PulpLit.net

Post of Christmas Past

Now that I am a safe 6 days removed from this year's festivities, I feel my thoughts have collected themselves enough to ruminate on Fiesta Navidad 2003.

For those not in the know, this past year my wife Andrea and I welcomed our first child -- Colin Edward -- into the world. As we looked ahead to the holiday before us we made a conscious decision to compromise our typical holiday travel plans. Rather than drag Colin from relative to relative on the two major holidays celebrated by our family (i.e. Thanksgiving and Christmas) we decided to travel for Turkey Day but stay close to the nest for X-Mas. Humbug spewing hermits we are not, however -- so we gladly threw open the shutters and invited a grand gaggle of grandparentry (and assorted aunt and uncle familiars) to our abode to bathe in the magic of this 'season of getting' -- er, giving...

It sure seemed like one hell of a foolproof plan at the time. But what's that they say about the best laid plans???

Sometimes I think it's easier entertaining for friends than family. When I have friends over -- they typically will help themselves to another beer, glass of wine, Ephedren-laced carb drink, what-have-you without relying upon me to perform waitress duties (aside from the obligatory flashing of my gams). When one encourages guests to help themselves, one is not merely being polite -- one is excusing oneself from the neverending duty of trying to ascertain the precise moment when someone requires thirst-quenching. With family, it's completely different. You are effectively put on notice that you are to be at their beck and call.

"What's that you ask? You would like me to head into the kitchen to top off your Egg Nog Kamikaze shot? You're a big boy. You fought off Kaiser Wilhelm and his legions of Krauts in good ol' WWIV while clambering from foxhole to foxhole carrying a bucket of goo that used to be your best friend's face... I'm fairly certain you can negotiate the 15 feet to the kitchenette and refill that reindeer mug yourself, Your Grace."

Another holiday memory I could do without is the 40-minute diatribe my uncle launched into on 40 Ways to Increase the Size of Your Manhood. This followed his seminar entitled From Cellophane to Stockings: 101 New and Unusual Household Prophylactics. Sure, he deftly tried to wrap this advice up in a "You know, I get the darndest E-mails at work" anecdote... but I saw quite clearly through the ruse. This guy was feeling the waters -- looking to get a group concensus before heading back to his laptop with credit card in hand and dreams of a future Lap Pop dancing in his head. That is one Christmas memory that I would like to go all Gift of the Magi on -- if only I could perform some sort of memory dump and regift the unpleasant visual mosaic right back to him.

But sarcasm aside, it was nice to see the brood and see how it continues to expand. Hey Andi and I have played our part -- having delivered the future Baseball Hall of Fame Piano Playing Poet Laureate (no pressure) to the fam. It should be fun to see how these future years and holidays develop.

And of course, I kid. It was a pleasure having everyone over to the house and it seemed like a good time was had by all. Especially that little moppet who wasn't in the house more than 4 minutes before he single-handedly destroyed a brand new sofa. Hey, anything to get the "FIRST" bragging rights on next year's naughty list, right, kid? One can only hope that the little toy train his Grandmother bequeathed him (toy train, my ass -- it was like a personal Acela) somehow suffered a tragic derailment later that night and was effectively shut-down by the NTSB.

As for the day's gifting, we all made out like bandits, although my dream of the ultimate Christmas present -- the gift of the wacky sitcom neighbor moving in next door -- went unrealized once again. Still, I peer across the fence at Old Man Brown's house and hope against hope for that miraculous "For Sale" sign or early morning ambulance to appear. I mean, Old Man Brown's wacky and all, but more in a "What's with all that nocturnal backyard digging?" way than a lovable Mr. Roper "Bug-Eyed at Every Sexual Quadruple Entendre Reference" way.

In closing, as I stare down a quiet New Year's Eve and reflect upon this past year and all the good tidings that came my way -- most notably in the arrival of Colin -- I can say confidently that it's a pretty damn wonderful life I got going here.

Happy New Year!!!