It’s not yet Thanksgiving, but it’s not too early to break out a Christmas holiday tradition: Paul Shaffer’s rendition of Cher singing “O Holy Night.”
E died a year ago today. Taking the day off work. Not sure what I’m going to do aside from be quiet, drive around aimlessly on this very gray fall day, and get a breakfast burrito, which reminds Chris of her because she would insist on us having breakfast burritos when we’d visit.
A wee bit disappointed that this ube waffle turned out to be more brown than purple. But that didn’t take away from the excellent ube taste (accented with a coconut glaze and whipped cream smattering). So happy with the Filipino breakfast at Maypole in Wheaton, Illinois.
Anybody got suggestions for a good intro to basic Anabaptist theology? Asking for my curious Catholic self.
I’m so used to Calvinist-versus-Arminian evangelical talk in social media that I’m unsure where our Mennonite et al. friends land in my admittedly poor understanding of Protestant theology.
My first thought when looking at the latest Trump attorney general appointee is “Ivanka with a law degree.”
Came home to an open umbrella on the floor. There was no open umbrella on the floor when I left to pick up my kid. She did not have an umbrella, open it, and leave it on the floor when she came home.
Apparently our dogs and cats are smarter than I thought. Or have opposable thumbs.