"A fair-weather version of "Baby is my co-pilot" took us Down East to Goomp's yesterday with thick but steadily moving traffic," we posted one year ago today. The traffic yesterday heading down Goomp's was unprecedented, a piece of cake except for a 45-minute delay along a 5-mile stretch of Route 1 in Saugus, where everyone was trying to get on or off the highway for some heavy last-minute Christmas shopping.
It took us all day to buy a few last-minute things and whip up a batch of whipped potatoes. We'd cooked up almost all the side dishes ahead of time during the last few days, but somehow the stress factor, unbidden, expanded to fill the amount of time available:
We: Everything is in the house! The largest grocery tab in history. That's a lot of beef, not to mention lobster tails, champagne, cabernet sauvignon et al. Did you read the piece about Bubba Fatigue? "Something was bugging me, but I couldn't figure out what it was. Then it hit me. While I was reading about the campaign, the realization came like a thunderbolt: I'm tired of Bill Clinton."
She: I was tired of them from that first interview. Second batch of tarts did not leap out as gladly as the first. I have one that I might have to eat myself. GAK.
We: You could put it out for the birds.
She: I don't want to have them get used to regular feeding. I am a bad mother, and a bad wildlife feeder. Sporadic.
We: They won't get used to regular feeding. They are always looking for handouts wherever they may find them. If you put out food, they will come. If you don't, they'll look elsewhere.
She: I LOVE it. Like the WSJ article. The nation has become a nation of dependents, not independents. I shall, perhaps, give local wildlife a one-time Christmas treat. :-)
We: You feed, girl!
She: Well, I didn't tell the exact whole story. BEFORE I colored my hair, there was a knock at the door. I was totally peeved and shouted, "Who is it?" "POLICE" came the answer. I opened the door and was issued a scofflaw warning for not shoveling my sidewalk.
We: Merry Christmas to you, too, occifer. "Why doesn't the town shovel the sidewalks?" asks Dad rhetorically. Tuck snorts in disgust. As if the sidewalks of Carter Street amount to a hill of beans. Dad says you should get hold of Ben and the Mayor!!!
She: I assume the town has no money for sidewalks, because all the money goes to the schools for "the children." LOL re Ben. Get this. The citation occifer is the BROTHER of my next door neighor!
We: Dad says you should sue the town. The folks up here are INCENSED at the idiocy of the priorities of the Port Town "fathers." If I were in a blogging mode, I would be blogging about it this very minute.
She: I'm kind of flattered that they are incensed.
We: Did you look the occifer in the eye? Was there anybody in there?
She: No, but, I will say this. At least I was issued a "warning" and not the usual $50 fine.
We: You accept that as acceptable treatment of a hard-working American?
She: I agree about the sidewalks of Carter Street, though. It's not exactly a main thoroughfare. GET A LIFE! How about chasing down the drug dealers on Inn Street? Our tax dollars at work. :-(
We: Tuck thinks the residents of Carter Street should secede. And once they've seceded, they should post immigration officials at High Street and Merrimack Street.
She: Well, I'm off to wash out my hair coloring, about 10 minutes all told. Mother WORKS at being beautiful, and mother is exhausted. :-)
We: I was blind sided by my own exhaustion.
She: Oh, poor toe koot pee girl. Have you already set the table, or will you wait until tomorrow?
We: Have not. WIll wait until Tuck brings down the leaves tomorrow.
She: I remember back in the day I used to LOVE to set the table the night before to put me "in the mood," only to come down in the morning to find that the cats had done some creative arrangements of their own. :-)