A Christmas Story

I watched the Jim Carey version of A Christmas Carol the other night. It's a lot scarier than the one with Mr. Magoo. Of course Mr. Magoo was the first one I ever saw and, at 6 years old, it scared me silly.

I remember I was in Arlington, Virginia with my mom, and my sister was having heart surgery at Walter Reed army hospital. My niece, Jeanna and I were left with a Nazi baby sitter that night. Oh yeah, she was all sticky sweet, pony tail, Bobbie sock girl, while my mom and Si (my sister's husband) were there. But as soon as they left for the hospital she started treating us like, well like children. This was something I was not used to. The baby of a large family is always treated as an equal. Better, but equal. I didn't take naps and I was certainly never on a schedule. I was a princess and Jeanna was royalty, being my niece and all, and this sitter was just plain wicked.

After watching the terrifying, yet animated tale, we were promptly sent to bed. We didn't get to discuss our fears or how the story affected us. No prayers or drinks of water, nothing. Just go to bed. But worse yet, she made me sleep in Jeanna's baby bed. I was 6 years old. I couldn't even stretch out my legs. I lay there while Jeanna cried and looked at the bars all around me. It was like prison. Then suddenly I smelled something. I thought, it couldn't be, but it was. The wicked Nazi baby sitter was having POPCORN!

Finally, Mom and Si were home. The sitter talked about what good children we were as she fell all over herself flirting with Si. I hope she had popcorn stuck in her teeth. Mom rolled her eyes at the girl and under her breath said "good Lord" when she saw me in that baby bed.

Later that night Jeanna and I would sleep snug against my mom in her tiny bed, and all was right with the world.

Today I watched Prancer for the first time. It's one of those movies I always intended to watch, but just never found the time. It made me cry. It had all the things that make a great Christmas movie. A small snow covered town, reindeer, a sweet, misunderstood little girl, Sam Elliott...Oh I love Sam Elliott.

I don't know why there aren't any good Christmas movies on television. There are a few newer ones. They're usually an adaptation of some classic, It's A Wonderful Life or Dickens's Christmas Carol, and they all star Tom Arnold or Tori Spelling. And, they are all really bad.

We had open house last week at the bank. Little kids from all over town came to serenade us with Christmas carols like, The First Noel. The words had been changed to The First Snowfall, which has nothing to do with Christmas or Jesus but, was less offensive than the other big number, Joy To The World, My Shopping's Done. Even sadder, I think most of the children don't know the difference. Their parents are too lazy and apathetic to take them to church, so they wouldn't know who Jesus is anyway.

I can't imagine my own childhood without God. I saw him in everything. I prayed whenever I was fearful or anxious, which was a lot for some reason. I can't see how a child survives the day without him. There is so much violence and hatred in this world. Television and video games look so real, who do these kids cry out to when they are afraid?

Tis' the season. The cold and allergy season, that is. And it's one of those especially dry seasons here in West Texas. I feel miserable, congestion, coughing, sneezing, itchy watery eyes. I feel so sorry for myself and then I get to work and find everyone feels as bad or worse. My department sounds like a TB ward.

Yes, it's that time of year when we all walk around in a drug induced stupor. Not the kind of drugs we experimented with in high school. No these are much more expensive, harder to obtain, over the counter cold medications. I am forced to stand in line at the pharmacy and ask for my nonprescription Zyrtec D, show my ID and wait while they check some data base to see when I last purchased it. All this, to make sure I am not cooking meth. I think to myself, I don't even want to cook supper.

I can kind of understand. I must look like an addict, red eyes, chapped lips, reeking of Carmex. And maybe I shouldn't have yelled at the clerk for being out of my favorite nose spray. And maybe I am addicted to Carmex and nose spray. So, send me to rehab....maybe on some beach somewhere....

Just Another Saturday On Crazy Street

I decided I wouldn't put up a Christmas tree this year. In years past, I have worked myself silly decorating, baking, and trying to make the perfect little Christmas home sweet home for the kids, and they never seemed to care one way or another. This year, because of studies and work the kids are not coming home, so I figured it's pointless. We will invade their homes instead.

It's kind of a relief, after trying so hard to make everything the same, when nothing is the same, since Lauren died. I can relax and just see what happens. If Ive learned anything from this, it's you can't buy enough gifts or even drink enough mimosas and eggnog to fill the void left by a child who is no longer with you on Christmas morning.

Anyway, I thought I would decorate a little, you know, just a few things, but no tree. I worked very hard Saturday, had a huge mess, and was not even close to being through when I heard Jon calling for help. He said Mia, our pekingese, was out of the yard and he couldn't catch her. She runs from him because he gives her a bath whenever he can catch her. So I went out and called her and, of course she came running because I'm her momma and she loves me. Then Jon opened the gate to let her in and Darnell ran out, so she took off after him. They ran and ran, and Jon and I ran and ran, while the neighbors laughed and laughed. Almost catching her once, I lunged, lost my balance and fell face first into a pile of leaves. Jon finally caught Darnell and gave him to me. After several more minutes of chasing Mia, I pinned her to the ground while still holding Darnell. After rolling around in all the dead dry grass my chest felt a little funny and it was hard to breath. Walking back to the house Mia was having a little asthma attack and I was very worried about her. I gave her some Benedryl and took a little myself, but I only got worse. I hadn't had an asthma attack in such a long time, I didn't know what was happening, then I thought I was going to die. By that time, there was a football game on television and I had completely lost Jon's attention. He asked if I was alright a time or two, but with his eyes on the TV, he couldn't see my face turning blue as I tried to get enough air in my lungs to say "No, I'm dying!"

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why football should be banned from television.

An Idle Mind In The Wilderness

Jon and I spent the weekend in the mountains at a bed and breakfast. He wanted to take a few pictures and I thought I would enjoy the solitude. I was wrong. Solitude is lonely. It's especially lonely when there is no TV.

The bed and breakfast was a lovely old cabin with a claw foot tub and wood burning stove and, as I said before, no TV. I knew this in advance and thought about taking my guitar, but decided against it. I also thought I might take a book to read, but the one I picked out was a little depressing, so I left it at home.

The woman who owned the place had several jazz and classical Cd's, so that kept me busy for a while. She also had a lot of weird new age music, as well as some kind of tribal stuff. I think this lady was a Buddhist.

I didn't get that from her music or the WWBD bracelet she was wearing. I was looking for a book to read, and she had Louis L'Amour and some horse stories, like Black Beauty, and, oh yeah, Buddha's Little Handbook! I looked around the room and saw several Buddhist books. This woman was a Buddhist Cowgirl!!

I didn't sleep well. I dreamed I was being forced to two step by a short fat man with Dale Evan's face. It was horrible.

The next morning, while strolling through her gardens, I saw many "graven images" of other Gods. I think perhaps, she was one of those people who, ( know that if you could see me right now, I would be making air quotes as I say this ) respects all religions. She even had a wind chime that was a cowboy on a horse and a star of David. He must have been the Frisco Kid. (To understand that last remark, you must have seen, The Frisco Kid, starring Gene Wilder and Harrison Ford, or refer back to my blog on July 11, 2010.)

All in all she was a sweet lady with a lovely B & B, which is for sale, by the way. It would be a good buy for someone looking to get into that business. Just a little sprucing up, maybe an exorcism or two and you would have a nice little place. Oh, and it comes with a horse.

No Tears (or itchy watery eyes) In Heaven

I went to a funeral today. Lisa, my sister's step daughter lost her long, hard fought battle with cancer.

As I sat there listening to the typically Baptist sermon, I started thinking about the flowers. The altar was covered with easel sprays, the kind you only see at funerals and horse races. How is it possible to make something as beautiful as flowers look so depressing?

My first experience with funeral flowers came when I was six and my grandfather died. Whenever I caught an adult crying, they would start telling me about how Grandpa was in heaven with Jesus and the angels. But everyone was terribly sad about it. I was walking around the living room smelling the flowers and suddenly came face to face with my grandpa. That's how I learned the tradition of old East Texas families keeping the body in the home. Chrysanthemums made me feel sad and ill at the same time for years after that.

When Lauren died, our house was so full of flowers I couldn't breath. I also couldn't stand to see them die, but just like all living things, they did.

I was thinking today during that funeral, when I die, I would like people to send balloons instead of flowers. I think they would be a more accurate depiction of the party I will be attending. After the funeral, my loved ones could give some balloons to the children. The rest, they could release and watch them float up to heaven just like my happy soul.

Thank You Rangers

Baseball is the most romantic sport in the world. There are books and movies on the subject. We use it as a metaphor and study it in history. Tell your most loved baseball story and your listener becomes misty eyed, remembering something from their own youth.
There are tall tales( Casey Jones ), ghost stories( Field of Dreams ), and love stories( The Natural ). There are legends and there are myths. I don't care who you are, you know a baseball tale.
Thank you, Texas Rangers for giving me the most fun I've ever had watching baseball. It's been a great season.