The major inconvenience is that I had planned to pop into the grocery store today. I may rethink that. I really have enough to get by and don't really need anything desperately enough to fight the inevitable SNOWPOCOLYPSE madness.
Oh, wait, now they are saying the snow will start at 5 am tomorrow and be done by mid-day. This would work out nicely for me so where do I vote???
Today's mini project is to inventory my wallet. I plan to take photos of the front and back of all the cards in my wallet. I'll put them all into a folder on Google Drive so I'll have them and a backup in case anything happens. Insurance.
I was watching TV last night and was busy with a bear so didn't fast forward through the commercials at one point and saw that McCormick spices has violated the copyright on our family Christmas Eve. (My brother confirmed my belief this morning.) I found it online.
For years and years Mom spent the month before Christmas baking. She had about 5 different cookie recipes and she churned those suckers out like a factory. They were delicious and beautiful. Most of them were flat vanilla cookies with fluffy white icing and - admittedly, mostly McCormick - decorations. On the days before Christmas Eve she set up an assembly line. First aluminum pie plates each lined with white tissue paper and then laden with artfully arranged cookies (with some sweet and savory pecans sprinkled in the mix). Then each was centered on cellophane which was drawn up with a red ribbon - EXACTLY like they are doing it in the commercial! There were usually about 25 or 30 cookie packages. And then To/From cards were attached.
On Christmas Eve we'd fill the back of the station wagon with the cookies. Then dressed in our Sunday Best clothes, we'd pile in with Daddy and wave goodbye to Mom (who I always assumed went into the house, poured herself a stiff drink and put her feet up - or at least I hoped she did). Daddy had completely mapped out his route and off we went. We sang and giggled and fought and had a wonderful time wandering all over town. We did NOT, like in the commercial, just leave them on porches. There were rules. One of us (me, my younger sister and younger brother) would take the cookies to the front door, ring the bell and deliver the cookies to a person using our very best manners.
Sub memory flash. Daddy worked for Hanes (which at that time was Hanes Underwear - it would later merge with Hanes Hosery). One of the people on our list was old Mr. and Mrs. Hanes - the originals. They lived in what I thought was a mansion - the front door opened onto a large foyer that had a floor of black and white squares. Old Mr. and Mrs. Hanes were a Norman Rockwell couple. (We always called them Old Mr. Hanes and Old Mrs. Hanes because their son - Young Mr. Hanes - was Daddy's boss and we didn't want confusion.)
Anyway, as kids we always fought over who got to take the cookies up to their door and it always ended with a draw. They were the only people that got all three of us delivering. They always made a huge deal out of how adorable we were. Big hugs all around and then Old Mr. Hanes would give us each a silver dollar. It was just exactly as magical as it sounds. Every year.
I rewound that commercial several times last night before I finally looked for it online and sent it to my brother who agrees with me, they should be paying us royalties!