A Blessed House

Fiorella reporting in--our Christmas day was wonderful.  We were thirteen at the table, which was really the dining table adjoined to a picnic table that Fio and Husband had lugged out of the depths of the garage.  The chairs came from all over the house and were joined by four brought by Brother Bill and his wife. After the gift give-aways and dinner--turkey breasts, ham, salmon, boiled potatoes, corn, mushrooms, pies, pudding--we all set up camp in the den, Fio handed out the stockings, and everyone talked and talked and talked.  And laughed and laughed and laughed.  Some of the guests had to leave as the afternoon wore on so the party moved into the front room, still talking.  And laughing.

Everyone is gone now, but the house is still resonating with vibes of love.

Ol' Weirdo Fiorella

Fiorella personifies everything.  She even feels pangs of guilt about tossing rocks back into the driveway that just aren't quite pretty enough to add to her collection. She regards old, too-large clothes as long-time friends and cannot bring herself to winnow them from her wardrobe.  She apologizes to table legs for bumping into them.  She eats every kernel of popcorn because so it won't die unappreciated. 

Maybe she hung around her friends from India too long.  Or maybe its just ol' weird Fio.