Lee, Elton, Ethel, and Orson

As the seasonal festive frenzy peaks, I invite you to pause a few moments and enjoy the following bit of holiday cheer:



Happy Merry!

Notes from the Trenches

[One cannot be expected to be productive at the office every day of the year, right? Especially with a company Christmas party coming up. The following is an excerpt from an instant message exchange with co-workers. Light editing was performed to clean up spelling errors and pare down personal details.]

Kim says:
It's tiring being cool and gracious all the time.

Kim says:
So I'm going to pick on Jess at the xmas party tonight.

Kim says:
Make fun of her airline hostess scarf.

Marvin says:
I can see why you might have wanted me to come though... Jess certainly would have dodged a bullet.

Kim says:
Exactly. You're a great punching bag.

Marvin says:
I thought so. Ask J for some salted peanuts and another pillow for me will you? (flight attendant reference)

Kim says:
Will do.

Kim says:
(snip)
Kim says:
Hey there, Marvin says he'd like some salted peanuts and an extra pillow when you've got a minute.

Jessica says:
Oh, hilarious.

Jessica says:
Marvin is only getting a slap in the face when I have a minute

(snip)

Marvin says:
OMG... you started the whole thing!

Jessica has been added to the conversation.

Marvin says:
Kim started the whole thing and prompted me to add something to the conversation. She should get the slap!

Jessica says:
You're both getting slapped

Jessica says:
that way it's even

Kim says:
Hee!

Marvin says:
Given the amount of things about me that I have to be bugged about (pear shape, hair loss, etc...) - don't you think I know to keep my mouth shut? Kim is evil... pure evil.

Kim says:
I never said you were pear shaped!

Jessica says:
Also, that's not even true

Jessica says:
you flap your lip all the time

Kim says:
Also, when I make fun of your hair it's because of its shape.

Kim says:
And yeah! You're a lip flapper!

Jessica says:
pear-shaped?

Marvin says:
No hang on that wasn't an invitation to start bugging me.

Kim says:
His hair you mean?

Jessica says:
yeah, what shape is it?

Kim says:
Sometimes astro boy, but lately it's like a triangle.

Marvin says:
Besides, Jess don't you have to prepare for arrival and crosscheck?

Jessica says:
there you go, flapping your lip again

Kim says:
I want her to point out the emergency exits.

Marvin has left the conversation.

Kim says:
Fine. He's left the conversation. What a wuss.

Jessica says:
I know, can't take the heat

Kim says:
And so he's out of the kitchen!

Jessica says:
sigh, what now?

Kim says:
Meh, I dunno.

Waxing Nostalgic

This candle is a family heirloom. He's been part of my Christmas landscape for as long as I can remember. And although more than thirty years old, Santa is as sprightly as ever.

Look at him: part of his left mitt was chewed off sometime in the late 70s, so he seems to be patting his hair coquettishly rather than waving. His cheeks and mouth are red, his eyelashes long, his wick still erect.

He is one of a set of three: two Santas and a Frosty the Snowman. Mom gave each of my siblings and I one when we moved out. She's funny like that. Every year I get a Christmas decoration in my stocking, be it a plastic penguin on skis, or a glass ornament purchased as part of a community fundraising effort, or a stuffed bear sporting a festive tuque. In the old days, mothers would collect linens for their daughters to prepare them for when they had households of their own. My mother does the same but with ornaments, as though a house is only a home at Christmastime when it contains a porcelain set of St. Nicks from around the world. I don't think any of us will ever burn our bequeathed candles. After seeing them lined up on side tables for a few dozen Decembers, setting fire to Santa and watching him melt would feel like sacrilege.

When I was growing up, my parents only lit candles that went on birthday cakes. Holiday pillars kept their white waxy tips from one year to the next, and this didn't seem unusual to me. My parents are not mood-lighting people. Although never stated, I think they view candle burning as an extravagance, and the flickering light an impediment to properly viewing the contents of their dinner plates. When we were young they probably also worried that one of us would accidentally burn the house down.

A few Christmases ago I took the train for the yearly trip to see my family. I arrived in the evening and mom picked me up at the station. When we got home I opened the front door and was greeted by loud music and a blaze of light. I can't remember whether carols were playing or if dad had simply put on some Dire Straits or Springsteen or Beatles or what. In any case, he was dancing, the tree lights were on along with all the overhead lights and lamps, and every single decorative candle in the room was lit. My sister and brother were already there, enjoying the show.

"He's been into the sauce," said Heather.

Dad looked over at mom and I and froze, making a mock show of fear. "Uh oh, now I'm in for it. Your mother's gonna kill me." Then he resumed his dance, throwing his head back and his arms up in the air.

"I did it, honey! I lit them! I lit them all!"