Merry Augmented Reality to All!
And so, another year ends with Scandinavian Advent, a season marked by our inability to recall the completion of a single productive task in 2017. Vague memories of a February Baja excursion fell victim to rogue-wave beach bashings and numerous involuntary paddleboard dismounts near Ultima Piedra. An over-consumption of fruity, overly sweetened Angelinas (Mexican Shirley Temples) at La Fiesta del Súper Bol only added to the vacation bewilderment. A gracious third-quarter bouncer finally cut us off with a big hand on Tom’s twitchy shoulder and a deep-voiced “That’s the end of the lime for you, amigo.” The sugar coma gradually faded into a case of the vague uneasies, and JoAnn escaped the local dolphin pond the next day without any obvious bite wounds, so we labeled the trip a success.
Big Cat Nelson forgave our brief absence after a short period of feline snubbery. Small Cat Clem, however, expressed his disappointment over our pet negligence by initiating a travel program of his own: repeated catro-batic escapes from the maximum-security backyard enclosure. The getaways earned locating collars for both cats. Nelson paid no mind, while Clem responded to the affront with an hourly program of lap-stomping, liquid-spilling, cord-chewing, food-furring, glass-breaking chaos, all cat-fully designed to test our love for him.
With each passing day, JoAnn comes ever closer to confirming the heroics and inherent goodness of her forebears on Ancestry.com, a site that has proven less complimentary to the Hovland half of the household. In the spirit of Christmas, let’s not go into detail. In the spirit of entertainment, a Pygmy lurks back there somewhere. In less humiliating hobby news: JoAnn found time to paint a few land- and cat-scapes, and Tom crafted numerous uniform-scapes of mustard and salsa on black slacks and white blouse. “What did I just sit in?” ranks near the top of Tom’s workplace-query list. JoAnn balances the inanity with constant offerings of “How can I help you?” at both home and hospital.
The remainder of the year disappeared in a blur of surgical charge nursing, machinery/software malfunctions, recycling debates, obituary misidentifications, co-belligerents, cloud confusion, urgent/emergency care, lateral jerk tests, data breaches, explanations of the obvious to the oblivious, I-25 mayhem, eat walks, text anxiety, judgmental errors, emotional support burros, litter-box rants, and vocabularic uncertainty (hundo p?).
A potential Christmas bright spot loomed for us in November, when toy maker Hasbro, Inc. (HAS) offered to take over rival Mattel, Inc. (MAT). Such a deal had the potential to unite Barbie and Mr. Potato Head under the same roof, a combination similar to the electrifying household setting we have constructed here in Colorado. Alas, as of this writing, the highly anticipated merger appears doomed. If only the business world could see and understand how well we real Barbies and Potato Heads mesh.
Despite this setback, we intend to maintain a holiday routine of disregard for original intentions and a program of impulsive purchases, compulsive acts, and disregard for decency in our written work. If this message sounds a bit forced, we have achieved our goal of not sounding angry.
In celebration of that modest achievement, we declare ourselves Christmas-ready. Mission somewhat accomplished!
