Only 9 Shopping, Baking, Cleaning, Decorating, Wrapping, Mailing Days until . . . .

On the tenth day before Christmas, she banged pans in the kitchen while hubby was in his kerchief trying to take a long winter's nap,  wondering what could be the matter. 

It seemed that "Marianne WAS madder than a hatter." 

Yup, all he did was ask for a plate of cookies for the Office Party North.  

Upon uttering that innocent request, he failed to notice that the kitchen was a mess.  A big bowl of pumpkin bread dough was sitting on the counter, getting old from waiting its turn to be poured into baking pans.  

Metal pans filled with loaves of pumpkin bread---with alleged perma glue affixed to their bottoms---were strewn along the kitchen counters.

A piece of DiGorno pizza from a hastily prepared dinner following a high school basketball game lay innocently between two pumpkin pans.

A man doesn't realize that a setting like that at 9:15 p.m. after a woman's long day of scurrying here and scurrying there, trying to maintain an even keel on the Christmas insanity along with all the other daily duties on Dec. 16----ten days before Christmas is NOT good timing for requesting a Christmas cookie plate for the next day's office party.

Bill probably will observe the setting more closely next time.

Epilogue to This Scene:  All is calm.  All is bright this morning.  Bill eventually enjoyed an abbreviated winter's nap after the pan banging stopped at approximately 9:45 p.m.  

(Tell me why I inherited my mother's gene for banging the pans when I'm mad in the kitchen.  Mother had great style and great impact during her pan-banging days.  Maybe I was just impressed with the impact as I hid far away from her during pan banging, probably under my bed.) 

Well, I got the kitchen cleaned up, almost to a spotless state, and all the pans are happily waiting for that tired pumpkin bread dough this morning----not without a struggle, though.  

I have checked the Internet, I have tried several methods, I have pondered and pounded and have yet to figure out how to get a loaf of pumpkin bread out of the baking pan in one piece.  

Last night's loaves were particularly stubborn, probably because they heard all that other pan banging and figured it was safer to stay put rather than being flung across the kitchen. 

Yes, I'm a thrower.  Bill was safe.  Nothing went flying last night.  Pounding was the sport of choice.

I eventually pried the pumpkin bread out of the pans without too much collateral damage.  A few pieces of bottom bread had to be tucked back into loaves.  I figure once the loaves are wrapped in cellophane, the recipients may think they damaged the goods while slicing.   

Don't tell anyone to check Marianne's pumpkin bread bottoms.  Let's keep that our secret.

It's 7:54 a.m. on the ninth day before all the shopping, mailing, cleaning, decorating, wrapping, mailing and pounding of the Christmas season rolls to a stop. 

So far, Bill has endured only one incident this season, and he has probably happily arrived at the Bonners Ferry office with a lovely plate of Christmas cookies.

He has also received a proper apology for his wife's Irish temper losing itself among the cacophonious pan performance in the kitchen. 

He's at peace.  I'm at peace. 

It's going to be a good day, especially after I get that remaining pumpkin-bread dough into the baking pans, pry out the resulting loaves and wrap them up tightly so nobody knows they suffer from bottom sluffing. 

I wonder if Annie ever bangs pans when she's mad.  

Her brother and I do know she's been known to throw things----Tostino's pizza makes a really good weapon when your brother won't hand over the TV remote!