Mrs. Teabody Greets the Day

Here it is New Year's Eve 2015 . . . already. For all you youngsters out there, remember this: time speeds up exponentially past age 50 and continues to fly by faster and faster with every passing year. Why it seems like just yesterday I said to J: “Are we doing anything for New Year's?”  Either he was in the garage and could not hear me or else he was in the office simply ignoring me because there was no answer. Well, there may have been a little derisive snort, but that could also have been the furnace acting up.  No matter. We have NO plans. We are not New Year's Eve people. No apologies. If YOU have a big celebration planned, have a blast! We know we can count on  a fair amount of gunfire echoing along the mountain and down in the valley to announce the arrival of 2016. That is fine with us. We are too old to play dodge cars after midnight. One of the unavoidable aspects of New Year's Eve is a little reflection on the passing year, and this technologic

Eighth generation poses wearing Christmas cracker hats Clear Ridge is just that --- a sudden rise out of the woods of Plum Hollow, a  CLEAR unwooded RIDGE that runs north and south between two lines of blue mountains. Rounding the bend after Flemings' farm, the tiny hamlet comes into view, a cluster of dwellings perched high above. Freda Booth's house anchors the view north as it is tucked into the wood's edge. In between, all the land on the right hand side of the road--all the way to the top has been "our" land for as long as I have been alive, for as long as I have made this trip to HOME. A straight stretch past the Millers-- now Truaxes --, a curve to the right and a climb and the urge to look at Gobbler's Knob is irresistible. There it  stands majestic as it always has to the six generations of Henrys who have grown up watching the sun rise over its isosceles triangle shape. In its shadow lies the farm, hilly, precipitous, a pond, Bald Hill standi

Good Morning, Gentle Readers! Here it is December 8 already ! December just flies by with all our to-ing and fro-ing, doesn't it? And it's not as though the laundry pile stops growing or the dust bunnies stop tripling in size almost overnight just because we are all getting ready for Christmas. All last week Tickle Your Fancy was as busy as a beehive in summer as folks came by to purchase special presents. One gentleman had seven different women to buy for including his grandmother, mother, wife, and daughters. He spent well over an hour choosing his gifts, and each one was chosen with love and a desire to please the recipient.  As I wrapped each present, I thought about how pleased each woman will be when she opens her  personally-chosen gift. Mrs. Teabody herself ADORES presents and thinks  the current practice of exchanging gift cards takes away much of the surprise/delight of Christmas, or any other special occasion. Besides that, perhaps you are not aware of the bil