Posts Tagged ‘christmas’

This year's haul was an odd one, for several reasons.

Absolutely nothing required assembly or sneaking around, so for the first time in nearly three decades I didn't have to stay up late on Christmas Eve (although I did anyway).

Most everyone in the family knew what they were getting, with a few surprises.

There weren't quite enough surprises, as the Bon Jovi-related merchandise I got for Teres from her list of stuff still to get turned out to be the same stuff she had in fact already ordered for herself. Fortunately I also found her one of the "Have a Nice Day" smirk necklaces. The hard case we got for James turned out to be too small for his bass despite our careful measuring. Still, everyone seemed pleased.

I received:

- A safety razor, holder, blades, beaver hair brush and soap dish (all of which I had asked for, as I plan to start wet shaving with a safety razor to save money and, one hopes, get a better shave).
- "Vanilla Ride" by Joe R. Lansdale (the latest in his Hap and Leonard series, from my housemate, marking the 1st time in many years someone has managed to surprise me with a book I didn't know existed but would immediately have bought myself if I had).
- A carved walking stick (from Teres, so I'd have something unexpected, which it was).
The Incredible Hulk TV series Ultimate Collection (from my son James, who decided my DVD shelf wasn't cheesy enough).- A signed autograph of Walter Cronkite (from my son Tony, because he knew I didn't have one and the likelihood of me getting one seemed bleak).
- Money (from mom, who knows what I like) (Also she gave me fudge)
- The Regular Expressions Cookbook (an unexpected gift from my friend Shmuel, who has answered several panicky instant-messaged regular expressions questions from me in the past and apparently decided to head the next one off) (not pictured; it's at my work desk already).

And some of the money that would have gone into prezzies for me instead was diverted towards the Guilt Camera Teresa bought me (not pictured, cuz it was busy picturing).

All in all, a good haul and a great Christmas. My son Tony was here with his girlfriend Laura, my bro-in-law Rodger came over, and we opened prezzies, went to see "Sherlock Holmes" (quick review: not a great movie or a real cinematic gamechanger, but an awful lot of fun to watch if you can get past the idea of Holmes having any sort of romance) and came back to play "ImagineIf" for hours with lots of uproarious laughing and good natured personal abuse.

Hope yours went as well. Happy holidays, folks.

Drive down our street and you'll see decorations galore. Strings of lights, intricate creations of wire and tinsel, huge inflatable Santas and reindeer and Snoopys and rotating snow globes.

Except for our house, where it remains resolutely dark.

Not out of any dislike of the holidays, really. We like seeing everybody else's decorations. We just don't get that motivated to do it ourselves. We have a Charlie Brown tree we stick on a table and that's about it.

Now Halloween decorations are a different thing entirely. We have an extremely unsettling fake rubber bat that's been hanging in a tree by our front door for about six years now, perfect for freaking out pizza delivery guys and hopeful religious visitors. True Halloween decorations should not look like decorations. No "Happy Halloween" or cartoon-eyed skeletons for us. Why put up plastic pumpkins when a few heaps of real bones saved from a month of dinners by the front door can be much more disturbing?

Basically, our goal is to become "The Old Bridges Place," the house in the neighborhood the kids dare each other to approach. Festive holiday cheer, no. Terrifying home decor, yes.

Ho ho ho.

I love this specific time of year. 2 o'clock in the morning, Christmas day. This is when things happen.

This is the magic time when bikes get assembled, game systems get quietly hooked up, surprise presents make their appearance from carefully concealed locations, and a few cookies get eaten.

Everyone in the house is asleep. I feel like I should be doing something. Finished up a last-minute gift for Teres she's not expecting, but it's not a big deal (new homemade bumper stickers to replace the ones she's worn out, a match set of "I LOVE BON JOVI" and 'AND MY HUBBY TOO, PROBABLY"). I'm used to extravagant surprises. Our Christmas mornings used to involve a fair amount of showmanship.

One morning many years back, my oldest (only, at the time) son woke abruptly at six in the morning to see Santa Claus, white beard,, red suit, hat and all, leaning over him. Santa told him "Merry Christmas, Tony," smiled, and ran for it. By the time he struggled out of his carefully-tucked-in sheets and came after me, I was in my own bed, unKringled and snoring better than Gielgud. The rest of the day his presents were almost untouched; he was still raving about his visitor.

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