Gamma and Delta were terribly concerned that they hadn’t done any Christmas shopping, so I woke them at 2:30 this morning for a trip to Wal-Mart. Anyone who knows me knows that I can’t do WallyWorld during the day between Thanksgiving and Christmas; the crowd is more oppressive than Neyland Stadium at a Florida game.

Only more hostile.

Even at 3 a.m., the store was far from empty, but they each procured a load of items (with me wandering about on my own, to preserve their secrecy). Afterward, we had a little quality time with breakfast at Waffle House. I couldn’t believe how many people were there — only two booths were unoccupied in the whole place at about 4 a.m.

I helped Delta wrap when we returned home, adding to the festivity under the tree.

*   *   *

Now, in the quiet house where everyone else is sleeping, I think back to the point of last week’s visit to my mother-in-law.  Yes, it’s true that we stayed in an Inn; there are too many of us to invade her house, and having us all underfoot around the clock is stressful to her.  We visited for several hours each day, with hubby helping his brother clear briars from the blueberry patch, and even Delta helping a little in pruning the apple trees.  Mostly, she rode the ATV around, clipping a stray branch now and then… but at least she participated.

Grandma is more frail than last summer, moving from her armchair only to go to bed at night.  She’s consumed with worry over things she cannot control — a custody battle for one son, another who’s home alone for the holidays, and another with a significant challenge ahead… it’s only the oldest, my hubby, with no worries to contribute to the mix.

I tried to bring cheer, offering to decorate for Christmas (there’s not even a tree), but she didn’t want the bother of taking it down when we’re gone.  I baked cookies and a big pot of homemade soup for her, but even that didn’t seem to help much.

I can’t fix what’s really wrong: she’s old, and she doesn’t like it.  She’s always been a worrier, but in years past, she could do something about it… now, she hasn’t the strength to do anything but sit in the chair and fret.

It’s Christmas Eve, traditionally a time of joy, excitement, and celebration.  This year’s events have made me keenly appreciative of what I have — a strong, loving marriage, wonderful children, dear friends, a warm home, and enough to eat.

I guess that’s what tugs at my heart for my mother-in-law: her husband passed away, she worries about her wonderful (adult) children, she doesn’t see her friends anymore since she seldom leaves the house, and she’s dependent on her youngest son to shop and cook for her, meaning she probably doesn’t always eat what she would if she were still cooking for herself.

I married into a great family… I only wish that somehow I could have brought more happiness to them last week.  However, Brother PJ should be arriving sometime today, and he’s easy to cheer up.

Thanks to the discovery of a new route, we made it home in record time — thirteen hours, commencing about 10 p.m. last night in a cold, driving rain.  I wish I’d snapped a couple of pictures along the way, but for the first I didn’t reach my camera in time, and for the second, well, I was driving.

Northern Indiana takes the prize for best Christmas decorations, in the stretch along Hwy. 31 from South Bend to Kokomo.  There were some businesses and residents who really went all-out, and it wasn’t tacky.  It was beautiful.  I admire the tractor dealer who actually put a life-size nativity scene on their lawn, and spelled out “Our Savior King” in lights across the roofline.

These days, that takes some courage.

Northern Kentucky had the most breathtaking sunrise this morning; leafless branches seemed to float up from a fog that drifted across rolling  pastures, as they sky cast pastel hues upon the scene.

The worst visibility was a tie between northern Michigan (had the rain been snow, it would be measured in feet) and southern Kentucky, where the fog on the interstate was so dense that it looked very much like driving in a snowstorm.  Crossing Jellico Mountain, the sun shone as brightly as in July, and Tennessee looked as good to me as it ever has.

It’s sure good to be home.

Even as a young child, I wondered if words created the same images for all people, and if those images were based on anything real, or just randomly associated.
Watching Harry Potter movies the other night (we’ve read all the books until the spines are worn and limp), I noted to Delta that some of J.K. Rowling’s made-up words actually look sort of like other words — words that create a specific picture. Diagon Alley, the mythical shopping place for wizardly books and school supplies, brings to mind something not quite on the straight and narrow — diagonally, to be precise. Even the characters’ names seem to fit, with Snape sounding like “snake” (fitting, for the headmaster of Slytherin) and the evil Malfoy family: Draco, looking and sounding like a little blond dracula; Lucius, with a name reminiscent of Lucifer; even the last name itself, beginning with “mal,” a prefix meaning bad.

Reading about reactions to the Iraq Study Group report prompted a slideshow of mental images as well… somehow, someone with the last name Talabani doesn’t elicit any feelings of trust. Neither does Al-Maliki (which sounds like Malachai, the name of the most evil character in Children of the Corn).
In Freakonomics, Steven Levitt explores the relationship between children’s names and their professional prospects. The reasoning is likely along the same lines: we associate images — good or bad — with the printed and spoken word.