It has been a strange couple of weeks around here and I’ve been the only one still standing. Dearly Beloved banished himself to the guest room, quarantining his flu germs in case my flu shot wasn’t any better than his.
We’re pretty sure he picked up said germs at his high school class reunion group’s Christmas dinner. Remember, how, at their 50th reunion, they decided that maybe they should meet more frequently than every 25 years? They’ve been lunching together monthly ever since.
“Evening” Christmas party may be a misnomer, as concession to age had it beginning at 5. DB was home by 7:30. However, pestilence and disease must have been door prizes because so many of them came down with the crud, they’ve decided to cancel the January lunch.
DB says he reckons there was too much hugging and kissing in the parking lot.
Meanwhile, Miss Piggy had eye surgery for ulcers on both eyes earlier this week. Alas, we can’t even get her Christmas jersey over her lampshade collar or take her for an overdue holiday grooming. Her anal sacs are contributing to her misery. She dozes during the day, raises her head occasionally and squints to look around for a moment, then resumes her nap position. At night, however, she wanders from room to room, banging the plastic collar against walls and floor. It sounds as if someone is opening cabinets and drawers in another room, a haunted house effect.
On a recent windy night, she woke me by pawing at my bed covers, wanting to go outside. I flipped on the light switch so that I could see to put eye drops in her eyes while I was up. No power. Dang! I’d heard nothing since the sound of the wind chimes outside the bedroom window lulled me to sleep hours earlier. . . nothing except the sounds of Miss Piggy bouncing off the walls.
After the potty break, as I climbed back into bed, I heard DB coughing in the bathroom. It is an unmistakable sound: imagine a slow freight train rumbling down a bowling alley lane.
“The power is out. Maybe we should call!” I yelled to him. He came into the bedroom.
“It’s BEEN out for hours,” he answered, a bit sanctimonious for my tastes. “There’s a bunch of guys working outside with chain saws and flashlights right now–been out there for hours. A limb knocked down the power line up the street and they’re cutting back the trees so they can get to the transformer behind our house. I’ve already been out and talked to them several times.”
(The next day our neighbor told us that one of her boys had awakened and asked about the noise, “Why is Mr. Lee cutting his grass in the middle of the night?”)
I couldn’t go back to sleep, now that my ears had picked up the chainsaw concert. I could see lights flashing in the trees. I tossed and turned the rest of the night and well into the morning, not really sleeping, but not wanting to face our no power, no phone, no heat, no internet situation either. The chain saw noise continued.
When I finally did go outside to look, I found that two of our very large holly trees had been reduced by half, and the branches lying on the ground were loaded with holly berries, unlike the lower branches I’d been able to reach. I grabbed my clippers and cut some to supplement my slacker Christmas decorating this year. We look much more festive now, compliments of the nocturnal loggers.
There is holly on mantels, bookcase shelves, tables, even a ledge in the bathroom, safely out of bare bottom range. At the back of the yard, in place of one of the hollies, the workmen left a stack of neatly cut logs. The chainsaw noise was replaced by the chipper grinding beneath our kitchen window and most of the wood went here.
After guys have been working throughout the night in trees, with chainsaws and flashlights amid live wires to restore power, even a whiny homeowner spends little time fretting over the now decapitated little ceramic mushrooms, trampled ferns and woodland plantings in the fairy garden she was creating beneath the hollies. (Nevertheless, she still feels the need to mention them here.)
One even giggles a little when one’s husband confesses that during his nocturnal visits out to check with the workmen, lured by the magic sound of chain saws, the workers had to ask him to step back away from the live wire lying near his feet.
The fairy garden can be restored later. Right now I need to find the good fairy of anal sacs to give poor Miss Piggy some relief. I googled that and don’t see it as a do-it-yourself project. Really.
Now that DB is recovering, too, his cough sounds better.
Maybe Christmas will indeed be a silent night around here!