Joy To The Merry Ho Ho Ho

I've pinpointed the exact moment when Christmas stopped being a time of Wondrous Joy and started becoming a Season of Dread. It was the day one of my relatives, having given very exacting instructions for the Christmas gift he wanted, coolly handed it back to me. Though I had tried my best, I had gotten one of the details wrong and he blithely assured me I would have no trouble exchanging the item in question.

Such a far cry from my first gift giving experience.

I was five. Grandfather had come for a visit and he asked me what I was giving my parents for Christmas. I was shocked! Shocked right down to my frilly socked toes. The idea that a child should give her parents something for Christmas was a bizarre and outlandish notion. After wrestling with the idea, I seized upon the most obvious obstacle. Funds. Specifically: lack of.

Grandfather was not insensitive. Five year olds are seldom trusted with more than a shiny new dime and dimes didn't buy a whole lot back in the sixties. Even shiny dimes. Riding the tidal wave of good feelings induced by "special" eggnog, my normally scrooge-like Grandfather (favorite advice: "Pinch a penny until it turns into a nickel") actually ponied-up some folding money. A whole dollar.

The world was my oyster.

Now the hard work had to begin. What to buy the great Gods of the household? Dear lord they had only to open their own wallets for vast sums to appear magically enabling them to buy anything their hearts desired (I believe my father was pulling down the vast sum of $8,000 a year.)

I knew what I wanted. Toys. Dolls. Candy. Cookies. Anything sugar-related, in fact. Lipstick like Mommy's. Puppies. Kittens. Bunnies. Paint. Crayons. Tricycles. A Casper-the-Friendly-Ghost doll with a head like cement that my mom was afraid to let me have for fear of my new little brother's life. It would have been so easy to shop for myself.

But my parents' needs and desires were a great mystery to me. Frightening even, to think that they had unmet desires. And it didn't help that my Father's stock answer was, "A new Jaguar." and my mother's stock answer was, "A hug from you, precious girl." Somewhere in between these two extremes was the perfect gift to be purchased with one dollar.

Grandfather and I went shopping. I wish I could remember all the items considered and rejected; no doubt the list would be amusing. But I know for sure the item that was eventually decided upon because my mother still has it. A bright red candle in a white, milk-glass holder. I believe that the holder was meant to become a candy dish after the candle was burnt, but we will never know because my mother never allowed a match to touch the sacred wick. It sits today in a cupboard in my mother's house in all its pristine glory, awaiting the moment when Christmas decorations come out and take over the living room. A mere forty-two years old this Christmas.

I wish I could recapture some small part of that thrilling pride when Christmas morning arrived at our house and I was able to hand over the misshapen little package and say, "This is for you, Daddy and Mommy." Recapture the beaming smiles they gave me in return for that poor little gift. Recapture the love that filled that Christmas morning so long ago.

Soon, armed with my list, I will brave the hoards and go out into the malls to start my Christmas shopping. I will try hard to remember that this is not a chore but a chance to share the love at Christmas. If only that five year old was here to help me.

Bang! Bang!

The cool, crisp scent of burning turkey means it's that special time of the year:
Man Hunting Season. Whoops! My bad. I meant to say Deer Hunting Season. But the death of six people by the hands of an irate hunter in Wisconsin is just the most recent entry in the story of Hunters and the Humans Who Get In Their Way.

Unfortunately, we are better at making more hunters than we are at making more hunting land. Fewer and fewer land owners are amenable to having drunken strangers with semiautomatic weapons stumbling around, leaving their litter. And Mr. Vang didn't help matters by killing all those people. No doubt there will be a lot more "No Tresspassing" signs going up as a result. This report on the shortage of happy hunting grounds in Wisconsin and Minnesota closes with the heart warming story of two groups of hunters that actually awoke the land owner at 6 am to settle a dispute about hunting rights. Having people banging on my door at the crack of dawn, I can't imagine anything less enchanting-- except maybe finding my cow dead.

Lest you think that the land owners should be protected from trespassers waving big guns around, this op-ed piece is about how the dear little hunters are being mistreated by the big, bad "aggressive" landowners. The writer's point is somewhat dulled by his opening anecdote however: the story of Karen Wood who was killed in her own backyard while hanging up the laundry. The killer-- excuse me, hunter-- was acquitted. Everybody knows it is a social faux pas to wear white gloves after labor day.

His next story doesn't help his case any better as it ends with the landowner being beaten by the hunter. The landowner's crime? He broke into the hunter's jeep which was parked too close to his home and honked the horn. The writer says that he should have tracked the hunting group down. Call me crazy, but I prefer not to go into the woods where I know people with guns are waiting for something to move. I guess we should be grateful that in this case the landowner got off with a beating.

Of course the vast majority of hunting accidents are hunters shooting themselves and other hunters. Last year the human tally at the end of the deer hunting season for the state of Wisconsin was only 2 dead and 13 wounded and both deaths were hunters killed by other hunters. This year the tally starts at six fatalities and can only go up. As more people take up hunting and fewer landowners allow hunting on their property, there will be more armed people meeting in the woods.

I know hunting is a huge industry and beloved by millions, but maybe there should be some limits. Fewer licences granted, vision tests required, more safty classes. Every sport has its "bad apples": skiiers that ski out of bounds, fishermen who clean their catch on picnic tables, backpackers who leave their trash behind, but name another sport which requires a deadly weapon. Other than NASCAR, I mean

I take these stories personally because I have a loved one who does a lot of mountain biking in the woods at this time of year and a dog who happens to look like a feral pig

So please, let's all be very careful out there, especially you--the one with the gun in your hands.

Household Survey Result Shocks Nation!

In a recent (this morning) survey, 75% of this household said they would not be watching any televised football games. The results are as follows:

50% said they would be watching the National Dog Show
25% said she would be watching the squirrels foraging at the bird feeder
25% could not be reached as he was deployed on Operation: Vole Hunt

We contacted a member of the household and he agreed to be interviewed for this special report. He asked that his identity not be revealed, so we will refer to him as "Dave."

LJ: Why are you going to watch The National Dog Show?

Dave: I am exercising my right as an American to pursue happiness. I like dogs.

LJ: Yes, but isn't it unAmerican not to spend hours on the couch in a stupor watching the endless "bowls" while consuming malt beverages and salty snacks?

Dave: Who said anything about not consuming malt beverages and salty snacks?

LJ: Uh, "Dave" we don't have any salty snacks.

Dave: I know you have a box of Tabasco-flavored Cheese-Its hidden under your pillow.

LJ: Let's not talk about that. Let's talk about the fact that you choose not to view televised football. Why is that?

Dave: (Note to self: fill in answer with tirade against football players who are little more than thugs on- as well as off- the field, when "Dave" comes back from bike ride.)

LJ: Thank you for your time.

Dave: Do you want to make a bet that the @#&*%@ Poodle will again take Best of Non-Sporting Breed? Once, just once, I would love to see the English Bulldog or the French Bulldog take it. The Frenchie--oh that would be sweeeeet.

LJ: Sorry. I can't take you up on that bet. What do you want for lunch?

Shoppers! Start Your Engines!

The day after the traditional day of gorging ourselves on food is the traditional day of shopping til we be dropping. This is the time when all good little Americans should be out spreading the love and showing their patriotism by buying stuff until their credit card overflowth. Have you bought your useless crap today?

Things we all need: Unadulterated, basic food preferably of local origin. Apples. Nuts. Homemade cookies. Real cheese.

Things we don't need but will be buying our friends: Processed cheese-flavored snacks in New and Improved Zingy Cajun Bar-b-cue flavor. Cloying, chocolate-laden bars of spurious Swiss origin with non-perishable creem filling. Artificial butter-flavored fruitcake in fancy presentation box with eight different candied fruits and seventeen different chemicals and no offensive alcohol. Ten gallon Bucket 'o Popcorn in nine novelty flavors including root beer.

Things we all need: Cotton sheets, cotton towels, linen dishclothes.

Things we don't need but will be buying our family: Whistling, stuffed and mounted deer head. Set of twelve Garfield the Cat tree ornaments. Limited edition Lil' Snookums Porcelain Doll with gemstone eyes that really sparkle. Dragon-handled Sword of The Chosen One in red velvet-lined mahogany box. Chia pet that looks like a man with a hairy chest.

Things we need: Cashmere sweater. Wool Socks. Leather gloves.

Things we don't need but will be receiving from our family: Novelty Ice cube trays that make ice in the shape of insects. "I burn it, you eat it" cooking apron. The Extremely Heavy Coffee Table Book of The History of Grocery Store Coupons. Wall calendar featuring Great Moments in Science.

Things we need: Cedar wood hangers. Beeswax candles. Good quality writing paper.

Things we don't need but will be buying for ourselves: Radko Christmas tree ornament in the shape of Frankenstein's head. Happy Chanukwanzamas! door mat. Reindeer-pooping-out-candy dispenser.

Happy shopping!