Well, I hope everyone had a holly-jolly Christmas or something along those lines. If you don't celebrate Christmas, that's a shame — it's quite the experience.
I'd love to go into detail about my own Christmas dinner adventures yesterday, but I'm still recovering somewhat. Suffice to say that if you put four Egyptian families in the same room, the words "silent night" and "heavenly peace" definitely won't apply.
Especially at the kids' table. Over which, at the age of 31, I still proudly preside, joined by an entourage of other "youngsters" (who are, in no particular order, various ages that I can't remember, but which range from early teens to 26).
But anyway, enough about me!
Just want to wish you all the best of the rest of the season, and a fun, happy, and safe New Year's! I'll be going on vacation for awhile (from the blog at least; I still have to work — bah humbug!), so please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible (in 2007).
Until then, be nice, play fair, and miss me, my darlings.
Kisses from the frogg princess...
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Sunday, December 24, 2006
The Twelfth Day of Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a… partridge.
The frogg passed by her window, looked out and stared
In hopes that her true love soon would be there.
The swans were nestled all snug on the lawn
While Leo in his cage opened his beak in a yawn,
And the frogg with her cocoa and Schnapps (I mean marshmallows)
Had just settled herself in a chair by the, um, fire (sorry, but nothing rhymes with marshmallows)
When suddenly outside there arose such a clatter!
The frogg sprang from her chair to see what was the matter!
Away to the window she flew like a flash
Tore open the shutter and threw up the sash.
Out on the lawn, in the glow of the moon,
She saw her true love, and he was singing a tune!
As the Four Calling Birds backed him up, all a'swaying
To the accompanying strains of Six Policeman Playing!
The Frogg's true love grinned, and blew her a kiss
As she laughed and waved back with a heart full of bliss!
And suddenly the swans were joining the throng
And the French Kens were there, laughing along!
The nine British lords were leaping and dancing
Around the eight quilting grannies, whose needles were flashing
While they sat in their rockers and continued to sew
Smiling and winking with their faces aglow!
And oh! what was this! Twelve drummers drumming?
(Then Leo II surprised her by joining in, humming)
It was a rockin' good party, all could agree
Everyone was jolly and happy and free!
The frogg's true love beckoned, and in her heart she did wonder
What other gift he could possibly have got her.
“Frogg Princess,” he said, “I just want you to know
That I’ll always love you—but now I must go.”
And suddenly, he disappeared and all of his gifts
Were only a memory in a matter of minutes.
She couldn’t believe that he would leave her that way,
And she hung her head, in utter dismay.
Til she went in the house, and what should she see
But a beautiful ring, and a note: “Wait for me.”
She smiled then, though her eyes filled with tears,
She knew that she would... even if it took years.
Now I'll say merry Christmas to all my readers and friends
Who’ve followed along to this story’s end.
I hope you enjoyed it, and I wish you the best
I know I’ve had fun—thanks for being my guest!
(If you think the ending was cheesy, I’m sorry,
But what can I say—I’m running out of ideas!
Argh, the last line I wrote did not even rhyme!
So I’m going to go—isn’t it about time?!)
Not a creature was stirring, not even a… partridge.
The frogg passed by her window, looked out and stared
In hopes that her true love soon would be there.
The swans were nestled all snug on the lawn
While Leo in his cage opened his beak in a yawn,
And the frogg with her cocoa and Schnapps (I mean marshmallows)
Had just settled herself in a chair by the, um, fire (sorry, but nothing rhymes with marshmallows)
When suddenly outside there arose such a clatter!
The frogg sprang from her chair to see what was the matter!
Away to the window she flew like a flash
Tore open the shutter and threw up the sash.
Out on the lawn, in the glow of the moon,
She saw her true love, and he was singing a tune!
As the Four Calling Birds backed him up, all a'swaying
To the accompanying strains of Six Policeman Playing!
The Frogg's true love grinned, and blew her a kiss
As she laughed and waved back with a heart full of bliss!
And suddenly the swans were joining the throng
And the French Kens were there, laughing along!
The nine British lords were leaping and dancing
Around the eight quilting grannies, whose needles were flashing
While they sat in their rockers and continued to sew
Smiling and winking with their faces aglow!
And oh! what was this! Twelve drummers drumming?
(Then Leo II surprised her by joining in, humming)
It was a rockin' good party, all could agree
Everyone was jolly and happy and free!
The frogg's true love beckoned, and in her heart she did wonder
What other gift he could possibly have got her.
“Frogg Princess,” he said, “I just want you to know
That I’ll always love you—but now I must go.”
And suddenly, he disappeared and all of his gifts
Were only a memory in a matter of minutes.
She couldn’t believe that he would leave her that way,
And she hung her head, in utter dismay.
Til she went in the house, and what should she see
But a beautiful ring, and a note: “Wait for me.”
She smiled then, though her eyes filled with tears,
She knew that she would... even if it took years.
Now I'll say merry Christmas to all my readers and friends
Who’ve followed along to this story’s end.
I hope you enjoyed it, and I wish you the best
I know I’ve had fun—thanks for being my guest!
(If you think the ending was cheesy, I’m sorry,
But what can I say—I’m running out of ideas!
Argh, the last line I wrote did not even rhyme!
So I’m going to go—isn’t it about time?!)
Saturday, December 23, 2006
On the Eleventh Day of Christmas...
...I had severe Blogger difficulties, which prevented me from logging in to my account until now. Also I was *gasp* out shopping. I have a headache.
I'm going to watch TV now, because I'm tired. Amuse yourselves thinking about the story I might have written. Better yet, if you want, tell me what you think my true love got me today! I'd be interested to hear.
I'm going to watch TV now, because I'm tired. Amuse yourselves thinking about the story I might have written. Better yet, if you want, tell me what you think my true love got me today! I'd be interested to hear.
Friday, December 22, 2006
The Tenth Day of Christmas
I just realized I got my days of Christmas mixed up. Argh I hate that song!
My true love was supposed to send me nine ladies dancing yesterday, not nine lords a'leaping. But who cares. What would I have done with nine ladies dancing? I ask you.
So, let's skip the ladies altogether. Today he got me...
...10 lift tickets for snowboarding!
(Oh how I wish.)
My true love was supposed to send me nine ladies dancing yesterday, not nine lords a'leaping. But who cares. What would I have done with nine ladies dancing? I ask you.
So, let's skip the ladies altogether. Today he got me...
...10 lift tickets for snowboarding!
(Oh how I wish.)
Thursday, December 21, 2006
The Ninth Day of Christmas
I was swimming through the mall, which had somehow become filled with water. Hapless shoppers floated by, along with various potential gifts that were always just a little out of reach. Suddenly, a shark appeared out of the mall's darkened depths, jaws open for the kill. It was coming straight for me! I tried to scream but I was underwater. I swam as fast as I could, but it was nowhere near fast enough. The shark was closing in...
I awoke suddenly, in a sweat. I looked around wildly. I was in my room, and the shark-infested mall was gone. It had been a nightmare, that's all. The ringing phone had yanked me out of sleep. I leaned across the bed to the nightstand and picked it up, still groggy.
"Hello?" I mumbled.
"Hi, is this Grackyfrogg?"said a woman's voice.
"I think so," I said.
"Oh, well, this is Annie from across the street."
"Hi Annie," I said, waking up a bit more now. What could my neighbor want at this hour? But then I looked at my bedside clock, and saw that that it was 11am. Oh.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to bother you, but... well, I just wondered if you knew that there are a bunch of strange men leaping about in front of your house."
"Strange men? Leaping?"
"Yes, and they are dressed like... like British lords."
"Hmm," I said. "What do British lords typically dress like, Annie?"
"Like these guys!" she said, sounding irritated. "I just told you!"
11am or not, it was way too early for this conversation.
"Ok, sorry," I said. "I think they're from my true love. It's all good."
"From your true love?"
"Yes, he's been sending me weird gifts lately."
"I... see."
I yawned. "Anyway, thanks for letting me know. I'm sure they'll go away soon."
"Wait a minute," she said. "Do you think... could I have one?"
"Have one what?"
"One of the leaping lords."
"Uh," I said. "How many of them are there?"
She paused, and I imagined her staring out her window, counting.
"Nine," she finally said. "And they're really cute."
"Sure, help yourself," I said. Then I hung up and went back to sleep, but not before thinking that it takes a very secure man to send nine handsome British lords to leap and prance in front of his beloved's house.
Of course, it would take an even more secure man to be one of those lords.
I awoke suddenly, in a sweat. I looked around wildly. I was in my room, and the shark-infested mall was gone. It had been a nightmare, that's all. The ringing phone had yanked me out of sleep. I leaned across the bed to the nightstand and picked it up, still groggy.
"Hello?" I mumbled.
"Hi, is this Grackyfrogg?"said a woman's voice.
"I think so," I said.
"Oh, well, this is Annie from across the street."
"Hi Annie," I said, waking up a bit more now. What could my neighbor want at this hour? But then I looked at my bedside clock, and saw that that it was 11am. Oh.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to bother you, but... well, I just wondered if you knew that there are a bunch of strange men leaping about in front of your house."
"Strange men? Leaping?"
"Yes, and they are dressed like... like British lords."
"Hmm," I said. "What do British lords typically dress like, Annie?"
"Like these guys!" she said, sounding irritated. "I just told you!"
11am or not, it was way too early for this conversation.
"Ok, sorry," I said. "I think they're from my true love. It's all good."
"From your true love?"
"Yes, he's been sending me weird gifts lately."
"I... see."
I yawned. "Anyway, thanks for letting me know. I'm sure they'll go away soon."
"Wait a minute," she said. "Do you think... could I have one?"
"Have one what?"
"One of the leaping lords."
"Uh," I said. "How many of them are there?"
She paused, and I imagined her staring out her window, counting.
"Nine," she finally said. "And they're really cute."
"Sure, help yourself," I said. Then I hung up and went back to sleep, but not before thinking that it takes a very secure man to send nine handsome British lords to leap and prance in front of his beloved's house.
Of course, it would take an even more secure man to be one of those lords.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
The Eighth Day of Christmas
So, for those just tuning in, it is now the eighth day of Christmas (meaning there are only four days left—I think I got the math right this time!). I have not done any Christmas shopping to speak of, though I did some that I am trying to forget. On the other hand, here’s what my true love has given me so far:
-A partridge, whom I have christened Leo II in honor (if that’s the right word, which I doubt) of the cowgirl’s demon cockatiel. There was also a pear tree, but I kind of forgot about that til just now.
-A pair of turtle gloves.
-A thorough housecleaning, courtesy of three French Kens.
-Singing telegrams, delivered by Four Calling Birds.
-Five golden rings on a necklace.
-Six Policeman Playing (aka SPSquared), a musical sextet who serenaded me with weird, I mean awesome, arrangements of Christmas songs.
-Seven swans a’swimming in my backyard pool—swans who may or may not be able to talk. There was some debate about this, but since the debate was actually with the swans, I’m inclined to think they may have some skills in the verbal arena after all.
Which brings us to today.
I had woken up to the sound of Leo II’s high-pitched whistling, which startled me because I’d sort of forgotten about him, thanks to the silencing sheet I kept over his cage. Unfortunately, forgetting about him meant I had also forgotten to feed him, and he was now reminding me. Vociferously.
I went downstairs to give him some food and make him shut up. First goal accomplished, second one not so much. Groaning, I went outside to pick up the morning paper and get away from him for a minute, and stopped suddenly on my porch. There on the lawn were eight charming little old ladies in rocking chairs, rocking away as they laughed and chatted and worked on a gigantic quilt, upon which they were embroidering a huge picture of… my own face?!
I blinked. Several times. I was speechless.
“It was your true love’s idea,” said one of the grannies.
“I can’t imagine how to thank him,” I said.
“Oh I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she said, and winked.
“Oh I really doubt it,” I said, smiling.
I picked up the paper and went back in the house. For awhile, I had forgotten to worry about my true love’s sanity but now, suddenly, I remembered.
I sighed. I had another, more immediate problem demanding my attention. Namely, what sort of breakfast I could offer to eight ladies quilting.
How do you think they’d feel about fresh partridge?
-A partridge, whom I have christened Leo II in honor (if that’s the right word, which I doubt) of the cowgirl’s demon cockatiel. There was also a pear tree, but I kind of forgot about that til just now.
-A pair of turtle gloves.
-A thorough housecleaning, courtesy of three French Kens.
-Singing telegrams, delivered by Four Calling Birds.
-Five golden rings on a necklace.
-Six Policeman Playing (aka SPSquared), a musical sextet who serenaded me with weird, I mean awesome, arrangements of Christmas songs.
-Seven swans a’swimming in my backyard pool—swans who may or may not be able to talk. There was some debate about this, but since the debate was actually with the swans, I’m inclined to think they may have some skills in the verbal arena after all.
Which brings us to today.
I had woken up to the sound of Leo II’s high-pitched whistling, which startled me because I’d sort of forgotten about him, thanks to the silencing sheet I kept over his cage. Unfortunately, forgetting about him meant I had also forgotten to feed him, and he was now reminding me. Vociferously.
I went downstairs to give him some food and make him shut up. First goal accomplished, second one not so much. Groaning, I went outside to pick up the morning paper and get away from him for a minute, and stopped suddenly on my porch. There on the lawn were eight charming little old ladies in rocking chairs, rocking away as they laughed and chatted and worked on a gigantic quilt, upon which they were embroidering a huge picture of… my own face?!
I blinked. Several times. I was speechless.
“It was your true love’s idea,” said one of the grannies.
“I can’t imagine how to thank him,” I said.
“Oh I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she said, and winked.
“Oh I really doubt it,” I said, smiling.
I picked up the paper and went back in the house. For awhile, I had forgotten to worry about my true love’s sanity but now, suddenly, I remembered.
I sighed. I had another, more immediate problem demanding my attention. Namely, what sort of breakfast I could offer to eight ladies quilting.
How do you think they’d feel about fresh partridge?
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
The Seventh Day of Christmas
With only, let’s see, five (wait, six? having trouble counting!) days left before Christmas actually hits, I began to freak out. I needed a seriously good present for my true love, but I had not done one iota of Christmas shopping. (Not that this was any sort of big departure from the norm, of course.)
Oh wait. I’m sorry, I did in fact do one little iota. I went shopping the other day, but apparently all I could find was a pothole. While I’m sure my true love would graciously accept anything at all I cared to give him, just like any other guy would (right, guys? right, ladies?), I was concerned about this particular gift. Its intangibility was not in its favor, to begin with.
So that meant I had to go back to the drawing board, otherwise known as—the mall.
I sighed. Deeply. Tragically. Exasperatedly.
I have a love-hate relationship with the mall, if by “love-hate” you mean “hate” and if by “relationship” you mean “not remotely on speaking terms.” And never do my emotions reach such a zenith as at the Christmas season.
I mean, how could one not adore driving around endlessly looking for a non-existent parking space in a vast, several-storied concrete wasteland? How could one not be joyous while getting jostled and bumped by countless harried shoppers as they dash through stores leaving chaos and cranky clerks behind?
Of course, the answer to both of those questions is, "With amazing ease." But frankly, time was running out to order anything online, and I was getting desperate. I knew I wanted to get something really good, really amazing, really different for my beloved. But what?
I considered whale barf, but changed my mind. Quickly. (Anyway, I don't think they carry it at the mall.)
As I sat at my kitchen table racking my beleaguered brains for other ideas, I heard a noise outside. It sounded like something splashing in my pool. I jumped up and ran out to the backyard, just in time to see six huge swans land in the water, joining the one who was already there, paddling around as if it owned the place.
I noticed that there was a little jingle bell and piece of holly hanging around each of their necks, tied with a silver ribbon.
Were they a gift from my true love? Or should I call pest control?
Thankfully I didn’t have to wonder too long, because one of them cleared its throat and said, “Sorry for the dramatic entrance. We were supposed to arrive last night to surprise you in the morning. Your true love gave us directions but, well, we took a little detour and..."
“Detour! You mean we got lost!” snapped another swan.
“Mere semantics,” said the first swan loftily. The other swans laughed in what I couldn't help but think was a mocking tone. I stared at them all, stunned.
“I’m sorry,” I said, addressing myself to the first swan. “I’m a little concerned that I may be hallucinating. Did you... say something just now?”
“Of course not,” it said. “Swans can’t talk. Everyone knows that.”
"So I am hallucinating?"
"Not at all," said the swan. "You're just imagining things."
“Oh good,” I said in a relieved voice, and started back to the house, when the swan called out, "Wait a minute!"
"Yes?" I asked, turning around.
"I almost forgot to give you this," and he arched his beautiful neck and plucked a rolled piece of paper under his wing. "This is from your true love. But," he winked, "you didn't hear it from me."
"Hear what?" I said, and went back into the house, where I read the note. It said:
Birds of a feather
Show my love forever...
Ok, so it wasn't his best poetic moment. But the sentiment was very sweet. I had to smile.
However, the problem of what to get my true love remained; it had unfortunately not gone away while I was having my little metaphysical debate at the pool. Whereas he had just symbolized his undying love with a flock of seven swans a-swimming!
In other words, my true love was waaaay ahead of me in the "creative gifts" department.
I groaned. What was I going to do??
Oh wait. I’m sorry, I did in fact do one little iota. I went shopping the other day, but apparently all I could find was a pothole. While I’m sure my true love would graciously accept anything at all I cared to give him, just like any other guy would (right, guys? right, ladies?), I was concerned about this particular gift. Its intangibility was not in its favor, to begin with.
So that meant I had to go back to the drawing board, otherwise known as—the mall.
I sighed. Deeply. Tragically. Exasperatedly.
I have a love-hate relationship with the mall, if by “love-hate” you mean “hate” and if by “relationship” you mean “not remotely on speaking terms.” And never do my emotions reach such a zenith as at the Christmas season.
I mean, how could one not adore driving around endlessly looking for a non-existent parking space in a vast, several-storied concrete wasteland? How could one not be joyous while getting jostled and bumped by countless harried shoppers as they dash through stores leaving chaos and cranky clerks behind?
Of course, the answer to both of those questions is, "With amazing ease." But frankly, time was running out to order anything online, and I was getting desperate. I knew I wanted to get something really good, really amazing, really different for my beloved. But what?
I considered whale barf, but changed my mind. Quickly. (Anyway, I don't think they carry it at the mall.)
As I sat at my kitchen table racking my beleaguered brains for other ideas, I heard a noise outside. It sounded like something splashing in my pool. I jumped up and ran out to the backyard, just in time to see six huge swans land in the water, joining the one who was already there, paddling around as if it owned the place.
I noticed that there was a little jingle bell and piece of holly hanging around each of their necks, tied with a silver ribbon.
Were they a gift from my true love? Or should I call pest control?
Thankfully I didn’t have to wonder too long, because one of them cleared its throat and said, “Sorry for the dramatic entrance. We were supposed to arrive last night to surprise you in the morning. Your true love gave us directions but, well, we took a little detour and..."
“Detour! You mean we got lost!” snapped another swan.
“Mere semantics,” said the first swan loftily. The other swans laughed in what I couldn't help but think was a mocking tone. I stared at them all, stunned.
“I’m sorry,” I said, addressing myself to the first swan. “I’m a little concerned that I may be hallucinating. Did you... say something just now?”
“Of course not,” it said. “Swans can’t talk. Everyone knows that.”
"So I am hallucinating?"
"Not at all," said the swan. "You're just imagining things."
“Oh good,” I said in a relieved voice, and started back to the house, when the swan called out, "Wait a minute!"
"Yes?" I asked, turning around.
"I almost forgot to give you this," and he arched his beautiful neck and plucked a rolled piece of paper under his wing. "This is from your true love. But," he winked, "you didn't hear it from me."
"Hear what?" I said, and went back into the house, where I read the note. It said:
Birds of a feather
Show my love forever...
Ok, so it wasn't his best poetic moment. But the sentiment was very sweet. I had to smile.
However, the problem of what to get my true love remained; it had unfortunately not gone away while I was having my little metaphysical debate at the pool. Whereas he had just symbolized his undying love with a flock of seven swans a-swimming!
In other words, my true love was waaaay ahead of me in the "creative gifts" department.
I groaned. What was I going to do??
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