OPINION: Snuggies, pants, puddin’ for Christmas

Did everybody, who didn’t have one, get a Snuggie for Christmas?
Lordy, I did – it’s a massive red-and-blue Ole Miss one. I’m so crazy about my grandpuppy that I bought her one. Boy, did she hate it!
Staring down the black hole of a new decade, I’d like to hold on to this immediate Christmas past for just a few minutes more.
My brother, who truly takes time to consider gifts, sent me a mandolin.
Now, I can’t decide if I’m going to be Alison Krauss, Ricky Scaggs or Marty Stuart. I think I’ve got a shot at Ricky’s build and maybe Marty’s hair, if I get the tints just right. But I’ll never get Alison’s high, lonesome sound.
Oh, well, now I’ve got something to occupy myself when football season comes to a tragic end. Too soon, too soon. All I need is a good pick.
One especially sentimental gift came from Santa: a keychain blood-alcohol breath tester. Green for go home, red for call a cab. How thoughtful.
I also liked the sound-boosting device from my sweet daughter, who after spending a couple of weeks with me, got tired of hearing me respond, “Huh?”
It looks like those Bluetooth phone things, so maybe if I wear it, people will think I’m trendy instead of partly deaf. Only problem with it is that I hear myself at mega levels, which has run away at least a couple of husbands.
We had a delightful Christmas Eve by cooking up a tenderloin of Bambi’s mother, marinaded and flattened, breaded and quick-fried, then sauteed in a mushroom and red-wine sauce. Served over egg noodles with roasted veggies on the side.
Christmas Eve church was lovely. We refrained from eating too many oatmeal cookies during the hours preceding and were sufficiently sociable to attend without embarrassment.
Christmas Night was a south-of-the-border affair with friends and fajitas. We toasted each other with champagne and sang “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”
We only got to 10 because that’s the last etching in the series on our crystal goblets. But nobody seemed to care at its abrupt end.
I took applause for my really fine bread pudding with bourbon sauce. I found, with amazement, how great the results can be when you follow a recipe.
Kids cleared out Sunday, leaving me a bit sad at their departure but with excitement that I could spend all day cleaning the house.
With order restored, I am ready for a New Year.
And good news from daughter Margaret that grandpuppy Bonnie yelped only for five minutes on the plane ride back to Texas, instead of the half-hour on her way to Mississippi a few weeks ago.
Guess that sweet puppy is growing up. Just like those kids of mine, although they don’t lick me on the face like she does.
Happy New Year, everybody!

Contact Patsy R. Brumfield at (662) 678-1596 or patsy.brumfield@djournal.com.

Patsy R. Brumfied/NEMS Daily Journal