Dear Newt Gingrich, USA presidential candidate, please quit calling us.
We are on the do-not-call list.
Please do not say that you can telephone every day because you’re a political candidate or a non-profit agency.
I am a registered and elected Democrat and usually do not vote for Republicans. Although that might be questionable if you show me a Republican who stirs my heart.
Why are you calling us?
What have we done to deserve it?
Let’s not talk about Newt any more.
Dear readers, hello, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year! We are now at home in our Little House in the Big Woods.
We traveled so smoothly and exquisitely and without-wheelchairs that you are, I’m sure, proud.
No exciting stories.
We left Georgia yesterday, we dined in Detroit, we hit Marquette by 5:30 p.m., we drove two hours through the woods to our house. I fell asleep last night by 8:30 p.m., honest-t0-goodness.
Today has been busy, even though I can’t get to the post office to retrieve our mail. You may think this is not a big deal, but it is. Somewhere in the depths of the post office sits my property tax checks. It is time to receipt them. (All you new readers: you are sitting at the stoop of a Property Tax Collector. That’s one of my official part-time jobs. I collect property taxes for 1,600 parcels in our teeny tiny township.)
So today, since we arrived home from Georgia, I Caught Up. You guys know about Catching Up, don’t you? It’s a national occupation, at times. We look at everything we haven’t accomplished, and wade through it.
That was today.
I didn’t even go into work at the school.
I did go for a long walk up the road, listening to the train-engine sounds of the roaring wind. We have an inch of snow on the ground, but it proves treacherous for walkers. It is also almost 40 degrees (4.4444 and about twenty more fours.)
Walk at your own risk.
Barry and I just finished opening gifts from our kids and my parents. Oh, how fun it is to stretch Christmas for a week or more! We just called everyone to offer thanks. The kids didn’t answer. However, my parents did.
You guys can not–in a thousand years–imagine where I am bound at the end of January.
Would you like hints?
It has to do with pelicans. It has to do with a wedding. It is not in this country.
You’ll hear more, I’m sure, if you keep reading in January.
In the meantime–here we are, in this fascinating week between Christmas and New Years. It’s fascinating because we’re wrapping up the old year. We haven’t yet reached the pinnacle of the New Year.
We’re suspended between realities.
The only reality that I would appreciate not receiving is Newt Gingrich’s phone calls.
Please do not continue to call, Newt. I am not voting for you and do not want to hear your spiel.
But I do wish you a Happy 2012, as long as you are not our new president.