br careful out there

The final day of the year has a tendency to make people think they are immune to the usual rules of conduct. Those who wouldn't dream of drinking to excess and then getting behind the wheel of their cars any other time seem to feel that New Year's Eve brings a suspension of the usual laws of behavior. So all you carefull celebrants out there are placed in unnecessary danger from the morons who think they are indestructible. If it was up to me, being out of your evereyday environment on this day would be against the law. Having a celebratory drink would be limited to your home and any cars on the road would be immediately ticketed and impounded until after the holiday. What do we have to do to get people to stop drinking and driving? How many of you have to kill or be killed before we put a stop to the stupidity? Please be sensible out there and survive to celebrate next New Year's Eve.

Hope you are all here to read more of my ramblings in the new year. Have a happy and safe New Year's celebration.

nothing much

Christmas week is nearly over and nothing much has happened. And that's the way I like it. Quiet, uneventful and relaxing fits nicely into my concept of seasonal celebration. The best vacations are always those that allow you to return to your regular schedule without feeling exhausted and totally used up. We still have a few days left, but this is shaping up as one of those good vacations.

We started off Christmas Eve with son and daughter-in-law (I love saying daughter-in-law, it sounds so grown up) in attendance here for dinner (cannelloni, remind me to give you the recipe) and later some gift giving. Very low key, but very enjoyable. They gave us an album of their wedding pictures that we have been anxiously anticipating since their August wedding. A perfect gift as far as we are concerned (remind me to tell you about the wedding sometime--it was special).

Christmas day we took off for the cottage in central Wisconsin for a few days away from the routine of home. All we did from Sunday to Thursday was read, watch movies, and deplore the lack of sunshine. Every day was gray and dreary. The temperatures each day were well into the thirties, so all the snow was disappearing like it was Spring already. One good thing about the disappearing snow was that lack of snowmobilers on the lake disturbing the peace with their raucous whining and distructive careening. There were, of course, the usual fish seekers staring numbly into ice holes, hoping that there were fish stupid enough to bite on the out of season worm dangling through the ice. Fishing to me is a mostly mindless or mind numbling activity in the summer time when all you have to battle are sunburn, mosquitoes and biting flies, and the ennui of repetitive casting. On a calm day you can almost hear the fish laughing. So to actually, purposely, set out in the dead of winter, with the wind howling and the cold penetrating to your core, to grind a hole in the ice so you can drop a baited line, hoping to outsmart a brainless fish, while you sit huddled against the cold with your ass frozen to the ice, is the perfect definition of dumb. But to each his own.

Home now, the skies just as gray, the temps as mild, but with the chance to sit at my computer and bore you with my lack of activity. What could be better. I love it. You can stop reading now.

surrounded by idiots

Big mistake. Going out this morning to do some grocery shopping for the holiday weekend. Everyone and all their idiot relatives were in the store at the same time. And they were all in the same aisle. They were all following me. They were all intent on getting in my way. Not one of them had ever used a shopping cart before, judging by the way they ran them up on my heels and parked them 3 abreast in the aisles. And all the world's picky, picky, picky label readers decided today was the day to find all the products with the least partially hydrogenated vegetable oil or the least amount of trans fat or the least amount of sugar, all for the best price per ounce or grams or liter. Of course, many of them had their idiot progeny tagging along. I dearly wanted to run a few of the little buggers down or maybe lick their backsides and stick em on the wall where they wouldn't be in the way. And whose idea was it to let the doors open at the home so that all the little old ladies in their bubushkas and galoshes, pushing their walkers, could clog the self service checkout lanes? The parking lot was as chaotic, or more so, than the store, with those same idiots jockeying for the last spot open closest to the door. It seems that the size of the car is inversely proportional to the size of the driver--the bigger the car, the smaller the driver. I swear that one of those little old ladies was using a periscope to see where she was going. All those cars will need to get their signal lights fixed since they either don't work or only signal the opposite direction from the way the driver is turning. Can someone please tell me where all those cripples are coming from? You know, the ones who are taking all the handicap spaces. I had to park three spots farther away than I should have just because there was a troop of one-legged wheelchair jockeys or something using all my handicap parking. I was so relieve to escape that madhouse that I totally forgot to wish the checkout lady a Merry Christmas. Do you think she'll think less of me for that?

overwhelmed x 2

We spent an unusual Thursday. This being the first day of Mary's Christmas break, we naturally had to do something out of the ordinary Thursday routine. So we headed for the bookstore to look for something to spend her gift certificate on. One of her teacher colleagues gave her a gift certificate as a thank you for her support through a difficult time. Anyway, we spent a good hour in Barnes and Noble browsing around and narrowing down the choices to a few thousand possibilities. Mary asked if there was anything I wanted and I indicated the first 4 rows of books and said I'll start with those and let you know later what else strikes my fancy. I love bookstores, but every time I get into one I get the feeling that all those books are gradually closing in on me preparing to bury me in an avalanche of hard and soft covers and uncountable words. I simply can't make a decision about which book is worth the cost. There are at least a dozen titles bouncing around my brain at any one time. Then when I get into the store I get reminded about all the other books I've meant to read and haven't gotten to yet. Do I start at the bottom of the list and work back or start at the top of the list and work forward? Do I indulge in that great novel or discipline myself by choosing that history book. The possibilities are endless and making a decsiion impossible. So what usually happens? I leave the store with nothing. I get so overwhelmed by the vast array of titles that I need to escape to retain what's left of my sanity. I rationalize my indecision by fondling my precious library card and vowing to visit there real soon.

After the aborted bookstore visit, she had a midday glass of Merlot and I an MGD during our lunch at Champs while we discussed the usual married couple's subject--what's wrong with everyone else. From our perch on the top of the Mount of Perfection we decided the fate of everyone we have ever known. So if you get a lump of coal in your stocking this Christmas, you know who to blame.

Then it was on to phase two of unusual Thursday. Being dues paying members of the Milwaukee Art Museum, we frequently go there for a fix of artistic inspiration. This day we went specifically to see the exhibit "Rembrandt and His Time". Visit www.mam.org for the official description of the exhibit if you want to know about the show. All I can say is that being overwhelmed by such artistic genius is a wonderful way to realize how incompetant my meager artistic efforts are. We spent the better part of two hours indulging our visual sense and intellectual curiousity wandering past one incredible drawing after another. Being able to experience such an awe inspiring display of art is one of the great benefits of living where we do. The chance to be overwhelmed by art anytime we get the urge is something we don't take for granted. We revel in the opportunity and thank the powers that be for making such an indulgence possible.
So comes an end to our unusual Thursday. Twice overwhelmed, we will try to finish the day with no further ado and a return to the normal. Sometimes routine can be a soothing respite from an unusual and overwhelming day.

chores

Today is garbage day. That's not an editorial comment on the way the day progressed, but simply how we designate Tuesdays around here. Our regularly scheduled garbage pickup is Wednesday, so on Tuesday all the trash around the house is collected, bagged, and hauled out to the curbside for the trashman to pick up the next day. But of course, I don't like the look of stuffed black garbage bags sitting in front of my house, so I like to wait until late afternoon, just before dark, to haul it out there. I could wait until after dark to do that, but that seems too furtive just for trash. And I'm really not that anal.

Trash collection may be the highlight of my Tuesdays, but that isn't all that needs to be done around here. Tuesday is also bed linen changing day. And wash the sheets day, too. So add that to the list of chores. The daily routine around here includes a daily vacuuming of the downstairs to keep the dog hair and cat litter under control. Sammy the Jack Russel terrier sheds the equivalent of a small puppy everyday and Smush the cat always forgets to wipe her feet after using her litter box, so there is a trail of whitish specks across the floor. That is, when she deigns to use the box. Sometimes she leaves a turdish deposit next to the box as if to say, "I just couldn't quite bring myself to step into that dirty litter box. Clean it out jerkoff." So I do.

Then there is all the seasonal work that has to be done inside and out. Lawn maintenance at the appropriate time of year and snow removal the rest of the time. Lets not forget daily meal planning and cooking. At least I enjoy that part of the day. With cooking there comes the attendant cleanup chore. Loading that dishwasher is really tough. You have to rinse everything first you know. And, of course, once the dishwasher has exhausted its cycle, the clean dishes have to be put away. Once a week the entire house gets a thorough vacuuming and dusting and the floors get washed. I have to admit that Mary does the dusting most of the time. I know you're wondering about the bathrooms and who cleans those.. That is where I make my stand. A man can only stoop so low and then he reaches his limit. My lowest limit is bathroom cleaning. I figure I do my part keeping it clean jsut by watching my aim.

I would gladly add the laundry chore to my purview, but for some reason I am not to be trusted with that. What's the big deal? The machine does all the real work. It's not like you have to haul the clothes down to the river and beat em on the rocks. Yet, Mary seems to think that only she can properly wash a pair of jeans. I understand there is something about color separating and different fabrics and stuff like that, but I've never been totally clear on the concept. Maybe that's why she usually screeches in horror when I suggest helping with the laundry.

Somehow, in between all the domestic chores, I find time to sneak downstairs into my workshop and scratch the creative itch that plagues me. Sometimes I even take a nap. I fit an excercize routine into the mix as well. Running errands fills some of the time--like trips to the post office and grocery store. Then of course there are the doctor visits and physical therapy sessions that help round out the day. Am I a busy guy or what? And sometimes completing the chore of getting through the day is the greatest accomplishment of all.

domestic god

I'm not ashamed to admit it--today I made fudge. That's right, I said fudge. As in chocolate fudge. With butterscotch flavoring. And walnuts. And currents mixed in. It is delicioously decadent. I can feel my blood sugar rise just talking about it. And I swear I just developed a new cavity in my right side molar. I didn't stop at just fudge either. I was on a roll so I made something called Nutcracker mix. With walnuts and pecans and almonds and peanuts and brown sugar and rosemary and salt and cayenne pepper and just a wee dash of tabasco. My god, the stuff is good enough to eat. And eat some more. And maybe one more helping. Then since I had the oven fired up anyway I went ahead and made some of that old standby, Chex Party Mix. We have enough snack smack in the house now to throw a party. But then again maybe I'll keep it all for myself. Go make your own.

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Christmas appocalypse

I just heard on the radio, tuned to a Christmas music station, a medley of sacred Christmas carols set to a driving disco beat followed by a happy little ditty called "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer". I rest my case.

twas the day before Xmas

Twas the day before Xmas, when all through the mall
the shoppers were hustling, heeding the call
of sale upon sale by merchants galore,
who were trying to entice them into the store.
Last minute shoppers were desperate to buy
anything merchants still had in supply.
Finding a parking space a half mile away,
we forged ahead eagerly and dove into the fray.
"You go to that end and I'll start right here,"
I shouted our plan with bogus good cheer.
"We'll cover all stores and little by little,
having shopped till we dropped, we'll meet in the middle."
So my wife trotted off, both brazen and bold,
her Gucci filled with plastic, both platinum and gold.
My own pockets bulged with my own set of cards,
which the companies sent with kindest regard,
my charging to the limit their insidious goal,
so eventually they'd own me both body and soul.
I checked over my list, so I'd know where to begin,
but its length just added increasing chagrin.
On it were family and friends, both far and near,
all of them worthy at this time of year.
I'll have a gift for each before my shopping ceases,
something for all aunts and uncles, nephews and nieces.
There will be a cell phone for Suzy, an Xbox for Jim,
and an Ipod sized right for wee Tiny Tim.
Liz gets a sweater and a skirt nicely pressed.
If she wears them together she'll be fully dressed.
A knit hat and scarf for my cousin Paul,
new sneakers for Tom, and still that's not all.
For Lynn a neat dolly that cries and then wets,
and Ralph gets new poker chips for when he bets.
A bottle of brandy for old Uncle Fred,
for Aunt Sophie a...oops, cross her off, she's dead.
Grandma will get that nice warm stitched quilt,
and a new Barbie for Ashley (wow, is she built).
For Carrie I'm stumped, don't know what to do,
maybe some cash for another tatoo.
I know just what Jerry would like,
a specially pimped out red mountain bike.
A new calculator for Jon on which he relies
to sort out the figures that dance in his eyes.
For Katie I stopped in an import store,
and got something Asian I know she'll adore.
Some earrings for Mary would be about right,
or a necklace with diamonds, ooh, I just might
max out the Visa if I buy so much bling,
but there's still MC, Discover, and Amex to fling.
By the time I exhausted the names on my list,
I had just enough credit left, so I couldn't resist
that special last gift from me to me,
a giant screen HD plasma tv.
As I finished covering my side of the mall,
I spotted my wife and gave her a call.
But she sat simply staring and at once I saw
that her nerves were all frazzled, stretched thin, and raw.
This last minute shopping had taken its toll,
and though we went forth and achieved our goal,
it was like a descent into Dante's hells
accompanied by a raucoous rendition of Jingle Bells.
We gathered our boxes and bags of gifts
and joined the exodus of the other spendthrifts.
We passed Santa's castle where he sat on his throne,
ho-hoing to kids in groups and alone.
A bit further on we saw him once more,
enticing the unwary into a store.
He must have been cloned, so buyer beware,
jolly St. Nick, the guy's everywhere.
Again on the left with a pudgy hand wave
and a wink of his eye I swear that he gave
a mocking salute to our supposed Xmas spirit.
We hurried along, did not want to hear it.
I thought as I passed I heard him retort,
"See you all next month in bankruptcy court."
We found our way out and as we passed through the door,
he was there again assailing us once more.
With his right hand a bell he was ringing
the sound melding well with the carolers' singing.
Rotund and bedecked in his red and white suit,
with misty eyes and wry smile he noticed our loot.
His gesture was subtle as he blinked at his pot,
all red, it stood empty no coins in the slot.
Guilt overcame me as I set down my load,
my wife doing the same without being told.
We both started fumbling in pocket and purse,
overcome by the plastic credit card curse.
No cash could be found after all we had spent,
neither of us found a single red cent.
Mumbling apologies we slithered away,
there really was nothing we could possibly say.
We loaded the Volvo, filled it up tight,
all the while feeling that something's not right.
We nearly made it out of the lot,
when we both noticed it in a new spot.
Someone installed a brand new machine
that dispenses new bills, all crisp and green.
We jumped from the car, this wouldn't be hard.
Thank God we still had our ATM card.
We maxed the card out and collected the cash,
scurried back to the car and made a mad dash
back to where Santa stood ringing his bell.
By the twinkle in his eye we knew he could tell
that we returned from the end of the lot
to stuff all our cash into his pot.
We drove away happy, but when we got back around
that new ATM was nowhere to be found.
As we passed by the spot where we knew it should be,
only new fallen snow was all we could see.
But we both swear that as we drove past the sight
we heard Santa shout, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all good night."

Tis the season

I was all ready to go on a rant about the corruption of Christmas, how the holiday has been turned into a commercialized greedfest forced on the unwary public, which doesn't know it is being manipulated. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I am ambivalent about the whole thing. I really don't give an elf's ass about Xmas anymore. Notice the use of the abominable abreviation, Xmas, used to secularize the holiday. It's Xmas that is the culprit here, not Christmas.

Christmas at one time was a joyous occasion for me, a really special time when the world seemed a better and more magical place. The carols all seemed fresh each time they were sung, the real tree smelled like pine and each one seemed prettier than the last, all the decorations were about the nativity, and gift giving and getting were too exciting to bear. But over time the carols started sounding overorchestrated, the trees all became artificial, the decorations less manger and more Santa, and gift giving became an obligation rather than a choice. I feel as though Christmas has been kidnapped by Xmas and is being held for ransom.

My attitude now is take it or leave it. Mostly leave it. We've been through the usual holiday hoopla for a lot of years with the kids. But now they are grown and on their own and it seems to be the right time to tone it all down amd relieve the stress of the season. Or perhaps eliminate the stress completely. We've taken a step in that direction by not putting up the usual tree with all the attendant decorations. Instead we have several small trees scattered about the house. It's not that we don't have any of the usual decorations out, we do, but not putting the tree up this year has made a big diffrence in our approach to the holiday. In the past the area beneath the tree would be stuffed with gifts, sometimes embarassingly so. This year it will be much more subdued and, of course, much less expensive. But hopefully the spirit of Christmas, whatever that is, will still be in evidence.

Speaking of expense, it has always amazed me how people will gladly go into enormous debt at Xmas time with little or no regard to how they will pay the bills when they come. They mortgage their future for a display of their supposed generosity, when in fact they are being duped into gift giving by the notion that they will look bad if they don't give more than they can afford. Keeping up with the neighbors is not a healthy financial strategy. The age of plastic money has made spendthrifts of the majority of people at this time of year. I, for one, refuse to be caught up in that wave of needless spending. Firstly, I can't afford it, and secondly, I can't afford it. I'm not a penny pincher by any means, but needessly pitching pennies away is the surest way to penury. And the high you might get from giving too much is quickly brought down with the first deposit of bills in your mailbox. Not to mention that the gifts you gave so generously are now on the return table back at the store. So a closed checkbook and a paucity of credit cards will be my standard this year.

Back to the spirit of Christmas. What is it anyway? It's been so long since I've felt anything other than stress at this time of year that I don't know any more just what I'm supposed to be feeling. Goodwill toward men? Or peace to men of goodwill? Am I supposed to feel like giving more to my fellow travelers through this life, more of my time or more of my meager resources? Should I feel more generous toward others, with both tangible and intangible assets? As Christians we are supposed to be celebrating the birth of Christ, right? So where did that sentiment get waylaid? How did this holyday get changed so radically into the holiday it is now? And if the so-called Christmas spirit is so wonderful and fulfilling why isn't in evidence throughout the rest of the year? Maybe it's just to difficult to maintain such a generosity of spirit without the inspiration given us by the decorative trappings that bombard our senses during this season. So we live our lives of hypocricy and look for redemption at Christmas time.

I have a tough time dealing with that double standard we take for granted. I can appreciate the efforts of people who volunteer their time and efforts at Christmas time; they mean well. But where are they the rest of the year? The less fortunate still need food and shelter and care from January to November. They don't stop eating, or start running naked, or enjoy unremitting good health in all the weeks not involved with this joyous season. Where are all the do-gooders then? Most probably figure that they've fulfilled their obligation to their fellow man for the year by ringing a bell, or donating a used coat and mittens, or by filling a box with canned goods for the food pantry. But you can't be a part time volunteer in the do-gooder crusade and expect full time redemptive benefits. The "feel good" Christmas season has to carry over into the remainder of the year to be validated.

And now there seems to be a raging debate over the political correctness of the usual greetings extended at this time of year. Is it alright to say "Merry Christmas" when greeting someone during this season or is "Happy Holidays" a more acceptable phrase? I think it just depends on whom you are addressing and the situation you find yourself in. I seriously doubt that anyone would intentionally offend someone by using the "wrong" greeting. In commercial situations, like at the shopping center where a diverse population is most likely to be found, the generic "holiday" greeting seems probably the most appropriate. But when you are dealing with someone whom you are reasonably certain shares your approach to Christmas, then a heartfelt "Merry Christmas" seems to be the way to go. As long as the sentiment is well-intentioned, who really cares which phrase you use. We have to be so aware of the political corectness of everything we say and do now no matter where we find ourselves that it is time to lighten up a bit during this celebratory season. If you still don't feel comfortable with either "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays", why not simply wish each other "Peace on Earth". No one can argue with that sentiment regardless of their political, social, religious, or ethnic background.

And so I wish you all (choose one) "Merry Christmas", "Happy Holidays", "Peace." Now and forever.

flying beasts and little people

Another mostly sleepless night had my brain racing over the seasonal hooha that surounds us at this time of year. I got to thinking about all the absurd images that assault our senses in the name of holiday spirit. Where did all this nonsense come from? I realize that Santa Claus is a derivative of Saint Nicholas whose good deeds have been corrupted into a frenzy of merchandising and uninibited greed. Shame on us. But where in the world did those flying reindeer come from? And why do Santa's helpers have to be elves?

First, those reindeer. Didn't you ever wonder what makes them fly? The reindeer themselves look decidedly perplexed by the whole thing, their hooves flailing away seeking purchase on the air. They want only to find some hospitable roof to land on just to put an end to their confusion. And why a roof? Wouldn't it make more sense for them to land on the ground where the possibility of slipping and falling in a tangle of hooves and horns the last few feet to earth wouldn't be so scary? That way the fat guy could just do his breaking and entering through the front door rather than trying to cram his lard ass down a sooty chimney. If it was up to me those reindeer would at least sport wings, like Pegasus, to make their flying more likely. If we do indeed need some arctic animal to pull that sleigh, why not give penguins usable wings for one night. At least they would be more believable, being birds already, as teamsters, if only for the one night's shot at fame. Time to retire those reindeer. Open a north pole petting zoo and let them stay firmly on the ground where they belong.

Now about those elves. What the hell is an elf anyway? And why are they so damned industrious and skilled at making anything and everything that anyone could possibly want? I'm sorry, I just don't buy into the whole elf thing. No way am I going to believe that a bunch of little beings with teeny tiny fingers are willing to bust theirs butts 24/7/365 for no discernable reward. It's slave labor is what it is. Tubby must have some pictures or something of the head elf in a compromising position with one of those reindeer. In this enlightened age of diversity in the workplace it's about time that Santa retired his elfish workforce and spread the jobs around to some of those unemployed workers who can't afford those fancy toys purportedly produced in his sweatshop. Hopefully they will come with a strong union to negotiate time off for the holidays.

Let's see what the lazy fat guy who needs a shave does then. He could outsource his operation to China and join his former employees at the petting zoo where they'll be reaching up to stroke the kneecaps of those retired reindeer.