Christmas time is here . . .

Explain to me why normally sane people do this to themselves?

Not content to give the ones you love something nice for Christmas, we beat ourselves into a froth trying to find Nirvana - the PERFECT Christmas gift ! (note the nice mixture of religious traditions there - and you thought I was dumb!)

Endless pacing down miles and miles of store aisles searching through "nice but not good enough" items that on any other day would have been delightful offerings to the people who mean the most to us.

But face it. You cannot personally stand to think that the beat in your heart, the twinkle in your eye and the very breath in your lungs will be stilled by the dreaded words 'What's this for?'.

As if those aren't bad enough, the sequel is even worse . . . 'I already have one of these. I bought it LAST WEEK.'

Clairvoyance should be offered with the candy canes this holiday season.

That, or a family sized bottle of 'Milk of Amnesia' that renders stupid remarks like that inert.

I was once given a sweater that for the life of me I would never have bought for myself, my personal love affair for Holsteins notwithstanding. Everyone was poised on 'go' to see my reaction for their gag gift.

Frankly, it was hilarity! That they remembered my passion for all things bovine with such a truly tacky sweater made it beautiful that day.

I loved the look on one lady's face at church. You do know you HAVE to wear you new clothes to church, right? (where were you raised? did wolves handle the job? PUT ON THOSE CLOTHES!)

So, this sweater, paired up with a smart and classy black skirt looked pretty good to the cow eyes in the room. I had on my cowboy boots too, so I was good to go.

I loved it so much, that I wore the sweater until it rotted. And I was sad to see it go. It had become a symbol of what Christmas is all about - giving someone a GIFT OF LOVE, not perfection.

Remember the story of the Littlest Angel . . .?

He was certainly no angel in the interpretation of impatient hosts of heaven. But he was most certainly an angel of great magnitude and generosity in the sight of God. And why? Because this little angel totally grasped the concept that when we give something with all of the love in our heart, whatever we have given is rendered beautiful and perfection becomes the gift that comes in due time as our memories recall the love that has been extended to us in the gift itself and from the giver.

So, I would like to offer a remedy that falls somewhere between the two extremes of beginning Christmas shopping before the paper from this year's gifts hits the floor and doing it all at the Wavaho Truck Stop and Gas Plaza in 5 minutes on Christmas Eve. . .


Shop for what LOVE leads you to instead of commercialism, fear and panic.

It just might make it the best Christmas ever!

Anonymity, a bargain at twice the price

Anonymity.

Blogs, boards and call-in radio depend on it.

No one willingly puts their real name out there for fear of identity theft.

In my case, it isn't theft I am concerned about. It's laughter.

Few people know that this is "me" on this page. Fewer still care.

But that isn't the point.

REALLY. As a society and as individuals, we have become WAY too comfortable with the idea that we can hide behind our online lives.

Because we HAVE become comfortable with our electronic communication, that face to face stuff has suffered. The ad on tv where the family all emails and text messages each other for dinner time used to be funny.

It isn't anymore.

I actually emailed a picture to my hubby who was 5 feet away from me with his laptop whirring away.

Nothing remotely anonymous about it, but there I was flinging this photograph OF OUR SON, no less, to him as he sat there absorbed in whatever he was doing.

When did this descent into madness happen?

Then, there are the public manners, private behavior issues that the internet and all of the digital friends it has bring into our lives.

We would never think of walking up to someone and spitting directly into their face while we looked at them.

So, how did we get an easy familiarity with doing it online?

I have to believe that it all comes down to that secrecy that we stupidly believe we have when we are online. We are about as invisible as a 3 year old who covers THEIR eyes and says "You can't see me!"

I can become anonymous by simply closing my blinds and picking up a book. I can be anonymous by letting the dude in traffic get in the line in front of me instead of showing him my skills in finger gestures. I can be anonymous by just letting go of the disconnected part of my life that is the digital divide.

My only concern is how long it will take me to do ANY of the above . . .

The Devil made me do it

You know you have done it.

So don't EVEN try to deny it.

Even you 'holy' people out there on the front row. Sanctimonious piety will not help you now.

You provoke someone just to see how they will react. And then you poke at them just enough to keep them stirred up.

Well, today has been one of those days.

The 64 dollar question for today is:
How creative can you be in helping someone come up with ideas to keep their "holiday guest" busy, whom they really do not want to spend time with, but whom they are COMPELLED by circumstance to have to entertain or be considered a 'Scrooge'?

Or, at least, more of a Scrooge than you and they already unashamedly are.

First, you check the community calendar. . .of every single community within a days' driving distance.

And a few that are outside that limit.

And you pray that there is ANYTHING that you can take in that will fill the time that you are compelled to spend with someone with whom you have absolutely nothing in common. There is only so much smiling and nodding you can do without your lips sticking to your dry teeth and your neck going out of joint.

But worse yet, you plan ways to "ditch" them and not make it seem totally and transparently obvious to even the most dull witted kindergartner.

Does the police station still take in strays? Will anyone notice if you come home WITHOUT them? If you prop up the pillows in the bed just right, will everyone else assume they are STILL napping?

Then, because you are so full of it, flush with the plans you have in mind, you look for ways to twist the knife in online forums, chat rooms and blogs. Simply because shooting holes in the overinflated egos of people who are the 'deciders' of public policy is dang good fun. KA-POW!!

Finally, exhaustion sets in and the fun and games must come to an end.

There are no more pins left to burst the bubbles of insanity carried aloft by other people's expectations. And, frankly, you have no more strength left to pop the bubbles anyway. Whew!

You lull yourself to sleep thinking about how an allegedly mature adult can allow themselves to run so thoroughly amok and still sleep well at night. . . the answer for all of those who are just now catching up is simple.

With a SMILE.

Nyquil and Yahtzee

I own a handheld Yahtzee game.

Normally, I consider it an amusing diversion for one or two rounds. But, when compelled, I have been forced to admit that I have played for several rounds before realizing that today is NOT the day in which I will beat my high score of 561.

Don't laugh. Yours isn't much better.

Sadly, I have a confession to make.

After repeated doses (at the appropriate time distance) of Nyquil, I can't put the stupid game down.

No matter that my score hasn't ever even broken 300, I am thoroughly convinced in my night-night cold medicine fog that this will be the one, the game in which I will break the bank and roll and electronically simulated perfect game.

I can't stop.

I want to. My eyes twitch from the repetive cycle of watching the spots appear and disappear in rapid succession from the little dice shapes on the readout panel of the game.

But I can't stop.

This might be the winning hand.

Finally compelled only by dizziness to put the stupid thing down, I leave somehow faintly depressed that I couldn't manage to top my old score.

Deep down I am convinced that I HAVE indeed beaten the score and that the game is lying to me with Nyquil breath and an evil laugh.

I re-read the label. 10% alcohol by volume. Does this mean per dose or for the whole container? And will I spontaneously burst into flames when I tuck in under my electric blanket?

Do my eyes resemble nothing more than Ned the Wino's after a weekend spent on a bottle of ripple?

And what is that annoying beating noise?

Oh, wait. Scratch that last one. That would be my heartbeat which I can actually hear along with the ringing in my ears.

Someone, anyone, please help me find my bed.