Chistmas Commeth On Apace. And Other Stuff.

 So, here we are, a mere 3 more days until the big C (and I had to check the calendar to confirm that), and it's the one nice day within the assortment of fog, rain and gales that are on their way. Some of the P&J's presents have arrived (though, of course, none of the ones on his list), some of them delivered so early, my OH was able to intercept them before he went to work, enabling me to enjoy the luxury of an unhurried lie in.
 The dog has been for her check up and screening at the vet's. She is "looking good for her age" (which is more that you could say about me), her teeth are "remarkable", and we now await the results of blood tests for liver and kidney function. £127, mind, but given how few problems we've had with her over the 13 years we've had her, I don't begrudge her that, as we head towards the end of her time with us. If there is something brewing, I want to catch it before it becomes something traumatic. We're looking for quality, not quantity.
 No doubt she'll be wanting to join me in the garden this afternoon, as I try to hack back the brambles growing from my neighbour's garden, and last years growth of the shrubs. I've already told my neighbour, when I win the lottery, we're having a gardener. He just laughed.
 There is stuff to do, before the new term begins, and I want to be on top of it this time- certainly with getting the seeds planted early, and the garlic in. Sometime this week, I have to start filling the new raised beds, which means the tedious job of sieving the litter out of my compost (some ear-hole, whom we shall not mention, decided to empty the vacuum cleaner into the compost bin. Those of you with families- you know the sort of things that go up the hoover.) The greenhouse needs clearing out and re-organising, so there is more room for growing. It's just as well the days are starting to draw out now!
 Hanging over all this is a black cloud. Well, maybe not black. Greyish. Definitely greyish. My husband's imminent retirement from a job he's been in since he was 17. He's had enough and we have both agreed it is better he gets out before his health goes, and he's still able to work. Something that doesn't involve 2 to 4 hours a day, just getting to work and back will be a start. But he does have to get a job. Our finances can't absorb a £10k drop in finances. And that's my grey cloud. Will he be able to find something? I'm worried that he won't. Or will be too picky. Or too nervous. After all, he's been in the same job for over 30 years. It's a big change that's coming, and very scary. For both of us.
 He retires mid February, and he assures me he will get his CV together and visit the local employment agencies (I think he quite likes the idea of temping, and I have to say, I think it's a good option). But I've not seen any evidence of it yet. And I'm worrying. Not least because I've been saving for years to refurbish my 1970s kitchen- or at least the floor- and I can see that disappearing. However, if he does land a job, we might actually be better off, especially if he's not travelling- or not as far. And who knows, he may even have more time and energy, and our lives will be transformed. Maybe. I'll let you know around February. In the meantime, cheer up. Christmas will soon be over and you won't have to worry about it for another year. It's a shame the same can't be said for for Trump. Or Brexit. Or global warming. Or...