Running On Empty

I really like alone time.

Driving alone.

Working in an office alone.

Tuesday nights left alone to write.

Cody’s travel schedule grants me just enough alone time. I don’t mind being alone and getting things done solo as needed, but I’m always glad to see him come home. As I write this he’s working his way east, making his way home from Denver. It’s been two weeks since his truck pulled out of the driveway; it’s time.

It got cold after he left. 

Nothing this farm hasn’t seen before, but working against artic chill as a team of one can really extend morning and evening chores. The biggest obstacle I have encountered solo is frozen float balls on waterers, followed by frozen valves on waterers, followed by frozen pipes leading to waterers. The adult version of Frozen isn’t nearly as fun. On these particular waterers, when the water level hits a certain point it will automatically refill. But when the pipes, valves and balls are frozen, the water level stays low enough that cattle can’t drink from the tank. Sometimes the tanks simply ran on empty, waiting on sunshine to thaw things while I was at work.

Legend (the internet) tells that your mind is supposed to be able to answer most of the questions rambling in your head if you just learn to relax and wait for the answer. I did this on day two of frozen water and learned nothing except the longer you wait for an answer to fall out of the sky the more frozen these deals become. 

They were just a tick ready for a thawed water system. 

In week two the Kubota began putting around as slow as I did across the sheet of ice that lay quietly under the snow. I told my faithful orange friend (one of two that we have) that we still have a lot of ground left to cover and it better not give up just because temperatures were going down. Zipping around day and night, I didn’t think to check the diesel fuel gauge until it was too late. I got it parked in the barn and chored the old fashioned way: by foot. I had been running the Kubota on empty. Dad told me later that I was lucky that the Kubota started right back up after running so low on diesel. Sometimes when it sucks air you have to go to such lengths as draining the fuel line.

One evening I finally reached a point of relaxation in my day when I got a chill. Not a creepy, Dateline chill but rather “this house is flat cold” chill. The furnace had been running since I came in for the night (I lined the registers with gloves, a hat, long johns and socks) but it was still chilly. I went down to the deep, dark depths of the basement where our historic fuel tank lives and “PING”ed down the side of it. Lower, lower…lower………………..

PING rang loud and clear. We were completely out of fuel oil on a 0º night. I was running our house on empty.

For two weeks I’ve worried so much about getting things done that I hadn’t focused on taking care of intricate parts of this place. Do you ever feel that way? Running in so many directions to fulfill obligations and responsibilities that you fail to take care of the greatest working part: Yourself.

Maybe you’ve given up a few hobbies that really brought you joy because there is no longer time.

Maybe you’ve started missing your kids’ events because work demands that you prove your commitment.

Maybe you’ve let your health decline and your weight increase because you put yourself behind everyone and everything else going on around you.

Maybe you’ve cut out a couple hours of sleep to knock out just a few more emails.

Maybe you’ve gotten so emotionally tied up in a situation that you’re having a hard time focusing on anything else.

Maybe you have trouble saying no.  
Even the things you love can wear you down. 

I put myself in a bad situation with the Kubota and the fuel oil: When fuel gets that low, the machine will continue to draw fuel – or air – through the filter to get the job done. It will continue to try to run, even on nothing. And when I’ve given it nothing but air to work with, damage can happen. And homes can get down to 40º. No kidding. That’s chilly.

Isn’t it the same with you?

When you’re physically or emotionally running on empty but you continue to operate, can’t you feel yourself wearing down?

Be aware of that. 

We may not be equipped with a physical gauge that will tell us when we’re running low, but certainly we know ourselves. Pay attention. Sometimes the most important thing we do for ourselves in a whole day is the rest we take between two deep breaths.

Dad came up last week and helped me feed hay. As we were shutting the gates and finishing up for the night he stopped right on the lane in the barn lot, looked at me in four layers of winter wear and said, "I can tell you're really happy. And that makes me happy." 

I wanted to confirm his words but the frigid air had frozen my cheeks. I felt like I had just chewed on ten pounds of ice.  I just nodded, tried to speak and hugged him. It was enough. 
It's important to keep that - your happiness amongst all of this running on empty - in check.
And your water levels. 
And your diesel fuel. 
Especially your fuel oil tank. 
But always, your happiness. 

The Importance of Insignificance

Earlier this week I came across an album one of my Facebook friends posted, full of photos of the Rocky Mountains. This woman always has the most unique angle, the best shot or the most creative perspective to capture her current elements. Looking through the photos, I couldn’t help but think about how different her current setting is to her previous one. We used to reside near the same town, surrounded with flat fields and rows of corn and whispering creeks. Now she wakes to the Rockies.

I enjoyed looking through her new (for years now) scenery and admiring how different it is to mine. Then I saw a comment.

“beautiful pictures. makes me feel insignificant.”

I liked that. 

I think it is ok to feel insignificant every so often. In fact, I believe it’s a good thing. Feeling insignificant has a punch-in-the-gut way of reminding us that we’re part of something bigger than ourselves.

Stephen Emerson

It’s ok to feel insignificant when you don’t make the team. That experience only pushes you to one day discover your talents. And from talents, you can typically discover your passion. And there is nothing better than unearthing your passion. Oh, dribbling a basketball through your legs? When you’re 85 and reflecting you won’t wish you had done more of it.

It’s ok to feel insignificant when the storm delivers havoc to everything you’ve ever considered normal. The winds will blow, the lightening will strike, waters will rise and things will blow away never to be seen again. Sometimes nature puts on a show to remind us who is in charge. And by storm, I mean weather storm, health storm, people storm, career storm or life storm in general.

It’s ok to feel insignificant when standing next to an endless ocean, under a Kansas sky full of a million stars or within a magnificent mountain range. It is not ok to feel insignificant when standing next to another person. No matter how big they are. Or what they're wearing. 

It’s ok to feel insignificant when waiting on hold with the cable company. What you're experiencing is actually called shoddy customer service. When you finally speak to a representative (who certainly cares about your call), simply and sternly let them know you’re cancelling your service and switching to the competitor. You will no longer feel insignificant.

It’s ok to feel insignificant when you’re overwhelmed with the stuff that can fill up hours, days, weeks, months and years. But you’re also in control of that (in)significance. There are only 940 Saturdays between your child’s birth and when they turn 18. Don’t want to spend those Saturdays at birthday parties watching 5-year-old strangers unwrap Legos and Frozen dolls? Don’t.

Marsha Behm's image "Child Fishing on Lake Allegan."

It’s ok to feel insignificant when you don’t get the job. It humbles you. Teaches you to think on your feet. Guides to where you need to improve. Transforms you into a better speaker. Allows you to grow. Opens better doors. Give you an excuse to buy a new suit.

It’s ok to feel insignificant when you’ve planned, planted, watered and tended the perfect garden and an animal utilizes it as a salad bar. Get yourself a live trap and teach that wascally wabbit who is truly insignificant.

It’s ok to feel insignificant when you look at your life’s goal sheet. That means you’re setting out to do something great. And you still have a long way to go. That’s the best part. That’s the life part.

It’s ok to feel insignificant when you keep track of your months by endless bill, payment stubs and looming deadlines. In this case, the surefire way to be reminded that you’re not insignificant is to miss a payment. They’ll find you.

It’s ok to feel insignificant. Though no one else should ever make you feel that way. 
It’s gratifying to feel insignificant. 
It’s powerful beyond measure. 
Insignificance puts us in our place. 
Insignificance allows us to focus on something bigger than ourselves.
In our small, disconnected, important, individualized place. 

Is it time you go somewhere to feel insignificant?

 Credit

On The Mic

Late Thursday night - in time to miss the Angus show - the big bird in which I was snoozing touched down in Denver for the National Western Stock Show. After being one not there for more than a week, there was no place I'd rather be. I was fortunate to even make the brief trip; I daily thank God for selfless, hard-working parents. 

Walks through the historic yards, spending a few hours with our beautiful nice Bayler, visiting on the Hill, shifting weight the in green cheap seats, dodging tourists throughout the barn, breakfast burritos, watching Cody judge the breed I adore,  laughing with Katie from Fancy In The Country, reconnecting with old friends and red beer. This summarizes my quick trip.

But looking past all of the events watched, places seen, ounces consumed or money spent, something really struck me during this particular visit to the Mile High. 

Whether or not I recognized a showman or judge in the ring, I listened intently to reasons given by each livestock judge. 

Soundly structured. 

Heavy muscled. 

Nicely balanced. 

But I was captivated by the closing remarks which each judge made just before they chose the champion animal. The winner of the 2015 National Western Stock Show. What an honor. 

Every judge that I watched thanked particular people out of their life who got them to the place in which they spoke from today: Credible enough to judge the The Super Bowl of Stock Shows, humble enough to accept with gratitude. 

In that moment, the appointed judge had the microphone and the attention of an entire international arena. What did they do with it?

They each - in length -  justified their selections, then very briefly gave credit where credit was due. 

One thanked his wife and boys for working so hard in Texas so he had the opportunity to travel to Denver. 

One thanked his parents back home - watching the show online - for raising him the in industry that would go on to fuel his burning professional passion.

One thanked stockman showing in the opposite ring; for it was the folks in the other breed that raised that particular judge. 

And I heard one thank his wife for everything she does at home. 

She heard his deep voice crack with emotion and that was enough 'thanks' for her.

Each of those individual closing remarks initiated a tennis ball in my throat and mental notes.

If I were given the opportunity to speak at an international level in front of an industry that has become a passion, who would I thank?

Who would I mention on the mic?

It had to be someone who 

ignited a fire

fueled a passion

was a quiet cheerleader

supported you despite your shortcomings

never stopped inspiring 

showed forgiveness

was patient

was open-minded

If you were given the microphone, 

who would you thank?

And, I'm not just speaking in livestock terms. 

a teacher

a mother

an enemy

an advisor

an executive

a father
a person you've never officially met

a competitor

a soul mate you hate

a manager

a sister

a severed friend

a stranger you need to find again. 

You may not have a microphone, but don't forget to thank those who influenced where you are today - in large part or as a silent motivator. 

Send a letter. 

Make a phone call. 

Shoot them a text. 

Shake their hand. 

Thank God you had time with them while they were around. 

Because you and I both know:

Where ever you are today,

you didn't get here alone. 

Thank you, Legacy Livestock Imaging and Bailey Core for the photos. 

The Ones Not There

I had a friend text me the other night while he was feeding cows in frigid temperatures. He had just read The Stockman’s Wife and wheels were turning:

Just thinking...1 of ur blogs could be about the 1s not there?

His message was cryptic, but I understood it perfectly. He was one of them, as was I.

I responded with frozen fingers:

"love if.

if*

IT*"

I was cold, my fingers hurt and my phone was frozen.

If you’re connected to the livestock world even the slightest bit you know that the National Western Stock Show in Denver is currently going on. Fifteen days of history, livestock, competition and red beers. It’s one of my favorite places on earth.  

By CJ Brown

Jean's Boots 2012

Three years ago today (crazy) it was at the National Western that I met my husband.

Four years ago this week I passionately documented the experience of The Yards.

Nine years ago this week I found it as a place to reconnect with my Dad.

Today I’m on of those not there. The same with a lot of folks.

So what is life like during these fifteen days for those not at the National Western?

The ones not there send those who are away with food. Road food. Chex mix. Cookies. Beef jerky. Vitamins. Advil. And Five-Hour Energy. The road to Denver is long, windy and unusually munchie. 

The ones not there add Denver, CO to their Weather Channel app so they can stare at the 50° display on the screen while they’re chipping ice off their windshield. Gluttons for punishment. 

The ones not there have the rare opportunity to stand in the barn lot with their Dad in the quiet darkness and find the big dipper once the clouds clear and temperatures drop. Dad can always find it quicker. 

The ones not there have the guts to set a live trap, then are absolutely horrified when they catch the wrong (angry) animal. Now what?

The ones not there spend far too much time on the Internet trying to watch shows live (cursing their rural internet) and catch up on show results via social media. Social media posts are like salt in a wound to the ones not there. 

The ones not there thank God they're not a single parent. Getting little ones to school, programs, supper and bed is tough alone. And FaceTime is just really poor with the blowers fired up in the background. 

The ones not there schedule every social event they’ve been unable to plan for months. Dinners, drinks, reunions, coffee and antiquing – all things that may take second fiddle throughout the year. She also may be sadly ready for bed by 8:30; frozen valves do that to a person.

The ones not there control the thermostat, television channel, menu, bedtime, grocery list, laundry schedule and bed covers. The ones not there remember what it was like to be single.

The ones not there don't mind the hassle of getting ridiculously bundled up - and unbundled - several times a day because frankly, it's like a mini work out. The same with the burning lungs. Spend an hour outside in below zero temperatures and it's like you just ran a mini marathon. Assuming you know how that feels...?

The ones not there wait on phone calls for placing outcomes, sale reports, latest news and family updates. The ones not there usually fall asleep before these calls come due to the time difference.

The ones not there watch heifers start springing, cows start bagging and new calves figure out this big old world. The ones not there spend a lot of time in the barn thanking God that they were given the responsibility to keep all of these creatures - the cattle on a thousand hills (Psalm 50) - alive.  

 The ones not there find a certain luxury in the fact that they don’t have prepare as much supper, as half of the consumers are gone. Some nights, the ones not there gladly suffice with cheese and crackers. Several nights, actually. Maybe four nights in a row. 

The ones not there navigate their way through frozen pipes in the house, frozen valves in the pasture tanks, over flowing commodes after young company, curious heifers who snap temporary fence (twice), a full 15° day without a door on the house and also an ice storm for good measure.  Now you know why I’ve looked so incredibly strung out since last Wednesday.  I’ve learned to let my hair dry under a toboggan.

 The ones not there are reliable, optimistic (typically, but not always), 

humorous (typically, but not always), understanding (typically, but not always), and patient (typically, but not always).

They survive pleasantly. Because they know the worst that could happen is frozen valves, and they've already mastered those. 

The ones not there don't complain, they just get things done because being the only one home for a while means one wonderful thing: 

For two Saturdays in a row they can sleep in past 5:30 and no one knows. 

They're not talking.

They get fed too well. 

Most Hated Person In America

I've never understood why people complain about the weather. 
Or relationships that they know they should have ended six months ago.
Or delayed flights. 
But mostly, the weather. 
What good does that do?
You do know that your downer, dopey, dumpy words to the public won't change things, right?
They don't warm winds or bring the sun...you know that, right?

Don't get me wrong, it's been a long, cold winter. 
Cold, cold winter. 
I mean, we have cats sleeping on tractor radiators and it doesn't even bother me. Now, the day I have to scrape one out of my engine because it was wrapped up around a serpentine belt, we might have issues. 

Let me say, Old Man Winter is like the most hated person in America right now. 
Not Richard Sherman.
Not Dennis Rodman.
Not even Obama. 
Old. Man. Winter. 

This...is not Old Man Winter.

Rather my Canadian cattle friend Scot who embraces negative zero temperatures with a smile. 

Truth be told, his face may be froze that way? 

I saw him in Denver and he was smiling just as big there.

Winters were created so the old dies off and new life can emerge with beauty and brightness in the Spring.
And it was designed to last as long as the other three seasons. 
We all need our time to prove our value, even Old Man Winter. 

When did it become so acceptable and normal to complain about the things we cannot change, like the weather? None of your words are going to change the situation, so why burden everyone else with a healthy dose of Negative Nancy?
Fact: I despise Negative Nancy and all that she encompasses. 
And her ex-step-brother Negative Nick, while we're naming names. They do nothing but promote a sense of helplessness. 
Neediness. 
Softness. 
Let's face it, generally speaking, folks have become soft. 
Especially in cold weather. 

Embarrassingly, increasingly soft people, living in a world of convenience. 

Think about generations before us. Do you think they got anywhere by waking everyday to complain endlessly about the freezing temperatures and wind?
No. 
They put on their big kid Dickies (same ones they wore yesterday) and threw another log on the fire. Then they went and cranked their tractors and hand-milked cows with their bleeding, chapped hands. The only thing they complained about was the fly in their non-pasturized milk. And even then they just mentioned it was missing a wing that they couldn't find. Probably swallowed it. They went on to school and work in snow and drifts because they found a way to get to the place in which they had an obligation.
They didn't sit at home and wait for a delay or closing. 
They got things done. 

My Grandpa Bowman worked at the Perfect Circle factory, the birthplace of  piston rings. My father recalls at least twice when Grandpa's Hudson Hornet couldn't make it out of the driveway, let alone seven (7!) miles to town where he worked. 
So, he walked. 
He walked 7 miles in snow that his car couldn't survive, to a job that fed a wife and 12 kids at home. 
No questions. 
No snow days. 
No excuses. 
Walked seven miles in the snow. 

What happened to the part of Americans that appreciated something that made us work a bit? 

I have this deep appreciation for winter because it makes us struggle a bit and then starts everything new again. Maybe I feel a strange sense of forgiveness and subtle do-overs. It seems everyone appreciates Spring because it is visually appealing and comfortable, but haven't we gotten too comfortable in how we live and view our responsibility in life? We've learned to take the pretty way, not the right one. There is still peace in breaking water for livestock that need it, shoveling (not blowing!) snow for neighbors who can't manage to do so themselves and managing money to pay for propane that is hard to find and afford. 

Where we need to be is not always the most comfortable place. 
It isn't the warm, sunny, 72º location - physically or mentally. 
Sometimes, where we need to be is where we are most uncomfortable. 
The place that challenges us and allows us to grow. 

Maybe this bitter winter - that has affected most of the US - is a way for each of us to reevaluate. To make us struggle a bit, and knock us out of our comfort zone, to appreciate the great things that we love and take for granted. 

Or maybe this bitterly cold Winter is where we realize that there is no better time than now. Quit hibernating and begin understanding where you belong. No longer try to find comfort, but go out of bounds figure out where you're going to thrive. 
Do something different. 
Try something new. 
Quit complaining about things that can't change, and change things that can. 

And lay off Old Man Winter, would ya?
He's just doing his job. 
After all - thanks to him, Spring is just around the corner. 

Dear Jeany

Dear Jeany,  

Sometimes friends have a painfully hard time being outright honest with you. Some of us just don't have it in us. And when I say "in us", I mean that it's especially tough for me because I lack both a tongue and voice box. But it has always been my presence, not my words, that have gotten you through the last 28 (quite close to 29, but who is counting?) years. 

I have watched you grow. 

And while I'm only a silent bystander, as an old tree that you've begged your Dad not to chop down, I have watched your family take over this farm and make it what it is today. I have watched you every single year, moving generations of cattle in and out of "my" pasture; perhaps I'm a bit protective of the land I keep watch over every day. 

You've changed a lot in twenty years - - you've changed even more in the last five. 

But your change has allowed me to observe a few things, and as an old constant in your life, I've taken several of notes over the years. Things I've never had the opportunity to say. Until now. 

My hope in writing this letter to you, in the most pivotal week of your entire life, is that you'll pass it on. To others. To friends. To your daughter or son. Maybe even to strangers. 

I've waited a long time to write this letter to you. And, the letter actually beings now...

Dear Jeany, 

At 8: I know it isn't funny now, but "Thunder Thighs" - as your family so affectionally calls you - is actually a term of endearment. They're just not really good at thinking through family jokes. While we're on that subject: You were not adopted. 

At 12: If I could tell you anything right now, it would be this: Everything is going to be okay. You aren't the most beautiful girl at school, but who is? You don't see this now, but everyone in your class (and one above and one below) is completely awkward. I'm serious. One day you'll look back at that volleyball photo and realize that there were more grids on your team mates' teeth than there were on the volleyball net in the background. It's okay: Orthodontics pay off.  

At 16: I lost you. You're busy with the things you believe to be important in your life. And maybe right now they are. But do not forget that in this life, no matter the age, people matter the most. 
Go have lunch with the Original and your Granddad. Trust me. 
Take the time to talk to that painfully shy guy in your small engines class. Trust me. 
And by the way, don't spend anymore time day dreaming about long-term plans with that kid from Northeastern. Trust me. 
Your life hasn't even started.

At 20: LISTEN TO ME!! Pay attention in that InDesign class. You'll need it later. Don't pay any mind to the guy who quit calling you back last week after several dates, all of which you thought went well. One day you'll you call him the "long waste of time" while he sits around with his buddies and references you as the "one who got away" - Trust me, You win. 

At 24: There are so many things I want to tell you right now! But your visits are few and far between. So, let's start here:


I know that you're in a pile of debt after buying a house on your own. You can afford it. You learn to adjust your budget. You don't need those two dresses you are dying to buy from Kohl's....trust me. You have no where to wear them, anyhow. 

You worry that you left Washington, DC long before you should have. You probably did. But that move afforded you opportunities you wouldn't have had otherwise. You are exactly where you need to be. Trust me. 

Do not waste your time at the Melaleuca party. Do not buy $199 in Thirty-One products - the "free" gift is NOT worth it. In fact, it's still sitting in your spare bedroom closet wrapped in plastic. But make sure you show up to every party Uncle Steve throws in the office. You won't meet "him" there, but those nights will build you.


Most importantly, a few things I want to tell you as you search for a husband. 
#1: DO NOT SEARCH FOR A HUSBAND, YOU WHACKO. 
Because, #2: As you read this, you should know that in less than 4 days days you'll marry the man that you've prayed for.

Yes, I'm serious. 
Breathe in. 
Now, out. 
He does exist. 
And he does show up. 
In a place 1,150 miles from home. 

I'll tell you this: You will meet "him" and you will have no idea that he is the one. And that is the best part of your story; your story with him. The relationship builds over a short time but it moves like wildfire. I guess that is a perk of slowing down at 28. You know exactly who you are and what you want. 

One final thought in this letter to you: Slow down. I don't see you much anymore because you're so "busy" - but busy is what you make it. Life happens when people are too busy to enjoy it. And remember that if something is important to you, you make time for it. 

For instance, you took an hour out of your day last week to have some stranger lady scrub your face in a dark room. Not necessary. 

Enjoy these days. Enjoy the people. Visit old friends. Live your life.

Friends forever,

The Growing Tree

Second Annual Jean's Boots Holiday Letter

Dear friends I talk to/text once a year and family I only see at the county fair - 

The end of 2012 is approaching more quickly than my milk expired last week. I just....thought I had more time. 

Again this year my Christmas cards only come in the form of good intentions (I never sent any, so don't be offended that you didn't receive one) and I have yet to go to the grocery for the foods I've been assigned to prepare. I say with confidence - paying no mind to the Mayan calendar - there is always tomorrow. 

The only way to describe 2012 in my book: WINNING!!

In January I made the annual vacation to Denver to attend the National Western Stock Show. Always a great adventure, this time I got a little more out of the trip than a few good photos and a head cold. 

I met someone. 

And in February Cody and I went on our first date. 

According to my iCalendar, Patrick Wall, Director of Genetic Improvement for the American Shorthorn Association,  came to Bowman Superior Genetics in March. Apparently, that was the highlight of that month as it is in caps lock on my calendar and highlighted. I sure hope we made his trip to Greens Fork worth while!

In 2012 I photographed three weddings, two in Indiana and one in Alberta, Canada. All three were beautiful and true - the kind of wedding I was simply glad to be a part of because it reminded me how powerful love is. 

I parted with my dearly beloved, Fannie the Focus, in August. Not because I wanted to, but because some wild man   (who was better at texting than he was at observing stop signs) plowed into me. He was the kind of gem that changed his license plates on his Jeep before the police  showed up. True story. Rest In Piece, Fannie, who traveled from Nebraska to Washington, DC and a million little roads in between. You went out in a blaze of glory and will be missed, even if we  affectionately called you the "death rocket clown car" for the last three years of your life. 

I traveled a lot in 2012, mostly with Cody. From Reno to Kansas and Mackinac Island to Las Vegas. But the trip of a lifetime was to Alaska where Cody judged the "stock" at the Kenai Peninsula State Fair.  While in Alaska we saw many different creatures such as bears, whales, snow hippies, reindeer and other things that don't rome in Indiana. We also saw mass amounts of seafood on our plates. We lasted 4 days before we found a steak house. 

Cody judging the reindeer. And probably his life decisions that lead him to that point. 

You can see many more Alaska Adventure photos from my August blogs!

In September I celebrated 1 year with Wilt PR. I couldn't be happier in the decision to join this team and work with Harvest Land Co-op every single day. Both companies challenge me, encourage me and support my passions. And, my coworkers are creative, funny and unique. I'm lucky. 

On November 6th I woke and took out my trash, per my (kind of) usual Tuesday morning routine. 

Over my lunch break I tried like hell to do the same thing at the polls. 

Mitt didn't win. 

But, I did. 

Cody asked me to marry him the evening of November 6th, 2012 at sunset in the pasture - under this tree. 

I said yes :)

I don't remember much of December. It has honestly been the busiest month of my entire life. Between work projects, year-end events, training, community obligations, family promises, travel and life in general, I feel like I've missed a lot of the holidays this year. That is a sad feeling. 

So, I'm going to sleep on the couch from here until Dec. 25th and stare at the Christmas tree until I fall asleep. I'm also going to start my Christmas shopping. Tomorrow. 

I hope that each of you have a wonderful Christmas with family, friends and maybe even the occasional angel. May you take the time to hold your babies, pet your pups, count your blessings and call that friend you may have neglected. 

May you also have the complete self-control to avoid overindulging in buckeyes, eggnog/rum and pecan pie. 

And if you do, you're a way - waaaaayyyy - better person than I. 

Merry Christmas, 

Jean