Don't Ring, Just Holler

As is the custom in the country, houses are not known by their address or by their proximity to landmarks like the bakery or fire house, but by the former owners. Thus we live in the Holler place. The house is only 7 years old and I don't think the Hollers have lived in these parts for untold generations, never-the-less, it is the Holler place and will be so until we move on to that big cow pasture in the sky and the place is sold. (Remember, we are never moving again.) It will then cease to be know as the Holler place and will then be known as the [Piffle] place. Such is the circle of life.

At this point, though, there is yet one more reason to know our house as the Holler place, as the name "HOLLER" is literally set in the stonework facade of the front of the house, next to the doorbell, in large, indelible, recessed black letters. In order to remove this name tag, we would have to remove the stone facade (not an option in my book). Thus we are faced with 4 options that I can see: 1) Just leave it as it is. 2) Carve / paint our surname under / above / next to it as a sort of owner's log. 3) Cover it with a plaque of our name or catchy phrase. 4) Just leave it as it is.

So far #1 and #4 are tied for the lead.

In other breaking news, we had a thoroughly delightful Thanksgiving with as much gluttony as each desired. We went traditional and Cathy and I cooked for 2 days, off and on, making homemade everything. The fridge is now crammed with leftovers and we still have one pie left. Now that is something to be thankful for. Just making a loaf of bread to put the turkey sandwiches on and then I think I am done cooking for a while.