The little train that could.........

Do you remember that story from years of yore??   Some little locomotive, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it's tasks sets out to fulfil those tasks....and with the innocence only children and derainged fantasy choo choos can possess, up the side of mt. krimpet (oops, wrong story) up the hill he went, whilst all along sing songing to himself as only maniacle choo choos can "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can....." When he finally reached the precipice, or just a whisp of steam away, he changed his tune to "I know I can, I know I can".  Naturally, everyone lives happily ever after; at least until Choo Choo Charlie came along and forced him back up that track for nothing more than a few measly licorice bits.
The point of this tale??    That's how I feel this christmas on a few levels.   Not being possessed of pointy ears, curly shoes or overly diminutive stature, I have found the cookie baking a bit on the daunting side this year.  No darling daughter to assist with the cutting, rolling, sprinkling.  No suave son to come in stealing the lovelies instead of the uglies.  Just moi and endless reels of Nat King Cole's Christmas Song..   I am happy and pleased to report that all 13 varieties of cookie are present and accounted for.
The tree is a work of art this year.  I leave it each day, taking a mental photograph in the event of the recently acquired possibility that I discover it in a glistening heap on the floor upon my arrival.  Max-i cat, a frightened shitless scairdy cat if ever there was one, had finally agreed the tree means her no harm, nor will it attempt to vacuum the living room while she's taking number 45 of 98 catnaps.  This acceptance of the alien thing that smells like outside means she's quite content to get up close and personl with it.  Last night I was disturbed from yet another inane evening in front of the television by the tinkling and jingling of glass ornaments doing the hustle....Max-i, in all her big belly glory was gently batting at the glass baker snowmen.  Eventually, she tired of that sport and returned to dead mother-in-law's favourite chair (now festooned with a bright pink blanket) to sleep it off.  Exhausting work, this being a cat. 
Here it is, Tuesday evening, 5:30 or so.  I"m still dressed from work, yet all I want is a cup of tea and warm fuzzy pajamas.  I'll get to present wrapping in about an hour.  I'll watch the season finale of Dexter, because serial killers who also work for the blood splatter crime lab are precisely what most people won't be watching as they wrap presents.   I've already watched It's a Wonderful Life (and getting that goddam DVR thing to work is truly going to be the undoing of my sanity, I kid you not), I've seen Miracle on 34th Street.  We watched Elf just the other night.  I'd like to watch A Christmas Story but, as I said, I don't know how to make my DVR work without crying in front of it while it silently mocks my inability to know which button to press or which lever to lift.  Fucker.  So, serial killer it is, all the while I'll be using my very own scissor to make lovely ribbon curls.
As the magi said to the star.....see you soon.