The Ghost of Many, Many Christmases Past

No, no, that’s not my ride to Logansport…..though had this moving van not materialized, I may well have ended up there…
Today is the fourth anniversary of my escape. No more “You can’t You won’t You shouldn’t You never You don’t.” No more “isn’t that right?” No more rages, death threats, financial threats, daily grading of my behavior (you get a C- for…), vilification for my choice of Christmas cards (not “Christmas-y enough), criticism for having too many hobbies, being too lazy or being too ambitious, too fat, too thin, too blond, too brunette……..living with such a Sybil was giving me psychological whiplash. Who was I, anyway?

This was going to be my best Christmas in over a decade. Attention had to be paid. Cartwheels across the lawn seemed too fleeting, and mid-afternoon would be too early in the day to drink myself into a happy stupor. Hmmm. What to do, what to do. A plan was hatched.

The day was endless. The Dip tried to ignore the movers as they worked around him. He hunched over his computer keyboard, playing chess, until they pried the mouse out of his fingers. I occupied myself with laundry, figuring it might be bad form to carry his clothes out or pop the cork before the door closed.

The photo op took place shortly after MK finished work for the day. She called my cell and I casually walked out.

No one needed to tell me Say Cheese!

Christmas Baking, Round One

I am having a day....and I haven't even started drinking yet. Maybe I should.

First thing I do is make the peppermint cookies. I cannot figure out why they're coming out of the oven flat as pancakes. After the second batch, I look at the recipe and the light bulb comes on in the pea brain....I had doubled the recipe but forgot to double the flour. I actually thought I did. I remember saying to myself OK you need 5 [meaning 5 cups of flour], but I was using a 1/2 cup 'cause I couldn't find the cup, so I counted out 5 all right. I am going to tell people they are French tuiles but I just didn't bend them into curls....

Then I can't get the maraschino cherry cans open and when I do cherry juice flies all over the counter....

Then I can't get the bag of pecans open, and when I start pulling harder, the entire bag explodes open all over the room. There are nuts everywhere. That's about when I started laughing hysterically and decided I probably need a straight jacket or a baby sitter.

And I just now discovered I washed one of my dishrags in with the dishes in the dishwasher.

The scary part is I'm only half done and haven't had a shower yet.

Dear Santa

If it weren’t for Little Susie, I might still believe in Santa Claus.

Snowhill Elementary School sits in the center of a middle class neighborhood in Springfield, Ohio. It’s a short walk from Malden Avenue, and walk we did, back in the idyllic era when children and parents feared nothing.
20 or so five year olds sat cross-legged on their nap mats on the linoleum floor, wiggling in barely contained anticipation of Christmas, on an overcast, snowy December day. Mrs. Jergins, a fresh faced, innocent new teacher, was leading the class in a discussion about Santa. Little Susie raised her hand, and stood up. She proudly informed us all that her parents told her there was no Santa Claus…he was just a fairly tale. Twenty-some little mouths dropped open and became silent. Twenty-some sets of eyes turned beseechingly to Mrs. Jergins for an explanation. Say it isn’t so! She herself was stunned, and though she tried to regroup, her explanation – long since forgotten – wasn’t good enough, and we knew it. Plenty of parents had lots of explaining to do that afternoon.

If I still believed in Santa, my letter might go something like this…..

Dear Santa,

Well, here we are again. I hate to nag, but you haven’t visited my house for a few years now. What is your problem?

I know my street is still nowhere to be found on some maps (even though this house dates to 1984), but that’s no excuse. All the information is in the GPS databases now, or you could always use Google Earth. You do use modern technology these days, don’t you? I assumed Rudolph is just for show.

I have two fireplaces for you to choose from, and I always make sure to turn them off early and leave cookies and milk by both. Maybe you don’t like biscotti? Just tell me and I’ll make something else. I have also warned my Gordon Setter to stop barking at strange men, specifically those in red suits.

Have you been skipping me because I didn’t decorate for a few years? Surely you can’t hold that against me, given all the other things I’ve had to deal with. This year I did put up a tree, hoping a festive look might entice you to come. The tree is causing a lot of havoc, though; my dog rummages underneath it to look for her gifts, while the two cats climb it to find theirs. It’s hit the floor several times. That’s OK; I didn’t like some of those ornaments anyway.

You’ve been forgetful for so many years now! My list has grown unwieldy; I’ve zipped the file and sent it in a separate email. I don’t want to lock up your computer system (please tell me you have one; I know a very good IT person who can set you up if you don’t). Just in case your computer is down, I’m also going to send the entire list via snail mail. The postage will cost me a fortune. All worth it, of course, if you show up.

OK….I didn’t want to bring this up….but I realize that I may not have been exactly good (depending on who you ask) those first few years. But I’ve reformed. I swear!

Sincerely,