Good will to
Happy Birthday Margie
When I was growing up, December 24 was all about sister Marjorie Ellen. It was her birthday. My parents did all they could to make that her special day, as a birthday should be. Especially when you’re a kid.
Margie’s birthday had nothing whatsoever to do with Christmas. Even if there was a tree in the living room while she blew out the candles on the cake. Her day was her day.
It was black and white. First came Margie. Next day came baby Jesus. And Santa. Because you couldn’t have one without the other. Bible says so. It’s in there somewhere I’m sure. Three wise men bringing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. Stuff the grownups might want (Gold, Mr. Spouse…hint…hint) But what kid in his right mind would put frankincense and myrrh on his list? Dried tree sap? Resin? Even one who would become the ultimate overachiever like baby J?
That’s why they needed Santa. The guy who brings the good stuff to the party. A case of Papyrus Pampers to make life easier for mom and dad. A bottle of Manischewitz to toast the birth. The bobble head Cesar for the back of the donkey. Condoms for the shepherds. And a BC Binkie for the babe.
But I digress. I was talking about Margie and her birthday. Which had nothing to do with Christmas Eve, just Margie, whom I worshipped and idolized because she was my big sister and knew everything. EVERYTHING ABOUT EVERYTHING. In my eyes she was perfect.
Did I ever tell you how bad my eyesight is?
It wasn’t until I was an ADULT, that I discovered people actually celebrate Christmas Eve as a holiday unto itself.
Imagine that….
So we do, sort of. Tonight we’ll have a lovely dinner. It will be our first Christmas Eve without Mama. We’ll raise a glass in her honor, repeat the stories we’ve told countless times about her. We’ll celebrate her life and her passing and be happy that’s she’s in a better place.
Sister Marjorie Ellen is in a better place now too…Norway. Been there her entire adult life–quite possibly because they celebrate Christmas for TWELVE days. I guess her birthday gets lost somewhere in there but that’s okay, there’s enough days of wine to cover that.
But these days Christmas Eve is more than Marjorie Ellen and Jesus. Because someone else in the family was born on December 24.
Happy Birthday Baby Bean, AKA Precious Man Dog! Happy birthday!
Colors and Then Some
Santa came early today. Four boxes on the porch when I came home. FOUR. Like we hit the gift box lottery or something.
Two were for Mr. Spouse. Just who is sending my husband gifts? Not I. Certainly not I. I’m making the man beef jerkey. Enough jerkey to keep him chewing for quite some time. And the promise of a steady supply of tough ‘n tasty dead cow for a whole year. I’ll even make a fancy coupon so he knows it’s for real.
And I’m going to clean our closet. What man wouldn’t swoon over that??? I’m telling you, he’ll be thrilled–THRILLED–that he will finally be able to walk into the walk-in. I’ll make a coupon for that, too. Which will buy me some time for actually doing the deed. Because really, if I had the time in the first place, the closet would never have reached the board-of-health-red-alert-stage.
I’m big on coupons.
But back to the packages on the porch. We’ve established now that two were for Mr. Spouse.
The third was for the horses. Ten pounds of pony supplements. Omega 3s for shiny coats and strong hooves. Works like magic. Maybe I should sprinkle some on my oatmeal.
The fourth package was for ME! YAY!!! I LOVE you Santa, especially when you stay up late on the computer ordering art supplies.
Like these. Pan Pastels. According to the manufacturer “These smooth, rich pastel colors are loaded with pure artists’ pigments and are made with a unique manufacturing process requiring minimal binder and fillers, resulting in rich, ultra soft and low dust formulation.” They’re professional quality, lightfast and all sorts of amazingly wonderful artsy stuff.
And they mix with everything. Can’t wait to fuse them into some wax. But I’ll have to wait. Don’t see any studio time before New Years. Just the way it is, kids coming and all. Trust me, when I’m building sofa forts with Missy B I won’t miss the studio at all.
Well, maybe just a little…
All these colors came in the four stacks in the box. This particular combination is the 20 Color Set Shades. Don’t you just love ’em?
Oh yeah…oh yeah.
Oh! Tannenbaum!
Warning: Seasonal Blasphemy Alert
DaughterDearest and I went to Farmer Bob’s lot and picked out a Christmas tree today. A Nobel Fir, just like the one Mary and Joseph had–because one of us is a traditionalist, you see, and if oh! tannenbaum was good enough for the holy family then it’s good enough for ours. So says she-who-was-not-paying-for-the-tree. I, on the other hand, thought that maybe when the offspring sprung I wouldn’t have to do this anymore, that I could go back to decorating a few ailing houseplants (my houseplants are always ailing) and call it Happy Holidays.
Because if you want to get Biblical, I’m sure that’s what Mary did. Once her son left home and started hanging with the fishermen (What? No doctors???) I bet she was relieved she didn’t have to bake the birthday fruitcake and hunt down Farmer Bob’s great-great-great-great-a-thousand-times-great grandfather for a tree. Especially at those prices. And Joseph? I bet he didn’t care if they had a tree or not. Hey, wasn’t his kid they were celebrating. And fruitcake? Fuhgeddaboutit.
Who knew?
Fast forward a couple thousand years to now. My hopes of cheering up the dusty dracena with a couple of silver balls were cruelly dashed by my now grownup children. Who would’ve thought they’d want to come home for the holidays…. Go figure. Or move back in after college while wanting nothing more than to move out again. And a tree is part of the deal. Not a tree from the nearly eleven forested acres we live on. Most of them are Ponderosa Pine. Too tall. Unless we had a fifteen story atrium in the house. Which we don’t.
Although I might talk Mr. Spouse into building one when he retires. He likes to build things.
But back to the tree. My children are traditionalists. They want a tree from Farmer Bob.
And so we set out on the great tree adventure. DaughterDearest ran hither and yon through the lot, from one tree to the next. And the next. And the next. Greeting each and every one with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever with a bladder problem. Or a six year old on crack. She wanted this one. No! No! She wanted that one. But…but look over there! And off she’d go again.
While I trotted behind her, discretely checking the prices. Holy crap! Some of those suckers required my banker’s signature.
She totally charmed Farmer Bob. Was it the skinny jeans on the size 2 tiny hiney? Or the long blonde hair tucked under the Cal cap. Cal being short for I’m a freakin’ genius! I went to Berkeley!!! Which is like wearing your IQ on your head. Whatever, she was adorable. And yes, she is SMART.
In the end we picked a tree that met all the criteria.
Hers: It was the most beautiful tree ever!
Mine: Wouldn’t have to take out a second mortgage to pay for it.
The End
PS. Still no photos. One more thing for the fix-it ticket.
It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like…
…Christmas, everywhere you go…
Except my house. But I’m working on it. Really.
Yesterday I climbed into the attic and threw stuff down through the trap door. Christmas stuff. Garlands. Bags o’seasonal treasures. If it was breakable then I carried it halfway down the ladder (the steep-narrow-shouldn’t-climb-this-thing-with-your-hands-full ladder) before tossing it onto my son’s old bed. Bouncing is good. Shattering is not.
So now, twenty-four plus hours later, most of it’s still on the floor of my son’s old room. Or on his bed. Everything except…ta ta…drumroll please–the lights!
Because if nothing else happens this Christmas, having a few lights up makes me happy. Very happy. So happy I could stop right there. But I won’t because we’ve got a two year old coming.
Toddler+Christmas=BLING.
Last year, in a moment of absolute freakin’ BRILLIANCE, I carefully put each strand of lights in it’s very own bag as soon as I took it down. It’s own special bag with a label. A label that said where it was supposed to go. Front windows. Back Windows. Tree.
Here’s the dining room without lights.
Boring. Positively spartan. Come January I’ll be eager to return to the simplicity. But now, see what a difference a couple strands of icicle lights makes.
Ohhhhhhhhhh…. And now, the same before and after in the living room.
Before. Complete with exercycle and floor pillow jumble on the window seat.
After. All the stuff stuff will go away. The tree will be to the right. But it’s a start.
And then there’s the reflections.
Ahhh…
And now I’ll leave you with the song that’s been bouncing around in my head all day. My go-to Christmas decorating song.
Don’t worry. Tomorrow I’ll embed another one in your head. But not until this one becomes hardwired in your brain cells.