There was an amused look on my husband’s face as he opened another Christmas card.  

“What?” I asked.  

He was smiling as he taped the card to the doorframe in our hallway, where he’d displayed several others.  

“Look how loved we are,” he said. “Our newspaper carriers both sent us cards. Our trash guys. Our insurance agent. Even the guy who cut our grass at the old house.”  

“People sure are friendly,” I said. “Used to be no one but relatives sent cards.”  

“Nice to know they care and are thinking about us,” he said.  

“Makes me feel kinda guilty for not sending out cards,” said I.  

I used to do cards. Came up with my own design every year. Then I had a few rough years that I skipped, and now I guess I’m just out of the habit.   

We live in South Charleston, which has the best trash service of any place I’ve ever lived. Three times a week, they’re here without fail. They’re fast and efficient, and they don’t leave stuff scattered all over the streets and yards like I’ve seen other places.  And not only that, but they care enough to send us a CARD.  

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I seldom score a face-to-face with a bona fide celebrity, so imagine my excitement when granted an interview with one of the biggest names in the business, especially this time of year.  

At least, that’s what I thought.  

If only I were a better speller.   

I thought I was getting the Abominable Snowman, but no. I got the Abdominal Snowman.  

“Happens all the time,” said the amiable abdominal snowman as he patted his well-defined six-pack. “It’s no problem. I’m used to it.”  

In the 44 years since the stop-motion animated version of “Rudolph” first aired on TV, Abdominal said at least a dozen others had made the same error as me.   

Grateful for his kindness, I decided to continue our interview.  

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During the holidays, some people deck the halls while other people get plastered. I combine the two. I plaster the halls. Nothing says Christmas like a mud knife loaded with spackle.

It began innocently enough (as all my projects seem to do). Before putting up any decorations, I decided I’d first slap a coat of paint on the walls in the entry. Just slap it on, you know, like that’s all it involves. Something as fast as a slap.

There are no slaps in the home improvement world. Well, there are, but they’re generally to the forehead. (Believe me. I know. My forehead is callused and bruised.)

One of the first things I did upon moving into our new old house last Spring was to tear down every bit of wallpaper in the entry way and stairwells. Even the ceilings had been papered. It needed to go.

Removing the paper went shockingly fast, as it was so brittle and dry it practically fell off the walls. Unfortunately, so did a lot of the plaster. After so many years together, I guess they couldn’t bear to separate. Needless to say, fixing the walls was suddenly going to be a much bigger job than the simple repainting I’d naively anticipated when I began.

Some of you are probably thinking that I’ve been a homeowner far too many years to still be so naive. It’s not really innocence so much as it is denial. 

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