Category: etc.

So lovely reader Sal has inspired me again. No, that’s not true. It’s more than inspiration — she’s written this whole post, really.

Our Christmas Question of the Day 10 is completely hers, but I think it’s a good’un, so here it is:

Okay – I’ve got a holiday question to ask, if Tracey will permit (I WILL!, ed.):

What is one thing that your family, either present or of origin, does that you’ve never heard of any other family doing?

For example: my husband’s family would give gifts ostensibly from someone outside the family, so that it wasn’t all from “Mom and Dad”. These could include practically anyone – fictional characters, historical figures, present day famous persons, deceased pets…
This could have a hint as to what the present was or not: a Cowboys jersey might come from “Tom Landry”. Or like this year, when middle daughter is getting “The Chronicles of Narnia” from “The Inklings”. I’ve gotten a lot of cookware from “Julia Child” over the years.

So, what’s your unique holiday habit?

Okay. (This is me, Tracey.) First, Sal, I love that tradition. That’s definitely stealable. (Stealable?) 😉

My answer — a couple things, really. When we were little, my parents would hustle us off to bed on Christmas Eve and then wake us up just after midnight. They’d come into our rooms once we were finally dead asleep and whisper excitedly, “Wake up! Wake up! Santa’s come!” We’d groggily rouse ourselves and Dad would take the picture of us waking up. THOSE are some classic pictures. My favorite is one where I’m 8 years old and I’m pulling the covers back to get out of bed and my nightgown is basically twisted up around my neck and I have no idea because I’m not really awake. I am smiling, though, and providing a nice shot of little girl undies.

We just loved this tradition. My parents always played it as if Santa had just been there, as if we could still hear “reindeer paws” if we listened closely enough. It was always a thrilling sensation, as if we were getting away with something, being up in the dead of night like that, opening gifts under the glowing tree. It was magical. Even when we were older and in high school, we begged our parents to do it still. And they did.

(Plus, we slept in later on Christmas morning, so there was method to my parents’ madness.)

Another thing they did — my dad would devise codes for the “To” part of the packages, a different code for each child. But we had to crack the code in order to figure out which presents were ours. Kept us from shaking packages, which I know drove him crazy.

One year the 3 of us were in an absolute panic because Christmas Eve was 2 days away and we hadn’t cracked the code. He took pity on us and finally gave us a hint — which he usually didn’t do. He was playfully ruthless about the Christmas Codes and expected us to figure them out.

We finally figured that one out — at the last second. That was a great tradition, too. We had to work together, so it kept us from fighting. We didn’t know which ones were ours right away, so it kept us from shaking ’em.

Way to go, Dad!

So I left the grocery store with my cart of stuff today. I wheeled it over to my car, unloaded, and took my cart back to the cart lineup …. because, yes, I’m just that good.

I don’t abandon my cart to take up a whole parking space.

I don’t give it a halfhearted push to the middle of nowhere.

I don’t leave it in lonely limbo between the spaces so some hapless shopper can ding her car door on it.

NO, people! I put it back where it belongs. Because of the goodness. That …. and, well, I’m a wee obsessive about it, too.

You see, in high school I worked at Price Club/now Costco, and I was one of those cart picker-uppers and all cart picker uppers HATED beyond reason those people who abandoned their carts in the nether regions of that enormous parking lot. These people were always bestowed special endearments by cart picker uppers. As I recall, most of them sounded suspiciously like “lazy motherf***er!” growled under sweaty breath in the 100 degree+ heat as the cart picker upper hiked a long, sullen hike to retrieve the lost cart.

So, you see, as a sign of longstanding solidarity with generations of embittered cart picker uppers, I always, always take my cart back.

And I did it today, too. Pushed it in there real nice like. Then from the end of the cart lineup, I heard a thick, Slavic accent bark, “Be careful!”

Startled, I walked towards the voice. There, around the corner from the carts, sat an old, wrinkled, gumdrop of a woman. She scowled up at me from her perch. I was quite sure her face knew no other expression and the sight of me only made it worse.

“BE CAREFUL!” she growled again.

Now, look. I hadn’t shoved the carts THAT hard. And I certainly lacked the requisite skills to make the line of carts GO AROUND THE CORNER AND HIT OLD LADY GUMDROP, which apparently was her concern.

Still, I tried to be conciliatory.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

She did NOT like this.

“Sorry?! NO SORRY!”

“Well, I am. I didn’t hit you or any of your belongings, did I?”

Of course, I didn’t. In response, Old Lady Gumdrop “hmmphed” and folded her arms more tightly across her huge, gumdrop chest. I shuddered as I watched her breasts curve slowly over them.

“No. Sorry.” She spat them out as separate sentences.

“I don’t know what else to say, ma’am. I’m sorry you’re upset.”

“NOOO!! WHY YOU SAY SORRY?! WHY?!?”

Good question, Gummy. I was now ….. annoyed. I narrowed my eyes at her.

“You know, ma’am, you should accept an apology when one is offered. They don’t come around that often.”

She heaved herself up. Her breasts stayed down. Old Lady Gumdrop waddled off away from me, the whole time angrily muttering, “No. No. NO. NOO.”

I sighed.

And … I admit it.

I gave those carts an extra shove as I walked away.

THE SAN DIEGO CHARGERS BEAT THE INDIANAPOLIS COLTS TODAY!!

Goodbye 13-0. Hello 13-1. Sorry, guys. Someone was bound to do it. I was kinda hoping it’d be us, but I didn’t really think it WOULD be.

Oh, I cheered and coughed, and then, dammit, I coughed some more.

But it was worth it.

What a game. What a GREAT game.

Well, I can still do the Christmas question of the day, if nothing else! We’ve missed a few days here, so I think I’ll do a total of 12 days of questions.

Here’s Question 9 — one I came up with because I want to know:

Have you ever peeked at your Christmas presents BEFORE Christmas? If you’ve ever been an accomplished Christmas sneak, what were your methods? Did you get caught? What were the consequences?

C’mon. ‘Fess up.

I’ll start.

One Christmas when I was about 10, I poked around in my brother’s room, of all places, and found his present to me. Later, I STUPIDLY let it slip at the dinner table — do not ask me HOW or WHY; I cannot remember — and my brother nearly burst into tears. After I apologized to my brother, my mom punished me by marching me over to the Christmas tree and telling me I had to choose one of my presents to give back. I cried and cried as I tried to pick which one of the shiny wrapped packages I’d miss the least. Naturally, I gave her back the smallest one. I never knew what it was. I still don’t.

Seemed kinda harsh, maybe.

Another story:

A friend of mine was such an expert Christmas sneak when she was little that she’d UNWRAP already wrapped presents, look at them, and wrap them right back up. She was good at the rewrap, so no one ever knew.

That’s skill, man.

Well, everyone …. I’ve relapsed with the pneumonia. I’ve been struggling with this for over a month now. I don’t think I took it that seriously, so now — it’s baaaack!

I know the content here has been light, but I’m just not able to focus too well. I’m so sorry.

Well, I know I’m blatanly ripping off the Overheard in New York people, but I have to share this:

My Beloved and I were sitting in a booth Saturday morning, having breakfast at one of our “spots.” A few moments after we arrived, three women were seated behind us. One was a new mother, toting her new baby carryall basket thingy, complete with new baby inside. She proceeded to take him out and make him “stand” on the table for her poor, captive audience to “ooh” and “ahh” over.
I couldn’t see this since my back was to them, but I was getting the play-by-play.

But I could hear THIS, clear as day:

Friend: Wow! He looks like a little monkey!!

Mom: WHAT?!

Friend: Well, you know, in a GOOD way.

I confess — I turned around to look at the wee babe.

He DID look like a little monkey.

And NOT in a good way.

Continuing the birthday week homage:

My Beloved, nearly 2 years old, and his bunny.

(Look at the right hand on the window. What’s going on there? Is he attempting an escape? OR …. just coming home after a late night carousing with bunny? MB is suspiciously silent on this issue.)

And his deadpan comment on the picture?

“Manly, yes, but also loving.”

If it were socially acceptable for you to play with any children’s toy, with which toy would you be spending an obsessive amount of time?

Now, my caveats: NO video games or I’ll scream! And …. not counting that there are many of you who play with toys with your kids.

No. What I mean here is — which one would you play with all by yourself a la that episode of “Seinfeld” where Jerry drugs his girlfriend and feeds her turkey and keeps pouring wine until she’s unconscious, all so he can play with the cool retro toys on her shelf.

So for which toy MIGHT you pull a “Seinfeld”?

(And please understand I mean this tongue in cheek. No need to say “Oh, I’d never do that because of Jesus,” etc. I know. I do. 😉 )

Okay. THIS is really the final update:

#15 was guessed by lovely reader Lyn!

THE GAME IS OFFICIALLY OVER!!

And for Sal, guesser of the elusive #28, these guys stopped by to say “Congratulations!” Well, that might be what they’d say if they’d EVER stop tippy tapping their little toes, tear themselves away from that giant mirror they have, and think of someone ELSE!

THANKS to all of you who played! Hope you had fun. I know I did!

**************

FINAL UPDATE: That # 15 is still calling you …. The Almighty wants you to guess it. He appeared to me and told me so.

Then he told me to go somewhere far, far away and talk to this feller named Pharoah and that if he didn’t listen to me ….. well …. a-HEM …..

You guys are gonna kick yourselves. You really are. I loves ya, but I WANT you to kick yourselves. I can’t be there to kick you.

**********

All right. Some wee game hints for you. I wanna see this finished!! 😉 Just one word for each one still left. Here you are:

6. governmental — solved

9. anatomical — solved

15. biblical — NOT SOLVED! COME ON, EVERYBODY. “JESUS WEPT” BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T KNOW #15!!! 😉

26. Olympiad — solved

28. Broadway — solved

29. Jewish — solved

And just guess away!! If you think you know all 6, say so! (Plus, I’ll be verrry impressed. ‘Specially about that #28. # 26, too, although I think I gave a VERY blatant hint!)

Here’s an old picture of my dad. (Can you tell I’ve recently discovered a stash of old photos?) Sorry the image isn’t too clear. I tell you this — I have my dad’s eyes, same shape, same color, but I’m very fair and, well, USUALLY a blonde. Although, I’ve been nearly every color and I must say I liked being a redhead a lot.

I like to embarrass my dad by saying things over these photos like “hubba hubba, Dad” or “Look at you, Dad! You’re such a hottie!” He actually blushes. And he’s not that dark, actually. He was just tan. And lemme tell ya, he’s almost 70 and he looks 50. I’m not kidding. It’s a Dorian Gray thing, complete with a picture aging in the attic somwhere. Of course, my parents’ house doesn’t have an attic — which actually makes it even MORE freakish.

Anyway, however he’s doing it, he still deserves a “hubba hubba.”

And he always has a twinkle in his eyes.