December is always a busy month Down the Rabbit Hole. There is always too much going on!
Like the rest of you, we too enjoy the wintery holidays with family, but we also have a gamut of birthdays to acknowledge and celebrate.
But a few things threw everything off kilter and we are just recovering now:
 MiLady loves decorating the place during the first weekend of the month, but this year she decided to do it a week earlier!
Within a couple of hours, our little hovel was brightened by the old tree dressed in the buzzing warmth of little flashing lights, reminensent of a seedy roadside motel where half the neon letters don’t light up.
“It doesn’t look right,” she muttered.
I looked sideways at the green holiday icon. “You haven’t finished decorating it yet, Dearst.”
“No,” my girl replied. “We need a new tree. There are big gaps at the bottom where the cats have slept in it.” She then wiggled a couple lower branches for emphasis. “They broke these. See?”
I nodded and soon found myself at a big Canadian store to get a new tree.
“And we’ll need new lights too,” MiLady texted. “These old ones are outdoor lights.”
A few minutes later, I found our tree, standing in a line up with the other hardwood hellions. Picking him out was easy. If I could carry him without a cart, he was our tree.
Finding new lights was a challenge though, because the Tree had its own fashion sense!
After twenty minutes of its nagging, I decided upon three sets of LED rope lights.
“Why are you getting so many of those?” our tree asked.
“I’m into bondage!” I smiled wickedly. “I just hate talkative trees!” (Surprisingly, the tree hadn’t said another word after that!).
Four days later, I arrive home from work to a dark and dreary interior. I look about, our tree is gone!
“What happened?” I inquired wide-eyed.
“I took the it down and packed it away,” MiLady said sadly.
“I see that, but why?”
My soul-mate then proceeded to explain that our youngest cat had some tree issues.
My puzzled look was enough for her to continue.
“He crawled into and up the tree and batted all the ornaments off! Then he jumped out of the tree and swatted the ornaments across the floor — and under the loveseat! He chewed off the little pinecones and cranberries from the bottom branches; and he licked off all the artifical snow that was sprayed on it!”
My thoughts scrambled as my eyes widened after each sentence she spoke.
[OMG, I didn’t rescue that little Scotch pine, I brought him to his execution!]!
 It had been a very long time since I went East to visit family — eleven (11) years to be exact. That changed very quickly.
A couple phonecalls from my younger brother and sister sent me scrambling for the earliest flight I could afford.
The first person I saw was my brother. A quick selfie and he took me to see Mum, who was not doing well.
“Rabbit?” her quiet, tired voice questioned, when I came into view.
“Hullo, Mum,” I smiled as I leaned in and kissed her.
Her eyes widened in panic. “Where’s MiLady and MY Little Rabbits?!?”
“Home,” I responded, “I came alone.”
I then discovered I gave a wrong answer, as the temperature of the room dropped 30 degrees!
 After returning from my visit, I was quickly informed of all the latest happenings in the genealogy twitter-sphere.
Nostalgia — yes, she’s still staying with us — has got to be Thomas MacEntee’s biggest follower, as it took her three days to explain to me what his latest project was.
“A do over,” the Olde Banshee said again.
“Oh, I’m not interested, Gia,” I replied. “I’ve got no hair left to work with.”
“Not a makeover, you silly Rabbit!” she spat. “A genealogy do over!”
I screwed up my face before tilting my head to one side.
“It’s starting over again, Dearie,” she explained.
“Over?” I repeated as my mind slowly comprehended.
“Yes, yes! Over, as in, all over again from scratch!”
[Oh, no! No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no!]
I scrambled to my computer and booted it up quickly, as i searched for my external backup harddrive.
“What on Earth are you doing, Rabbit?” she finally asked, after catching up to me.
“Saving my work!” I stammered. “I remember last time you offered to help me…”
“Oh,” she said curtly, “It wasn’t as bad as you recall.”
“I never found Papa John’s birth certificate. The long, red one.”
“And he was …?” Gia lingered
“My paternal grandfather from England,” I said completing her sentence.
“Oh! THAT certificate!”
The awkward silence that filled the room was broken by an shrill, electronic tweet. Nostalgia looked at her cell and quickly left the room.
“Gia?” I called out. “What are you –?”
“Thomas is posting on Facebook, Dearie!” she announced as she rushed up the stairs to her room. “Gotta go, Ta!”