Christmas Eve Eve and a Family Scandal??

Me:  

For Christmas morning, I'm going to make Eggs Benedict, and I'm going to serve them on hubcaps from a 1962 Ford.

Pam:  ??

Me: Because there’s no plate like chrome for the Hollandaise.

Pam: Geez...

And with that stellar exchange of deep thoughts, Christmas Eve Eve is off to a roaring start. At this hour I am still awaiting my marching orders from Pam. In between my assignments, I will begin the process of wading through the “simple step by step instructions for uploading your manuscript to Kindle/Amazon for self publication.” I am skeptical that anything involving the word uploading will be “simple.” I also doubt my ability to get this done without assistance from either my wife or one of my savvy adult children. But, my wife will be otherwise engaged and my adult children haven’t arrived yet, so my goal of having Saving Jack self published and for sale by Christmas looks like a lost cause.

So, my son-in-law is up in Maryland visiting his family. Somehow, among all the activities, he has managed to find this...

This is a Census for Buckingham County from 1930, the year that my mother was born. She had not yer arrived apparently since her name does not appear. Neither had my Uncle Jim. But everyone else was there...Granddaddy, Grandma, Auntie Ruth, John, Harry and Lloyd. Then, a mystery. Carrington Ewers, who is listed as “brother-in-law” must have been living with them. He was Grandma’s brother, I assume. I wonder what the story was? Why was he living with his sister and her family in 1930? I publish this in hopes that one of my cousins up in Buckingham and Nelson County will have the back story. Without any hard facts, I am capable of spinning a fantastic tale to explain his presence there, and while a writer should never let facts get in the way of a good story, I feel an obligation to do so in this case because...well...family.

     

The Twelve Ways of Christmas

Once again, it was my intention this morning to write a piece about the impeachment thing, but once again I just don’t have the stomach for it. I figure that being so close to Christmas, it’s not the time for political spleen-venting or spleen-venting of any kind for that matter. Eventually, I will get around to Trump’s impeachment. Although when I do I’m not sure I will be able to improve on this little thing that my daughter sent me yesterday:

No, this morning I will share with all of you 12 secrets of my family’s Christmas history. What follows won’t be particularly compelling to most of you because they are mostly inside jokes. But, every family has them. There are things that happen every year when the gang gets together for Christmas that are unique to your family’s style. Well, these are ours. All I ask is that you not judge us too harshly.

The Twelve Ways of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me...an 8x10 photo of Bo Diddley, suitable for framing? YES!

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me...a live performance of Ahab the Arab, Sheik of the Burning Sands.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me...three glass tea pitchers for Nanny, all of which she claims to need!

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...an electric coat hanger, with charger, from Uncle Bill.

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...FIVE POUND CAKES.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...Aunt Linda giving the “destructions”

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me...a seven hour present opening session.

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...about hour four of presents, Ruaridh asking “Why did I have to marry into a dry family??

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...a juvenile prank involving either fart noises, bugs or air horns pulled off by one of the children with absolutely NO HELP from me.

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...Uncle Ron dozing off...while opening his own presents.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me...Me singing “Jolly Old St. Nicholas” in a terrible French accent.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...Aunt Paula making twelve vows to make changes in the present unwrapping NEXT YEAR.

Urine Luck

No, this is not some clever metaphor for what happened yesterday on the floor of the House of Representatives. This is the future of the commode, a smart toilet, developed by two scientists at the University of Wisconsin. I was all set to write a piece about impeachment this morning. Watching Nancy Pelosi, dressed in mourning black reciting the Pledge of Allegiance was a stunning visual image. Discovering her new-found devotion to the United States Constitution took the concept of stunning to a whole new level. But when I saw this headline—Smart Toilet May Pose Privacy Risk—impeachment will just have to wait.

So, these two scientist have come up with a revolutionary crapper called the smart toilet. They hope it will make a splash with consumers and usher in a new era of personalized medicine. Among its many advantages are its ability to closely monitor your health and check for early signs of diseases like cancer and diabetes.

It is fitted with a camera that takes pictures of your waste, analyzes it and comes back flush with information about everything from what you had for dinner to what medications you are taking and even how well you slept last night. 

With this toilet, users can preemptively detect urinary tract infections, kidney disease, diabetes and other metabolic disorders, before they show symptoms. According to the scientists, frequent samples from a smart toilet could also help monitor how prescription or over-the-counter drugs are being metabolized, and allow users to adjust their dosage as needed.

But, with all this helpful data comes the possibility of it falling into the wrong hands. Suppose an employer uses it to secretly delve into an employee’s drug habits? Would this be a violation of privacy rights, not to mention, kind of gross. And what of the mountains of video of personal waste that this thing would produce and store? Could it be used to blackmail its user? “Whoa there, big guy. Probably shouldn’t have had that second burrito last night, eh?”

Of course, another barrier to wide spread acceptance of smart toilet technology is the cost. Current technology can’t build these toilets for less than $10,000, making it out of reach for all but the number two of the 1%. But considering the health benefits not only of early detection of disease, but the ability to more closely monitor day to day developments of your health, the future of these devices looks bright. I think I smell a government subsidy in the wind.

That’s where marketing comes in. There are many headwinds that must be overcome when selling toilets. But many of them can be solved with a catchy name for this new device. The Japanese already have a smart toilet, although not as advanced. They call theirs the Flowsky. Not bad. But I know we can do better. I mean we have Madison Avenue. Here are just a few candidates I came up with just this morning while using my very dumb toilet...

The Pee-Gazer 2000

The Loo Lab

The Shitbit

Urine Luck

Disturbing Christmas Math

Yesterday, we finally nailed down (sorta) our Christmas Day plans. It would appear that we will be hosting Pam’s family here at our house. At this hour we still have not decided on a precise timeline for the meal, but the details that are clear present some troubling mathematics. There are three particular numbers that give me pause, 18, 7, and 3.

18. This represents the number of human beings that will be in my house for the day. Luckily for me, I love all of them. They are generally well-mannered, well-spoken, and they all bathe regularly. It will be as agreeable a group of family members to be trapped inside with for four-five hours that one could possibly ask for. 

7. This is the number of fully decorated and lit Christmas trees that will be competing for space with the aforementioned 18 humans. Long time readers of this space are familiar with my wife’s Christmas Tree obsession. They are all lovely, each with a different theme, each designed to make a different statement. They are placed strategically throughout the house in every available nook and cranny. All of this is well and good. Far be it from me to put a damper on my wife’s Christmas spirit. Heaven knows we need more, not less, of it...but our house is not what one would call, overly spacious. It has 2600 square feet, I’m told. Although if you subtract the space gobbled up by the 7 trees and the 18 humans, it feels much more like a 600 square foot bungalow. Which brings me to our third number...

3. This will be the number of Golden Retrievers that will competing with the 7 trees and 18 humans for floor space and attention on Christmas Day. Each of them are beautiful, adorable and loved by one and all. But each of them brings their own, er, uh...challenges.

Lucy, is the elder statesmen of the group, and if you can believe it, the most well-behaved and rational of the bunch. This picture was taken as I was having a talk with her, warning her about the coming chaos. I’m aware that this will be hard for many of you too believe, since her many neurosis are well known to readers of The Tempest. But, as crazy as it sounds, she will be the voice of reason in the dog hierarchy on Christmas Day. (God Help Us)

Jackson. Then there’s this guy, the Great White Dope, the galloping galoot, the 95 pound canine freight train. Jackie-Jack is the sweetest boy you’ve ever seen, but has never exactly played with a full deck, he’s not what you would call a Rhodes Scholar. He is covetous of our attention and thinks it his responsibility to warn all of us of every chirping bird, falling leaf, or odd cloud formation lurking outside with a full-throated bark. Most trips, Pam tapes paper on the windows on the sides of the front doors to block his view of the terrors outside, but this is only partially effective since Jackson has a vivid enough imagination that he doesn’t require visual evidence of his prey to belt out a warning bark. Also, Jackson can sometimes be jealous of the newest Pup in the family...

Frisco. The newest member of the family is this gorgeous good boy. Unfortunately, in keeping with family tradition, Frisco brings his own mental issues to the table. Of late he has discovered his reflection in his water bowl, which causes him a great deal of angst and produces much barking. Also, alert readers will notice that in this particular photograph, Frisco seems quite concerned about something, distraught, in fact. Yes, that would be his profound suspicions about his very first ever...Christmas tree. Obviously, this has the potential to be problematic when he gets to our house for the first time and is introduced to 7 of the monsters.

So, while each of these three numbers are perfectly fine in isolation, and although each of these three numbers are even desirable on their own, the pending combination of these three numbers has the potential for chaos. At the very least, this volatile combination of numbers could produce enough material for a month’s worth of blogposts. For that I suppose I should be grateful.

Pray for us.

Elf on the Shelf. Sigh...

Ok, I should probably begin this blog with a disclaimer, an airing of my biases on the matter of the plague that is presently sweeping the nation called...The Elf on the Shelf. Set aside for a moment the authoritarian, nanny state implications of a stuffed elf who spies on you 24/7. Set aside the entirely new edifice of parental lying that must be built to sustain the con. Set aside the therapy that your child will  no doubt need after waking up one morning to discover this...

Having said all of this, I must confess that I am so angry that this wasn’t a thing 25 years ago when I had two small pups in the house. I would have had a field day with this thing! I bring all of this up because I have a really crazy friend down in North Carolina who is rapidly becoming something of an Elf on the Shelf legend. For several years now, her co-workers at the North Carolina Department of Revenue have entered the building every day in December with fear and trembling, wondering where the little bastard is going to turn up...

See, this particular Elf on the Shelf doesn’t teach warm and fuzzy life lessons. He doesn’t promote good tidings of great joy. No, this Elf seems intent on violating all Ten Commandments, like the time he got caught hooking up...

Cross dressing, and public defecation...

But, this morning was perhaps his finest moment. Sure, I know what’s going on here. He probably set the whole thing up to gain public sympathy. He’s probably hoping that we will all be so worried about his well being that we will forget all the havoc he has spread for the past two years...

But, I have to hand it to him. This is epic!!!

Did I mention that my friend who is responsible for all of this works at the North Carolina Department of Revenue? Yeah, think about that for a minute, let that sink in...

An Afternoon at Hope Thrift

Today is the second Saturday of the month. That means it’s our day to work at Hope Thrift. Of course, not counting today, there are only 11 days until Christmas Day, making this particular Saturday the worst possible day to be spending half of it doing anything other than Christmas stuff. But, a deal is a deal. We committed to work at the store on the second Saturday of every month. Period. So off we go.

The people we volunteer with are great people. I divide them by whether or not they are front peeps or back room peeps. The difference is profound. My wife is definitely a front peep. You will find her behind the cash register with Lynn Hewette. Today they will both be decked out in some ridiculous looking Christmas getup, both looking adorable. That’s a key characteristic of front peeps, they tend to be  more—how shall I say?—aesthetically pleasing than we back room peeps. It’s not an intentional thing on the part of our managers, I’m sure. Robin, Renee, and Jennifer are all three wonderful folks and clearly in the front peeps camp. It’s just that if you spend enough time in the back room, or out at the dumpster, or unloading people’s cars for more than thirty minutes, you might have been a front peeps candidate when you arrived, but now you’re a back room peep all the way.

Usually on my shift I work with Christy and Brenda, two veterans of the back room. Christy can usually be found over at the toy counter, elbows deep in an assortment of puzzles, Power Rangers, and stuffed animals. Brenda is always tethered to the incoming clothes counter trying to decide if the mountains of clothes that get dumped at her feet every Saturday are suitable for resale or destined for the dumpster. She goes about this mundane task with what seems almost...pathological cheerfulness. When I arrive I am usually assigned book duty, that dreadful task of essentially throwing away 25 year old paperback classics like The Hardy Boys Meet Nancy Drew on Brokeback Mountain. Then there are always the hardback coffee table books which people have convinced themselves someone alive in 2019 would want to buy and place on their coffee tables. The 100 Best Selling Hats of 1957. The Encyclopedia of Cross-stitch. Everything You Need To Know About Origami. Once I manage to break away from that drudgery, I usually wind up at the dumpster taking out my frustrations by throwing glasses and plates. 

Eventually, I end up roaming around the place looking for Dave. He’s the main guy in charge of heavy lifting. He also knows where every single thing is, knows where everything goes, and knows all the lyrics to every 70’s and 80’s tune that plays over the sound system. In other words, he is clearly the most essential volunteer at Hope Thrift. Whenever I get stuck and yell out, “Dave, what band is this??”, Dave can be counted on to provide the answer, “Come on dude, that’s Cheap Trick from 1977.”

The best part of a day at the store is the end when the front door gets locked, all the customers are gone, and the manager on duty gathers all of the volunteers together for a quick prayer before we leave. When its Renee, she looks exhausted. That’s because she actually runs the store. She’s the first one there, the last to leave. When we all arrive in the circle she asks, “Alright, is this everyone? We lose anybody?” It’s not a rhetorical question. The pace of work at Hope Thrift can be frenetic to the point where the thought that someone might be passed out under a pile of cardboard boxes a real possibility! Once everyone is present and accounted for, someone leads us in prayer. We are thankful that we have this store. We are thankful that we get to work here. We are thankful that we get to serve in this ministry. If you’re reading this and a member of Hope, you should volunteer. You don’t know what you’re missing.

Waiting For a Reaction

My courageous friend had an excellent day yesterday. She went for her second to last chemo treatment and her platelet count had gone way up (a very good thing) and the attending physician said he couldn’t even feel the tumor. She was so excited and felt that rarest of emotions when battling cancer...encouraged. So to celebrate her good spirits I felt I really needed to up my Joke Game this morning. It helped that I woke up at 4:30 since that gave me extra time to search even the most remote and obscure corners of the inter-webs for material. Here’s what I found:

An old married couple are in church one Sunday… when the woman turns to her husband and says, “I’ve just let out a really long, silent fart. What should I do?”

Her husband turns to her and says, “replace the batteries in your hearing aid.”

 A wife sent her husband a romantic text message… She wrote: “If you are sleeping, send me your dreams. If you are laughing, send me your smile. If you are eating, send me a bite. If you are drinking, send me a sip. If you are crying, send me your tears. I love you.”

Her husband texted back: “I’m on the toilet. Please advise.”

What’s the difference between a Mercedes Benz and a porcupine?

The porcupine has pricks on the outside.

I posted them at precisely 5:27 am. Usually she’s already up by then. So far, there has been deathly silence. Either she is sound asleep or so overcome with delirious laughter she can’t steady herself enough to type. Of course, there is a third possibility. She may have read these three jokes and been so embarrassed and underwhelmed that she dozed back off again. Thus is the tenuous nature of comedy. So, here I sit waiting for her verdict. I’m thinking that the silent fart joke deserves at least one laughing face emoji, perhaps two. The romantic text from the toilet is golden so if it doesn’t get three laughing face emojis, I’m going to feel insulted. The Mercedes joke will probably get an eye roll emoji, but it was the weakest of the three. I can deal with that.

Sure, my friend is dealing with cancer. But this is no picnic for me either!!