A great deal of traffic this week on folks reflecting what the Christmas Season means to them. Heavy emphasis on “memories of past holidays” and how it all seems to stick with them, over the years, and never goes away. This is just that type of story, and at Christmas time in the Heartland.
Joshua one of our grandchildren is thirteen now. I still remember the day I met him, he was a “preemie” came out of the chute weighing less than a five pound bag of sugar. Real small, I had never seen a baby that small before.
But he turned out just fine.
He was a handful, great little kid.
This morning I am thinking of the day I walked into the kitchen, long ago, and there he sat, little red head facing down towards the table, feet just off the floor, and I thought to myself, “They grow up so fast. Soon he will be a teenager and we will not have this time with him.”
Oblivious to just about everything in the room, he was deep into his ritual. He was intently hovering over his piece of yellow paper, the kind with the “big lines” on it and I asked him “Josh, what he are you doing?” and he said, “writing a letter to Santa Claus.”
Carefully, unknown to him, I studied him intently. I watched him labor with “his letters” as he refers to them, working diligently with each stroke, with care, with his big #2 pencil, he put his thoughts down on the paper.
Possibly for the very first time.
So I slowly walked over to the table and I peered down on the sheet of paper, curious to see what it is that he was so diligently working on and I saw: “Dear Santa, I can save you some time this year, please skip my sister.”
So I asked him about that, did he think it was right, did he think it was the “proper thing to do?”
And he didn’t quite have an answer for me.
“Josh, you know about the naughty and nice rule, right?” and he shook his little head and said, “Yes.”
Do you think this fits in that area? Naughty or nice? He thought about it for a minute and then said, “I dunno.”
Then I said to him, “I can get you off the naughty list, but it costs a buck? You got a buck?” and like a rocket, he shot out of the chair, ran into the TV Room and inquired of his dad, “Dad, can I have a dollar?”
Lord help us.
And yes, there isn’t anything better in the world than being a registered Grandfather.
It really aint what you think it is
Two guys in a bus shop are talking,
and he says:
“We can press hard on her rear-end and that should button her up good.”
That one …. And an empty box from Northern Tools
will stop the wife in her tracks for sure.
Two old ladies sitting on a park bench and one says:
“She is Patti’s daughter, she really isn’t all that C-U-T-E.”
Little girl turns around and says:
“Yes. But she is S-M-A-R-T.
Never thought I would say this, but NBC finally got one right.
Tonight they reported that “American’s took to the streets in protest over racial unrest in Ferguson Mo. and around the country.”
They didn’t say “Afro-Americans” they said “Americans”
because if you are from Ferguson or KC you aint Afro anything … You are homegrown bro.
Half of the hill behind your house is now in your living room
your Toyota Prius is buried under 6 ft of rocks and mud
there is nowhere on the street to put the trash can out on Friday
and the man looks straight into the camera and says,
“Don’t worry. This is our fourth time, we will rebuild.”
You just gotta love a Californian.
No post tomorrow, going to the doctor.
One of the things I really enjoy or look forward to this time of the year is Egg Nog.
Super Sweet and Ice Cold as it slowly slinks its way down my throat to my stomach, it often triggers an emotion of … well … it is just good stuff. Being a diabetic I am not allowed this luxury of life, and it is not good for me, which means I have to sneak it in the house in a brown paper bag, and hide it in “MY” refrigerator.
(By the way … Every man should have his own refrigerator, put that on your list for this year)
Unfortunately sometimes in life, we often unknowingly consume things or liquids that are not good for us. Here is an example: It was a bad week to be a manager at Applebee’s in Michigan. The restaurant has apologized for serving a toddler tequila other than apple juice.
His mother said she knew something was amiss when her 15 month old son started saying “Hi and Bye to the walls” and that he eventually laid his head down on the table.
The poor kid was later found to have a blood alcohol level of 0.10 which would make him legally drunk in a lot of states if he were driving.
Applebee’s has promised a full investigation, this should come before the court case and the litigations.
I know this is a serious thing, don’t get me wrong.
Like I said, this time of the year it kind of reminds me of Egg Nog, and my dad, who was an alcoholic. When we were small children, he would make my sister and I “Hot Toddies” (Egg Nog, Jack Daniels, Cinnamon, warmed and served in a small decorative glass) at Christmas time.
We (my sister and I) didn’t know the drinks had booze in them, and they were sweet and tasted simply wonderful. So when this adult role model freely offered us this sweet, warm elixir from the dairy heartland, we lapped it up.
As small dinkers, we just assumed they were “part of the Christmas tradition” in our home. We didn’t know our dad was getting us swacked.
Mom would come home from work and exclaim, “Jeeze Loren, the kids sure seem to be in a good mood?” and he would shrug his shoulders and say something like … “Aw, it’s Christmas, you know how they get.”
Most of my family are now gone and the Holidays often do not represent a happy time for me personally. If your family unit is well and intact, treasure the time you have to spend with them.
As MasterCard is so fond of saying … “That is priceless.”