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Saturday, Nov. 12, 2011 - 7:00 a.m.

I had decided to try to make all handmade gifts this year. Easy for Q. Not so easy for everyone else. So many handmade gifts (at least the ones you come across when you're on the internet searching for handmade gifts to make) are fine and dandy for casual friends or stocking stuffers, but would count mainly as filler for family. My family, anyway. They're a challenging bunch. I don't usually have much success even with boughten things, though, so.

Plus they know all the things I make as a matter of normal complusion, and so giving jewelry or marmalade again reads more like me handing them something I found in the closet, not something I made just for them.

My brother has gone to some establishment called "Serenity House"; rehab? Not sure, exactly, but he's out of mom's house. His girlfriend goes to see him, and gets all his money. He hasn't called mom since he's been there. Now she's just stuck with a friend whose house got foreclosed on, who she made the mistake of letting move in without an explicit understanding of what her contribution to the household would be, or how long she would stay. Guess what? It isn't working out well.

"Kind to a fault"-- my mother is the very definition.

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