Father Christmas

English: Thomas Nast's most famous drawing, &q...

English: Thomas Nast’s most famous drawing, “Merry Old Santa Claus” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In about the 2nd grade, there was a boy in my class who wore the same old, ratty shoes every day.  I remember finding out that his family didn’t have enough money to buy him a new pair.  We weren’t well-off either but I had shoes that fit, without holes, and more than just a single pair.

I don’t recall any details of how it happened, but my wonderful parents decided to buy this boy new shoes.  My dad came into school one day just before Christmas and waited in the principal’s office.  They called the boy out of class and presented him with his new pair of shoes.

What I do distinctly remember is that the boy, flushed with excitement, came running back to the classroom shouting “Santa Claus was here, and gave me shoes!”

Now, my Dad didn’t have white hair back then – it was more reddish – but he did have a full beard (also red) and otherwise kind of fit the description.  Close enough for a young boy to really believe that Santa came and brought him a present.

I’ve never been more proud of my family and, as a kid, I never told anyone who brought the shoes.  I still think about that boy at Christmas, and wonder if he still thinks of “Santa” too.

Whoops…

Sean and I got our youngest cat, Quinn, as a kitten 2 years ago.  He’s all gray except for a small white patch on his chest – we call it his “cravat”.  He’s mostly a very sweet and friendly cat (he’s even sitting on my lap as I type this), except for the occasional moments when he goes completely feral, of course.

A few months ago, as I was lying in bed reading, my husband went to use the adjoining bathroom.  He didn’t shut the door completely and Quinn wandered in behind him.

All of a sudden I heard Sean yell “Quinn, NO!”.  But then he lost all his language skills and next came:

“Aghhhhh!!!  Pee!  Pee on cat!!  Help!”

Poor Sean – I was laughing too hard to do anything but curl in a ball and clutch my sides!

Apparently Quinn had to decided to see what Sean was doing and jumped onto the rim of the toilet bowl.  Then he slipped and landed in the bowl, four feet spread apart so he didn’t touch the water.  But Sean had already started to pee and couldn’t stop immediately (I’m told this is normal for boys?).  Quinn managed to get out of the line of fire, and luckily it took a moment for him to regain his balance.  I was still paralyzed with laughter, but Sean managed to grab him before he made it out of the bathroom.  (I can just imagine damp cat heading for the clumping kitty litter…)

We cleaned him up and he didn’t seem to be any worse for wear.  I think Sean ended up far more traumatized than Quinn was!

And you can bet he’s more careful about closing the door…

Twenty Questions

My Sister and her husband have twin sons who just turned 12 years old.  We’ve always had a lot of fun with our nephews, and luckily they still like to hang out with us (knock on wood, I hope it lasts!).  They particularly adore Sean – he’s the cool uncle who taught them to play their first video game (at age 3), and Dungeons and Dragons (sorry, Sis!!)

One night not long ago, my husband and I were driving them to our house.  It was too dark for them to read in the car (as they often do) and my Sister wouldn’t allow them to bring their video games (they were in trouble for playing when they shouldn’t have been).  So, to pass the time we taught them how to play Twenty Questions.  I figured that should be easy enough for a couple of bright 11-year-olds, right?

We took turns picking the Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral, and the rest of us rotated through asking a question.  We had some pretty standard animals, and even a mineral or two.  Then, one of the twins picked an item.  We figured out it was a vegetable.  Narrowing it down further, we determined it was a green leafy vegetable that’s not usually found in salads and that they had never eaten.  We guessed a few – kale, collard greens, even broccoli.  Finally we were stumped and started narrowing down how many letters were in the name – apparently more than 8.

When we got to the 20th question I finally asked…”Umm, are you sure you’re not thinking of cauliflower?”

That was it!  You know…cauliflower…that green leafy vegetable.

At that point we were almost home, just passing our local grocery store.  My husband pulled into the parking lot and said “That’s it – we’re totally buying cauliflower and making them eat it.”  The Boys were horrified!!  We promised it wouldn’t kill them to have a small bite.  They were troopers…and I figure now they’ll never forget what cauliflower looks like!

Particularly when I occasionally text them a photo from the grocery store as a reminder…

Cauliflower is…

The most wasted of all days…

Lopez Island is my happy place.  You can have Disneyland, I’ll take Lopez any day.  Our family cabin may be rustic (i.e. unfinished walls and no running water), but some of my best memories are from family visits every summer.  I even called my Dad’s mother “Beach Grandma” because she had the beach.  (And I called my Mom’s mother “Little Grandma” because, well, she was little!)

Beach Grandma spent every summer at Lopez with her Dalmatian, Trisha.  (To this day my family calls Dalmatians “Trisha dogs”.)  Like most dogs, Trisha loved to roll around in things – the stinkier the better!  One summer she came back to the cabin reeking of a dead fish she’d found on the beach.  It was sooooo awful!  We raced around trying to catch her, trying to keep her from rubbing up against anything, or anyone.

With no running water there was no easy way to give Trisha a bath.  Instead, Grandma quickly grabbed for a can of Lysol to neutralize the stench.  Only after spraying down the poor dog did anyone notice that the can was actually hair spray!  Good ol’ Aqua Net.  It just sealed in the odor…and all we could do was laugh and laugh until tears streamed down our faces.

On the wall at Lopez is the poster below, that my parents purchased as a young couple.  It says “the most wasted of all days is the day when we have not laughed”.  Luckily there aren’t many wasted days in my family!

The Great Easter Egg Hunt

Easter eggs // Ostereier

Image via Wikipedia

When I was fairly young – probably about 7 – we went to my grandparents’ house for Easter.  I was looking forward to finding all the colorful foil-wrapped chocolate eggs hidden around their house – mostly because I liked the game, but also because I was the only grandchild and got to keep all the eggs for myself.

Unfortunately, grandma hadn’t had time to hide them yet.  She was busy in the kitchen (as she often was) and had passed the job – and bag of eggs – to my grandfather.  Oh yes, he of the dry wit.

I remember walking into the front room and starting to look around.  At first I didn’t see any eggs in the usual places.  None tucked behind knick-knacks, none on the table lamp, none under the coffee table.  I thought maybe they’d decided to make it harder since I was another year older.  I looked and looked and looked but couldn’t see a single egg.

I don’t think I burst into tears, but I’m pretty sure my voice edged into whiny territory.  And I’m guessing there was a pout involved too.  “Grandma, there’s no eggs!”

My grandmother came out of the kitchen and looked at my grandfather accusingly.  “I told you to hide them!”

Grandpa walked over to the fireplace, reached behind a clock on the mantle, and lifted up the bag of eggs.  Yes, the WHOLE, unopened, bag.  “I did.”

Grandma quickly shooed me out of the room and hid the eggs.  It was the best do-over ever.

The Birds and the Bees

I’m sure everyone remembers the moment they learned about sex for the first time (fascinating? horrifying? both?). I don’t remember how old I was, but I know I hadn’t learned it in school or from a well-meaning-but-completely-misinformed friend yet.

When I was young (probably around age 7) my mom did daycare at home for a couple of younger kids. One day we built a fort in the living room with dining room chairs and bedsheets. When they went down for their afternoon nap I was still in the fort reading a book. Mom crawled inside, with a pad of paper and a pencil. She proceeded to teach me the basics about boys and girls, men and women – including illustrations (did I mention my mother was an art major?). My reaction was probably typical – “Eeeeuuwwww!!”

spedometer

We didn’t talk much more about it until I was a teenager. When I started getting into boys my mother would give me a more pointed “sex talk” – always while driving 55-MPH (there I go, dating myself again) – so there was no chance of escape. When it was just the two of us, and she turned off the car radio, I knew I was in for “the talk”. To this day I remember it word for word:

“I was the first person in our family to marry outside of my race, and that was really hard. My cousin was the first person in our family to get a divorce, and I’m sure that was hard too. I will take EITHER of those over being the first person in our family to get pregnant out of wedlock.”

Yes, ma’am!

They huffed and they puffed…

Flame

Flame (Photo credit: Samuelraj - Professional Photographer)

When I was around 7 years old I was playing in the garage with my best friend.  My mom was cooking, and my dad was still at work.  Jenny and I noticed something we’d never seen before.

Running into the house I yelled “Mom!  We found a tiny flame in the garage!”

Mom, distracted in the kitchen, just asked “Where, dear?”

“In the metal box along the wall, down near the floor.  We can just see it if we lean down real far.”

Mom was still distracted (did she not hear the word “flame”?).  “I’m sure it’s fine, honey.”

Disappointed in her reaction, I turned to Jenny.  “Maybe we should try and blow it out.”  We ran back into the garage and lay on the floor, pondering the flicker.

“Okay, Jenny.  On the count of three, let’s blow.  One…two…three.”

Wwwwhhhoooooosssshhhhhh!

Nothing – the flame was still there.

“Let’s try again.  One…two…three!”

Wwwwhhhhoooooooooossshhhhhhhh!!

Hmm, still nothing.

“Okay, one more time.  One!  Two!  Three!”

WWWWWHHHHHOOOOOSSSSSHHHHH!!!!!

That did it!!  We were very pleased with ourselves (and a bit lightheaded).  Running back inside, I shouted “Mom, mom, we did it!  We blew it out!!”

My mother, with realization finally dawning, said “I’m calling your father.”  After dialing (on a rotary phone…with a cord…)  “Honey, the girls just said they blew out a flame in the garage.”

Dad, realizing immediately that she was talking about the furnace’s pilot light, calmly told her “Get out of the house.  I’ll be right home.”

The gas company was skeptical (obviously they didn’t realize how much hot air two little girls could be full of) but agreed to send someone to meet him at the house.  I remember being unceremoniously rushed out.  I mean really – where was our congratulations?

Dad had to wait many years, but he finally got payback.  My husband and I were having our house painted.  Apparently the painters didn’t recognize a gas water heater vent when they saw it, and proceeded to mask it off.  My husband (not the handy one in the family) was home and it was my turn to receive a call at work – “Honey, I smell gas.”

I flashed back to that day oh so many years ago and replied “Get out of the house.  I’ll be right home.”

Poker Face and the Round-Up

English: A Round up amusement ride at Stricker...

Image via Wikipedia

My grandfather has a wicked sense of humor.  Gamblers would KILL to have his poker face.  Occasionally there’s a brief twinkle in his eye, but usually he gives nothing away.  And sometimes it’s not terribly entertaining to be the focus of that amusement…

As a kid, my mom, grandmother, and grandfather took me to a County Fair.  I distinctly remember putting money in a slot to see a chicken play the piano.

After wandering the Fairgrounds, my mother and grandmother left me with grandpa with instructions for him to “take me on the rides”.  What on earth were they thinking?!?

Grandpa bought me one ticket for a ride.  ONE.  Then he pointed at the scariest contraption I’d ever seen and said “If you ride that, I’ll buy you more tickets.”

It was called the “Round-Up“.  Riders stood in individual “cages” that circled the perimeter.  The ride spun, centrifugal force pushing you back against the outer cage wall.  The whole thing then tilted vertically on an arm so as you spun you alternated between seeing the sky and seeing the ground.  IF you had your eyes open that is…

I was TERRIFIED.  And just barely tall enough to get on the ride.  But I was stubborn too.  So I grabbed that ticket, got on that ride, and screamed my lungs out.

True to his word, grandpa bought me more tickets.  And I went on that Round-Up again, dammit!  It’s now one of my all-time favorite amusement park rides.

So take that, grandpa!

How To Break A Cast Iron Pan

English: A cast-iron pan.

Image via Wikipedia

Just a quick tip for the day…

How To Break A Cast Iron Frying Pan:
1. Forget that mom sometimes stores clean pans in the oven.
2. Decide to help out by cooking for the family.
3. Preheat oven to 450*F.
4. When going to put your dish in the oven, realize there’s a now-heated cast iron pan in the way.
5. Remove scorching-hot pan from oven and place in sink.
6. Run cold water over cast iron pan to cool it down.
7. Hear the “CRACK” as the pan splits in two.

A Sober Announcement

My Dad doesn’t drink. Alcohol, I mean – he drinks plenty of Diet Coke. But all the alcohol he’s ever consumed could fit into a wine glass. It’s only small sips of champagne at weddings, simply for form’s sake. I don’t know why. Whenever I ask he just says he “never developed a taste for it”.

One Christmas Eve morning, when I was 12 years old, I started my period for the first time. Thankfully my mother was prepared, and after my traumatized shout she took care of everything with minimal fuss. Luckily my little sister was too young to ask many questions.

That night, as is our tradition, we had dinner with my father’s side of the family. Back then it was just my Grandmother, Aunt and Uncle, baby Cousin, and my family.

After a big meal we settled into the living room to open presents. At which point my Dad (completely sober) stood in the middle of the room and announced “My daughter has just become a woman.”

Gee…thanks, Dad…

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