Goodbye 2025

 

            How shall we describe the year that has nearly passed?
            It would be easy to make reference to the blind men describing different parts of the elephant in the room, wouldn’t it? And yet, it’s true isn’t it? Does it depend on what is, is, to quote that bad monkey, Bill Clinton?
            Yes, that elephant named 2025 was different for each of us. A lot of it all, out on a global level stunk, really badly. But on a personal level, we had triumphs, progress and happiness, didn’t we? I’d hazard to say that it was mostly good. I think it depends on where the gaze is directed and where the heart resides, on a higher trajectory.
            I had fun this year publishing some really odd books. Hey, if I can do it, anybody can!
            The vision in my mind that has persisted is of high mountain peaks rising from a dark landscape, but with the morning sunlight revealing them brilliantly, in contrast. It is a picture of my hopes for the coming year. A high country, above all else. A metaphor.
            Please do comment!
            You know that the cats will have plenty to say, eventually.

🌸

 

*The photo is by flippantsmeagol on Tumblr.

Breaking Camp

 

            It was only December 30^th, but Marge decided to pack up early. It was going to be a bigger job than moving in had been. It always is. She had acquired a few things since that day, such as the Christmas tree and the string of lights.
            Her beater Accord, parked in one of the spots there at the campground was going to be full.
            There was bedding, with two big pillows. Her rather basic wardrobe of clothing and toiletries,  her few dishes and pans, some groceries. Ah, then she remembered to clean up the fridge.
            The bedding and clothing and the Christmas tree went into the back seat. The kitchen junk went into the trunk.
            Twigg’s basket sat on the passenger side seat.
            The last thing she put into the trunk was her string of lights all in a loose pile.
            She drained the faucet as directed.
            Marge was pretty ambivalent about moving in with Enid and Arthur. Having a stepfather at her age felt silly. Maybe she would think of him only as Enid’s new husband. Well, he did give Enid someone else to concentrate on.
            For breakfast she finished off the last of a quart of milk, drinking it out of the carton to save dirtying dishes, and she ate the last of the corned beef. She smiled remembering those big sandwiches.
            Her last chore was to take Ranger Rick the key to the mobile.
            She took a last look at the small mobile. The sky was clouding up; it looked like more snow soon. The air was cold. The sun slipped behind a cloud and suddenly it felt like winter. She shivered, more from a state of mind than body. The forest brooded.
            Hondas never die, so the old beast started right up. She rolled slowly out of the campground and down to the station parking lot and found a spot next to Dexter’s ride. It wasn’t any better than her own. Rick’s truck was not there.
            When she stepped through the office door, she found the room empty, but heard sounds out in the kitchen area.
            “Dexter, I’m leaving. I brought the key,” said Marge.
            “Oh, I was washing cups and stuff,” he said. “I’m babysitting the office. There isn’t much to do right now.”
            “Where shall I put the key,” said Marge.
            “Oh, I don’t know where he keeps it. Just put it on his desk,” said Dexter. “Um, do you think you’ll be back in the spring, Marge?”
            “I’m tentatively planning on it, but I’m not sure of anything, really, right now,” she said.
            He rolled his sleeves back down and buttoned the cuffs. “I hope you do.”
            “Thanks, Dexter. I hope you don’t expire from boredom out here.”
            “I might,” he said, and laughed a little ruefully.
            Marge laid the brass mobile key on Rick’s desk front and center and left the building.
            Tiny twinkling snowflakes were falling. The air was dead calm. The forest waited.
            She went to her car door and stood there as if she were thinking. She glanced at the heavy dark trees.
            Marge remembered being able to enter the Home Clearing from the meadow direction without any difficulty. She decided to try it from this side. She was drawn there, lonely for the family there. Her mom wasn’t expecting her today anyhow. She felt change in the air. A free day, in any case.
            More snow was falling. It caught in her dark hair, like stars. She walked around the dumpster to Ralph’s path and entered there.
            A great black Raven watched from a high branch, then flew deeper into the forest.
            The path opened in front of Marge. It showed itself to her clearly. The way to go was obvious.
            As she walked two great tawny cats joined her on either side. She placed a hand on each head. Bob and then Berry smiled cat smiles up at her face, and then nodded down the way. Soon she could see a clearing opening up. It was familiar but now she was coming from the opposite side. She could see a fire burning brightly at its center, and there was a figure sitting by the fire looking watchful.
            She walked on. Bob and Berry accompanied her ceremonially.
            “Hello, Daughter,” said Ramona. “Welcome to my fire. Come and sit with me.”
            So, Marge, little reader, thinker, artist, walked to Ramona and took a seat beside her.
            “Ramona, I missed you. I wanted to see you before I left the camp for the winter,” she said. The fire felt wonderfully warm and bright as she gazed into it.
            “Ralph and Twigg are fishing. Cherry and Blue are sleeping inside. Tell me, my dear, how are you today?” said Ramona.
            “I don’t quite know, Mother Ramona,” said Marge. “I am neither here nor there, it seems. I don’t know where to be, or where I belong.”
            Ramona turned and looked at the girl sitting there with snow in her hair and tears in her eyes. Her expression became even softer, and she sighed.
            “Tell me about your father, Child,” she said at last.
            “My father was a wild man. He died on a mountain somewhere,” said Marge. “I never knew him. He was gone before my birth.”
            “I’m not surprised,” said Ramona. “I see wildness in you. It’s no wonder that you don’t know where you belong.”
            “The last time I spoke with Twigg’s father, I told him that I wished that I could be one of you here, and he said no one but I had ever said that to him,” Marge said.
            “It’s true, no one else ever said that to us,” said Ramona. “But you see, there is no difference, only some can’t see it. Can you see it, Marge?”
            “I see only that I love you, and Cherry and Ralph and Twigg with all of my heart, and I see no difference in love,” said Marge.
            Ramona nodded and was silent. They watched the flames together for a while.
            Maeve floated softly down from the tree tops then, landing on Marge’s shoulder as she did with Ralph. She had nothing to say, but only laid her head against Marge’s head. She made a soft sort of raven cooing for comfort.

💚

Dexter's Blues

 

 

            In his own way Dexter was a bluesman. Oh, he didn’t play but he could listen and he could feel. Sometimes he thought the music ran clear down into his toes and pooled there. A lot was unstated but very deeply felt.
            He had been listening to an old guy; Snowy White, do Midnight Blues.
            It took him an hour every working day morning to drive into the ranger station in the national forest. He lived in a studio apartment in downtown Arlington. It was a nice, boring place. He never spoke to a soul there and they never spoke to him.
            Honestly, the song brought him to tears and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t that his life was like that. He hadn’t left some girl behind him, and then regretted the decision. He’d never had a girl. Maybe that was all it was, after all.
            Lonely Dexter Morton, National Forest Ranger trainee. Red hair. Thin, soft spoken.
            He was thinking about the girl at the campground. Marge. He wondered what she thought of himself. He wondered if she even registered that he was alive.
            Dex, as his mom called him, rolled out of bed. He padded to the kitchen area and set up a pot of coffee. Then he got into the shower. He dressed after that in his uniform, fried a couple of eggs, made two slices of whole wheat toast and buttered the heck out of them with real butter. Life was hard enough without having to eat margarine on his toast.
            He ate his breakfast in about five minutes and drank two cups of coffee with sugar and cream. He didn’t even have a cat to say goodbye to.
            Driving, he listened to some more Snowy. Why do I still have the blues? Good question. The question actually.
            Pulling into his parking spot next to Rick’s truck, he took a moment to dress his mind in its workday clothes. He tried to leave the blues in the Honda, but in the back of his mind he could still hear that guitar snarl.
            The open sign was already up inside the window next to the door. He wasn’t late. Rick was just like that. Rick always wanted to beat the clock a little.
            When he opened the office door, warmth and the smell of coffee greeted him. It was cold outside, with a few inches of frozen snow. The sky had been deeply blue, a winter blue with the light just coming up on his way in.
            Rick was seated behind his desk with a 20oz mug of his lousy coffee and a box of doughnuts. He was poking at his laptop computer with one forefinger. Must be just surfing thought Dexter.
            “You made it!” said Rick in Dexter’s general direction.
            “The road was OK,” agreed Dexter. “Good morning, Rick.” He hung his coat in the back room on a hook.
            “I have doughnuts! Help yourself,” said Rick, amiably, while chewing.
            Dexter went into the kitchen nook and got a cup of the awful coffee. He could hear Rick’s muted radio playing out in the other room. It was playing Alvin Lee, the Bluest Blues. He knew the song. It struck him as a bit old timey to use a separate radio. Most people just listen on their computer, don’t they, he thought. Well, Rick was darn near 50 years old.
            “Do you think she’s alright up there?” Dexter asked Rick. “It seems weird that she’s there when we don’t have many campers.” He chose a chocolate doughnut.
            “She’ll be going home by the end of the month,” said Rick. “Why don’t you mosey up there and see if she’s OK, cowboy?”
            “She probably has a phone,” said Dexter. “I’d feel like a goof.”
            “Nah, put your coat back on and go tell her to drain the outdoor faucet and to be sure to remember to drop off the key before she leaves,” said Rick.
            So he did put his coat back on, taking a beanie his mom had knit of black wool out of a pocket and cramming it down over his ears, he left the office. The sun was coming up, glinting off of the frozen snow. The sky was profoundly blue. His cloudy breath blew away over his head in a slight cold breeze. He could hear crows chatting somewhere up in the tree tops.
            As he walked up to the camping area he saw large footprints in the snow. They were frozen in the snow, so it had been hours, probably were made the night before and he  had a very good idea whose footprints they were. Nevertheless, he was on official business, so he trekked on.
            Dexter knocked on the blue door again. He waited, watching his breath for a minute.
            He heard her unlock the door and then it opened.
            “Dexter? Is everything OK down there?” said Marge. She looked just the same as the last time he had been there, ready to assist campers if there had been any.
            “Hi, Marge. Yeah. Rick told me to come up here and see if you were alive and to remind you to drain the outside faucet and to bring him your key when you go home for the winter.”
            “Come in. It’s cold out there. He could have phoned me,” said Marge.
            “That’s what I said, but he said to put my coat back on and come up here in person. Who am I to argue with the boss?” said Dexter.
            “Well, have a seat. Warm up for a minute. I have tea. Do you like tea?” she said.
            “Sure, thanks. I don’t mind tea. Better than Rick’s coffee!” he said.
            So, he sat on a kitchen chair beside the small fake Christmas tree as it twinkled away. She got him a mug of tea and put the sugar bowl and a spoon beside him, just in case, and took the other chair.
            “Nice basket,” said Dexter. “Did you make it?”
            “No! I don’t know how to do that! I can paint, but I can’t do that. Twigg made it for my Christmas gift,” said Marge, rather proudly.
            “He sure did a good job,” said Dexter. He drank his tea unsugared and quickly. 

            “I better go see if Rick has any other great plans for me today. Thanks for the tea, Marge. Stay warm!”
            “That’s the plan,” she said as he left.
            As he followed the big frozen footprints back down to the ranger station he thought of Marge and smiled. She seemed like a faraway landscape, warm and scented and golden. He wasn’t hearing the blues at all.

💙

A Bedtime Fable

 

            I was tired. I was so tired it felt like an out of body experience. In my mind’s eye I could see myself flopped out on the bed sideways, fully dressed. Man, that woman looked pooped with her arms flung out in full surrender.
            It had been a couple of days, and a half. Tis the season, right? Jolly with undernotes of fraught. Today had been the big day. There was the roast. Then there were the potatoes, the salad, finger foods, drinkables, fruitcake, those things. There were the dishes. The flowers sat in center stage, a signal.
            Roses in December!
            There had been tears, and reconciliation, but as wonderful as that was, it takes a lot out of a woman to be the facilitator. Her mind wandered, hinting at sleep. I could see that I was losing focus there on the bed. Anybody could have seen it.
            I had instructed all of my various relations that I wanted nothing. Please. The stuff of a lifetime surrounded me. No more!
            What did this woman want for Christmas, she asked herself with a laugh, alone there in the dark bedroom. Performing some combination of wish and dream, she told herself that she wanted someone to put her to bed. Let someone else do the heavy lifting for once! She was too tired.
            The tired woman wished to be tended by tigers. It was, admittedly, odd, but then she might have been dreaming. Tiger lady’s maids. Helpful tigers. Beautiful tigers…
            “I wish that tigers would put me to bed and let me sleep!” she whispered. “I can’t do it.”
            The closet door was standing open, as it usually was. In the dark recesses, at the back, under the hanging clothing, there was an alien sound. A light windiness. Some rustling, and after that quiet padded footsteps.
            Heavy footsteps coming nearer.
            An impossible, huge striped face popped out of the closet opening and paused. Her golden eyes scanned the room then seized on the woman lying sideways on top of the bed. The rest of the impossibility followed its face into the room. Another followed. They glanced at each other, nearly nodded and approached the bed.
            The first tiger, who shall be named Myrna, rumbled deeply in her chest. She knew her work. Such tigers are very wise.
            The following tiger, Philina, rumbled her agreement.
            Each tiger took one of the sleeper’s hands in her gentle mouth, as she would have picked up a kitten, and pulled the lady to a sitting position. Her head flopped forward and her hair, falling out of its clip, hung down nearly to her lap.
            The lady wore a long sleeved red sweater. Myrna and Philina each gripped a side of the sweater at its hem and pulled it forward until it popped clear of the woman’s form. The sleeves cleared her last. She wore a sport bra. A one piece thing. They dealt with it in the same fashion.
            Then Myrna, with a little wuff, gave her a soft push, allowing her to lie back down across her bed. She lay there without motion. Her dark hair was fanned out around her head in tangles.
            Myrna looked around the room. She seemed to know what she wanted. At last she found the nightgown hanging on a hook behind the bedroom door. She rose up on her hind feet, taller than the door, so that she could unhook it, then she carried it over to the bed.
            The woman wore sandals. Philina, using her teeth gently, pulled them off of the woman’s feet and set them together neatly under the bed. They wouldn’t be lost in the morning.
            Getting her out of her jeans was harder. But they did it inch by inch, rolling her from side to side and tugging.
            Myrna hung the jeans on the hook on the back of the door first. Then she hung the sweater over it, so as not to leave any untidiness for morning.
            Then they set to work putting her nightgown over her head. First they had to sit her up again. Working together using their teeth they settled it over her head.
            “Stand up, please,” said Myrna in a voice like butterscotch. And like an obedient sleepy child the woman stood, and the nightgown’s hem fell down around her feet. But her arms still weren’t in the sleeves.
            “Sally,” whispered Philina, “Put your arms into your sleeves, please.”
            And Sally did as she was bidden.
            Philina’s golden eyes looked on in fond approval. Her whiskers were wonderful to behold when she was pleased.
            While Sally was still standing, Myrna climbed up on the bed like the tiger in some old painting, and carefully pulled the covers back.
            Sally still stood there in her long white nightgown, dreaming perhaps.
            Myna and Philina each put her head under one of Sally’s arms and guided her to bed. Myrna pulled the covers up to Sally’s chest level and then she hopped back down to the floor.
            Sally looked just about right lying there.
            But, being tigers, there was one more thing. As tenderly as the mothers they were, they scrubbed her face and hands with their rough tongues until they felt she was clean enough to be allowed to sleep.
            Some wind could be hear softly sighing in the back of the closet. Myrna looked at Philina and then at the closet.
            First Myrna, then Philina padded softly to the open closet door. One large striped body after the other disappeared into its depths. Nothing remained, not even a whisper of wind. The hanging clothing shifted a bit and then was still.
            In the bed, Sally smiled and rolled over onto her left side. Sleepily, she pulled her pillow down into a better position. She placed her hands just so. She felt as if she might sleep until noon the next day. Not a doubt about it. None at all.

Northbound I-5 by the Fogline

            Since I was driving my daughter back to Seattle anyhow, we decide to take a look at some of the flooded areas around the town of Snohomish. This involved taking old Broadway south out of Everett, and turning left on the Lowell-Larimer road which goes down to the level of the Snohomish River and follow it along into the small city of Snohomish. All of these shots were take by Navigator.

            We had the window down and it was very chilly and wet out there. 

            These photographs are taken of the area across the road from the actual river.

            In town, we saw that the river was back down into its bed, but the fields all around were still full of water.

            We checked to see if it was possible to drive across the valley shown in the video yesterday. But it was still closed, thought was obvious that the water level across the valley was going down.

            The best way to get out of the area was to take Highway 9 southward, so that's what I did. We visited Woodinville on the way to Bothell and then on to Seattle proper.

            It was a very dim, grey, rainy trip.

            Not much of a day for photos!

Notice the tractor up to its engine in water?

 

            One of those houses along that road where it has flooded many times. The wise man built his house with a big flow through basement level!

            Unfortunately, this is the tweaker camp. The city lets them stay.

            Bound for home finally. This is the intersection of 65th and Roosevelt Way in Seattle's University district. The sun was trying to get through the clouds a little. It was nice, not raining there. But on I-5 about when I got to Shoreline it started raining. It was a thick rainfall. It was like that all the way to Everett. I really did have to keep my eye on the fogline!

            So, that's my December 26th report. Glad to be out of the rain!

💦

Just A Word From Our Sponsor

 

            

            Hey, greetings everybody! I thought I'd just stop by and say "Hi!" I also had another great idea! You know, great ideas are how I roll!

            I'm here to issue a standing invitation for you to come on up and visit the Great Forest. I'll be here. We might even bump into each other, if we're both lucky at the same time.

            Sometimes it looks dark and gloomy here, but it's not really like that.

             It's grey, soft, obscure...a dreamy landscape where anything is possible.

            While I'm at it, does anybody have anything you'd like to ask me? If I'm not around just whistle up Maeve and she'll bring me the message on mighty black wings. 

            It's been a heck of a great year. 

            Love, RALPH

🌿

Merry Christmas Dear Friends

 

Happiest of Christmas Days to You!
All Cats and Kitties,
Bunnies, Doggies and Mice,

All Winged Things,

All of Creation!
May GOD bestow all of His Blessings upon You!

Today and Always!

🤍

How Can It Be? It's Christmas Eve Already!

 

We're wishing you happiness this Christmas Eve.
It's been wonderful sharing 2025 with you all!
Peace & Love,
P and LoneStar

🤍

So, What Do Girls Want For Christmas?

 

            It was a funny time of year for it, but Twigg had been working on something. He had been thinking about the little house of living saplings that he had made for Bernadette and all the B’s. He knew that it could be done full size and he was thinking that a Basket House of his own, near his family would be a fine thing and that it would un-crowd the family cave to have him sleeping in his own place.
            So he picked a spot at the edge of the meadow where tall alder saplings grew in a convenient pattern. It wasn’t too far from the Gifting Stump where he and Marge had first met and made friends. He wasn’t in a big hurry, he was mostly planning and thinking of how best to make it.
            There was some snow out there, but snow doesn’t concern such as Twigg very much, in fact they enjoy the nice cold stuff. Forest People are very warm blooded.
            The morning after the night that he had walked into the campground to Marge’s camp host mobile, Twigg got up early. He wanted to talk to Ramona. He knew she was out there working around her fire, stirring up something for the first meal of their day.
            She was frying a great quantity of grated potatoes and onions, courtesy of Ooog’s winter storage of those two items. There would be warmed over venison too. And coffee.
            Twigg stepped out into the cold morning air, with his breath flying out before him. He closed the green door quietly, and said, “Mom?”
            “Yes, my beloved son?” said Ramona.
            “I wanted to ask you something about girls,” said he.
            “Oh! Ask away. You have come to an expert. Why, I myself, was a girl at one time,” said his mother.
            “I thought so,” said Twigg. “What I want to know is what do you think I can give Marge for this Christmas time that the humans have? What do girls want?”
            She flipped her potatoes and onions over thoughtfully. He didn’t see that her eyebrows were up while she thought. Then she said, “Well, the answer to that comes in two parts. The first part is that if she cares about you, anything that you give her will be precious to her. In a way it doesn’t matter.
            “However, it will matter to you. I think that you must make her something that represents you. Something not too large. Something that will last. Because she will keep it forever and you want it to be well made. But, what, I can’t tell you,” said Ramona at last, turning back to him.
            “Do you remember what I said to you a while ago, Twigg?” she said.
            “Yes, Mom, I do remember,” he said, a little sadly, because his heart was a very sweet and tender heart. Ramona knew this.
            “Some sort of keepsake, Twigg. Maybe a place to keep her hopes and dreams in,” said the mother.
            They heard the door to the cave open then and Ralph came out blowing steam in the cold air and yawning. He was followed by Cherry and Blue in a moment. Cats don’t care for potatoes and onions, so they stayed abed for a while. They do like venison though, so eventually they came out too.    
            So, the family ate and the day began.
            Twigg went out to his chosen building site. He had an idea of what he wanted to make for the gift. It would be made of small twigs. So he gathered an armful of the smaller branches off of the alder saplings. He carried these back home.
            He worked all day, sitting by the fire where the light was good. The cave was dim inside.
            When he was done, he had made an oval shaped shallow basket about 12 inches long with a recessed lid. He decorated the lid with some Oregon grape leaves, which look a lot like holly, though he knew nothing of the tradition of holly at Christmas. He put a layer of small Douglas fir branch tips inside it in a soft layer.
            Next, he made his way to the river. He was losing the light, since the days were so short, but he had time to search among the gravel just at the edge of the stream where he found a handful of small agates and a few other pretty rocks.
            Back at the Home Clearing, Twigg arranged the rocks inside the basket. At last he was pretty pleased with the effect.
            He was eager to take the basket to Marge immediately, so basket in arm, Twigg walked back to the deserted campground, heading to Marge’s little place. As he approached, he thought that it looked so pretty with its string of multi-colored lights arranged around the front of the mobile. The lights framed her kitchen window where the small Christmas tree shone out into the darkness. He could see why the Hairless loved those lights. They weren’t able to make the little lights like he and his people could, which Twigg thought was a little sad.
            Making brand new big footprints in the snow, he walked straight to her door and knocked. Then he waited.
            She opened the door just a crack to see who was knocking on her door in the dark of the campground.
            “Twigg! Come in,” Marge said. “Can you fit through this little door?”
            He ducked his head and stepped in. “I guess so,” he said.
            “What brings you here tonight, Twigg?”
            “I couldn’t wait. I made you a present for your Christmas, Marge, look!” said Twigg.
            And look she did, slowly and carefully. She lifted the lid after examining its décor, and touched the rocks inside.
            “Twigg, this is the most beautiful thing I have ever had in my life. You are a true artist. It’s too wonderful!” she said. She just looked at the basket for a few silent moments.
            “You know what? I have something for you too!” laughed Marge. “Hang on, it’s in the other room.”
            “Let me explain,” she said. “I got you a Swiss Army knife, a red one so it’s easier to find if you drop it somewhere. But then I thought, oh no, Twigg doesn’t exactly have pockets. So, I bought you a crossbody bag to put it in! And here it is!”
            She handed him the knife, after demonstrating how it worked. He handled it as if it were the most precious thing he had ever seen. Then she showed him how to wear the bag and that it had a zipper.
            “Thank you, Margie,” Twigg whispered. “It’s beautiful and I will always and always keep it forever. I could have used a knife today!”
            “Are you hungry?” said Marge, knowing that a Squatch is always hungry. “Let’s make some sandwiches and tea. I have corned beef, Swiss cheese and rye bread. You’ll love it!”
            She made room on her table for the beautiful basket, then gathered supplies for the sandwiches, and started water for tea.
            Twigg watched while she made three big thick sandwiches. Two were for him and one for her. He did love the sandwiches and thought the tea was very nice too, especially since she put quite a lot of sugar in it.
            They talked and laughed for an hour or so, then Twigg said, “I’ll go home now.”
            When he stood to go, Marge hugged him, which was kind of comical because he was about 7 feet tall and she was about 5’7”. So basically she kind of hugged his middle. But they didn’t care.
            They said their goodnights and he left the same way he had come, making even more big footprints in the snow.
            Marge locked the little metal door. Then she sat on her kitchen chair looking at the basket. She wept a bit because she was a girl and that’s what girls do, sometimes. She knew she would keep the twig basket as long as she lived.

🎁

The Crowds At Christmas Time

🎄 Merry Christmas!🎅

Three Shopping Days to Christmas!

Seattle, in more colorful recent days!

🌟

In 1954 Northgate Mall had the world's tallest Christmas tree.

The whole story about that.

            Do you remember the countdown before Christmas? First there were months of shopping days, then there were 20 something days. Then there would be a week, or less than a week? This was serious business! You sure didn’t want to be out trying to get some shopping done before the stores closed on Christmas Eve. And yet, some people did that very thing.
            I think back to before Amazon, or catalog shopping. You had to show up in person, with your checkbook in hand. This was before the internet ruled life.
            And yet, though it sounds strange now, there was a cheerful busyness to it. It was part of the season, part of the celebration of Christmas was being out there on the hunt for the best gifts you could find at your local stores.
            There was even a time before shopping malls! Do you remember?
            If you lived downtown there were usually some department stores, and that’s where most people did their Christmas shopping.
            Now, as it happens, I remember the 1950s from a child’s point of view. The first place I remember being brought along to while my mother shopped was Seattle’s Northgate Mall, which happens to have been the first mall in the sense we think of a mall in the whole United States. It was built in 1950 and it was a new thing. To a small girl it was quite an experience. Crowded. Everyone either in a sort of Christmas state of mind, or else not so much.
            We used to go out in the world and be among one another. Amazing. Just as if we were social creatures, and even recognized each other as fellow people on a mission.
            Even non-Christmas shopping and other business was done in person, out in the open around other people. It sounds maybe a little quaint now. Heck, the grocery shopping used to be a social experience. You were forced to deal with other humans face to face, more or less. There's nothing wrong with a little anonymous sociabilty.
            I’m thinking it might be good to do some of that again.
            So, back to the countdown, we have today, tomorrow, and maybe Christmas Eve left for Christmas prep.
            I hope that all of your shopping and mailing are done already and you are having a relaxed and cheerful holiday time!

🌟

Suzy's Latest Take on Philosophy

🎄 Meowee Christmas!🎄

4 days!

  

          Sometimes it’s very instructive to just let your cats talk amongst themselves and listen to them. You can learn a lot that way. You really have to pay close attention.

            For instance, last night Suzy was reclining, Odalisque style, on the old gas heater and she looked thoughtful as she often does. Willie, the built-in masculine gainsayer was on the green chair just in front of the heater. They were talking about a workable philosophy of life. Cats are past masters at this because they have nothing else to do really.

            “I think I have it figured out,” said Suzy.

            Willie’s eyes flew open in alarm. “What!”

            “How life works. I’ve got it this time,” said she.

            “That’s a little sinister coming from you,” Willie laughed.

            “No, listen, Willie. You know how they’re always talking about all different kinds of living creatures as if each type is a totally unique entity? Well, that can’t be true.

            “I have come to the conclusion that each species is a different form of cat. Some possessing great feline virtue have a close appearance to a literal cat, such as we are.

            “Some, perhaps having really messed up in a former life, come in forms such as bugs, snakes, fish and all those, or even, shudder, as dogs. It’s hard to imagine what a cat could do to come back in the form of a dog!” said Suzy in wonderment.

            “In fact, upon consideration, I have determined that the UR form of life, the original template is that of cat. Erring past lives have to account for the apparent variety!” she said.

            “I find myself quite speechless,” said Willie. This was, of course, not true.

            “Suzy, what about humans?” inquired Willie. I listened very closely then!

            “What I think is this. Those who come back as human were very silly cats, doing things no cat should do,” said Suzy. “Like building things and organizing large groups of cats. That’s not catlike, is it?”

            “What about mice?” said Willie. “Are you sure there isn’t a whole ‘nother order of creation there that you haven’t wedged into your philosophy?” said Willie.

            “No. Mice fit too. They must have been cringing, Scardycats™. Thus they deserve to be mice this time ‘round!” asserted Suzy.

            “Hold up, Suzy. Do you remember what Toots said the last time you got carried away?” said Willie, stifling his guffaws.

            Suzy seemed to be wracking her brain for a few quiet seconds.

            “Not sure,” she said.

            “I’m probably paraphrasing, but what she said was that cat heads are too little for philosophy. It’s not our specialty. We’re made for love, comfort, and napping. And eating, of course! “Just Purr™, Suzy! It’s all ya gotta do!” insisted Willie, rearranging himself to go back to sleep. “Like, take a nap!”

            “Well, if Toots says so, I’ll consider it,” purred Suzy, as she drifted off to sleep.

            And I was left alone there, at my desk, to consider the merits of her assertions!

😻

December 20, The Mt. Baker Snoqualmie National Forest

           It had been a rainy sloppy fall, with floods in the lowlands, but now there was snow in the forest park where Marge did camp host duty. It wasn’t a great deal of snow, and it melted during the daytime, leaving drifts in the shadows. A few hardy types still came up, in campers to spend the night or a few hours in the forest. No tent campers had come lately.

            Marge had helped her mom, Enid, decorate for Christmas at her house over on the dirt road near Ooog and Thaga’s place. That done, she brought a string of multi-colored outdoor lights to the park and arranged them on the outside of her tiny mobile. Then, when she was in town, she went to the Walmart store and bought a very small artificial Christmas tree and set it up in her window where anyone could see it, which was the idea, after all. It came with small white lights attached, but she added some trinkets, shiny balls and a string of glittery stuff.
            She went outside when she was done to have a look. The light was fading, it being 4PM. It looked great in the dim light she thought. Her own Christmas décor. She wished that Twigg would wander over and slip into the park to have a look at her work.
            The next day dawned, colder than the one before, and with a fresh six inches of snow on the ground. Marge dressed warmly, parka and all, and put on her boots. She thought she would just walk around the campground to make sure everything looked OK.
            When she got outside she found big bare footprints around her mobile. So, maybe Twigg had seen her handiwork. She had to assume it was he, because who else would come into the park and walk straight to her home?
            But why didn’t he knock or something, she wondered. While she was wondering she messed up a lot of the prints by stomping around. This involved leaving the campground and walking clear to the ranger station and through the parking lot and over to the area of the dumpster where the tracks went on into the forest. She quit there.
            Right as she was about to go back to her place, an old gray Honda Civic pulled in and parked. She knew the driver alright, but they hadn’t talked. It was Dexter, the National Forest trainee coming to work.
            “Hi,” said Dexter when he got out of the Honda. Then he blushed and walked quickly to the station door and went inside. Rick was already there; his truck was parked in its usual spot. All was quiet again in the parking lot.
            “Hi!” Marge had said to his retreating back.
            “Funny guy,” Marge said to the silent air. Then she forgot about Dexter. It was so pretty outside, so crispy and cold. Clumps of snow fell out of some of the firs making soft landings on the snow covered ground.
            Inside the office, Dexter watched at the window as she walked away. He felt like a total clown.
            Rick walked out of the kitchen nook with a coffee mug in his hand.
            “Good morning,” he said absently and plopped down at his desk. “I made the coffee. Help yourself.”
            Dexter did help himself. With his coffee, he took a seat silently.
            Rick glanced up at him, and then down to his laptop, which he was fiddling with.
            “I want you to go up and tell Marge that I’m going to close the camp for January and February. Her mom lives close. We’ll play March by ear depending on the weather,” said Rick.
            To tell the truth, Marge kind of scared Dexter. He hadn’t ever been good at conversing with girls, even at school. But, he manfully got up to follow directions.
            Ranger Rick smiled a little after Dexter left the office.
            On the way up to see Marge, he noticed a whole string of scuffed out foot prints leading from the edge of the forest. It seemed odd. The strange trail continued all the way to the camp mobile.
            As Dexter approached he saw that the mobile had been decorated for Christmas. All his memories of Christmas past crowded into his mind. He loved the lights. He loved how it transformed the world, just by putting up those colored lights. He saw her little fake tree in the window, shining bravely. He stopped and looked for a moment, then walked on.
            Dexter knocked on her door and waited.
            The door opened and there she was. Hair pinned up, Carhartt overalls, a long sleeved black t-shirt with the sleeves shoved up to her elbows. Sharp blue eyes asking a question.
            “Hi, Dexter. Do you want to come in? Are you here on business?” she laughed.
            “Yeah. Both. I’ll come in and I’m here on business,” he said.
            There were two kitchen chairs beside a truly tiny table, the one with the little tree on it. So they sat there by the Christmas tree.
            “When I walked up I thought what you did looked really pretty,” said Dexter.
            “Thank you,” said Marge.
            “The business is that Rick wanted me to tell you that he’s going to close the campground for January and February, and maybe March if the snow is too deep for campers,” said Dexter.
            “I wondered. I was going to go talk to him about winter. I guess, I’ll go stay with mom and her husband for the winter. I guess I’ll still be around in the spring. I think,” she said.
            “I thought you might be upset,” said Dexter. “Hey, I followed some really weird tracks up here. I bet you know something about them. Looked like somebody was obscuring someone’s trail.”
            “Well, yeah. You remember Twigg? I guess he came up here to see me in the middle of the night and I was already asleep,” she said. “So, I messed up his footprints, just in case anyone but one of you guys saw them. There aren’t any Forest People here, by definition, and I mean to help keep it that way.”
            “Can I ask you a question,” said Dexter.
            “I guess so, how bad can it be?” said Marge.
            “Are you and Twigg together, you know?” he blurted out.
            She looked at him for a count or two and then said, “Nah! Me and Twigg are like we had the same mommy and daddy!” Then she giggled like it was a pretty funny idea.
            “I just wondered!” said Dexter. Then he laughed.
            “Alright, I’ll go tell Rick you’ve got the message,” said Dexter. “See ya!”
            And off he went!

🎄

Out Of The Mists Of The Everett Past

   

It vas a black and vhite vorld back den...

  

       As it happens, I was preparing to write a short open thread type post about a guy who wrote and performed a funny PNW Christmas song. 
            When I did my little bit of research on this character, I was surprised to learn that he had been born in Everett, WA in 1925 to Norwegian, of course, parents, who parents were Norwegian immigrants. 
            This town used to be kind of Norski/Native central. That's still here, but less so.
            Anyhow, this funny guy was Stan Boreson. He used to do a kid's live TV show that sibs and I watched pretty faithfully. There were several of these TV shows in those days. I think we put up with his jokes and songs to get to the cartoon. There was always a cartoon tucked into kid's TV shows, the prize in the box of grownup's attempts to entertain children.
            Stan was a Seattle fixture. The kind of guy with a low level public persona. You knew who he was if you saw him around Seattle.
            He did a whole Christmas album, but this song is the one I always think of around Christmas.  

Boreson, Stan (1925-2017)

A nice history by History Link

Musician, recording artist, humorist, and pioneering '50s kiddie-TV show star -- Stan Boreson was Everett's king of Scandinavian humor. He has brought joy to generations in his native Northwest, across America, and around the globe. In his six decades of recording and performing, Boreson became a regional icon, an American treasure via sales of his 15 albums and a half-dozen appearances on Garrison Keillor's radio show A Prairie Home Companion, and an in-demand act who once accepted a direct concert request by King Olav of Norway, and later in 2005, was further honored by Norway's King Harald V with the St. Olav Medal of Honor -- one step shy of full knighthood....

 

🎼

❄