As I muse joyfully this holiday season, as I unpack holiday decor, I am also going to muse joyfully on random thoughts.

I have been watching The Harry and Megan documentary on Netflix. I enjoy the accessories, my favorite scene – Megan lying  against the “H” blanket; is “H” for Hermes or “H” for Harry?  Was it a metaphor? 

Town trash bags make excellent presents and will never be re-gifted. They are useful, practical and the last thing anyone ever wants to buy for themselves.

My daughters return home this week for the holidays.  Oat milk will be back in town.  Do I have to get it a gift?

Bennie loves to run in the woods.  I like hiding behind a tree, watching him panic.

On Fridays, in my senior class advisory, I provide boxes of cereal and we call it Cereal Killer Friday.  Cap’n Crunch is deeply popular, he’s the Jeffrey Dahmer of Fridays.  

I can’t remember the last time I wore makeup.  Maybe it’s time to resurrect the lipstick and mascara though I believe both are from 1997.

I love kicking off the accumulation of snow from the back of car tires. There is deep satisfaction when an entire clump falls.

When I was in first grade, I thought of running away.  I packed my ice skates in a suitcase. I am much older now, but if I were to run away, I’d still only pack my ice skates.

I wonder if 2023 will be the year I finally get my book out. I’ll make sure I put on makeup for my author shot. And then my book will be the only thing I gift, I’ll write a special note to Oat Milk, “It’s been a joy getting to know you through this next generation.  I will still be drinking my skim milk but please don’t take offense.  I’m just not that evolved.”

I love watching the World Cup.  Goooooooooooooooooooool is such a great word; I especially love it when the announcer runs out of breath and has to start anew.

My niece Maeve has returned from a semester in Italy.  I don’t know why I feel compelled to yell and speak manically with my hands when I see her.  I literally yell, “Bongiorno!! Buongiorno!! Mangia! Mangia!” when I see her.  I am the worst stereotype ever. 

When I asked my 23 year old colleague what she’d be doing on Christmas Eve, she told me she and her parents would be going to Mass. I asked if they attended the Midnight Mass.  “No,” she remarked, “my parents are too old to stay up that late.”  When I asked her their ages, she responded, “They are pushing 60.”  Then I remembered I’d made reservations for Christmas Eve dinner for 4:30. 

My favorite part of my days include making a pot of tea at 5:00 a.m. and then going to bed several hours later. The in between can sometimes be fabulous.

We are summering in Ipswich, Massachusetts in 2023. I’m going to get my clamming license. Watch out, clams.

Thank you, Musers, for reading my random thoughts. I hope you’ll share some of yours  in the chat. Be well.