31 December 2010
348
R. Linda:
Well, now that all is said and done and Christmas is over, we can reflect back on what a disaster it was and cruelly look to next year for redemption, WHICH we know will not come. All season the thought of Christmas had me wishing it was long past and I had psyched meself I would not be enjoying much of it. What with parents staying since October (some things get old-er) and two too many dogs in the house (why we each had to have our own, I've notta clue), living with two wound-up children (why we had to have two of those I don't know either), and being denied by me town a proper road with mail delivery (I just want to shoot meself), I find at times I just want it all to be over!
As far as Christmas goes, I am fed up to the back teeth with how commercial it has become. Everywhere I went there was a Christmas sale which is the equivalent of saying it's a Jesus sale. Think about it. Would you feel more guilty if it were called that? I think we need to change the name to what it is and bag the word 'Christmas'. Oh, and when I was in one particular shop in Boston, they had a shopkeeper's bell, so each time a customer came in the bell would ring. I stood there wondering if each time the thing rang an angel actually got its wings like the little girl told her dad in It's A Wonderful Life. That would be an awful lot of angels if that were true. I counted 148 just within 30 minutes of being inside the shop. SIGH.
I remember me first Christmas in Boston when there was just me! It snowed and I remember having nothing to do, and no friends as I had just arrived and I spent me day looking at reruns of Martha Stewart decorating for Christmas and making all kinds of yummies. Ah to dream of having THAT kind of Christmas one day I thought back then. Well, it still hasn't materialised, no the O'Sullivan family Christmas does not consist of Martha Stewart decor, nor is me house the typical New England Currier and Ives postcard picture, and me Da doesn't sing like Bing Crosby and no cute little Natalie Wood running around declaring Christmas a wonderful holiday. Sigh.
Instead, I became somewhat depressed. No matter what I do, I cannot succeed in that Miracle on 32nd Street, even though I push hard each year to do all that I dreamt of that first Christmas here. It was only last night while I could not sleep all these thoughts pushed together in me meagre brain and I realised I was striving to create a fictional mess of Christmas. Yes, that's me problem. Think about it. I tried vainly one year to get everyone to the fireplace to roast chestnuts. Well, we burnt not only the chestnuts but the tips of our fingers trying to skin them, and three of us ended up in the Emergency with second-degree burns. That's the first and last time I've ever tried THAT.
Then there is the cock and bull story I give me wee kidlets about Santy Claus. Has HE never brought miracles me way or yours? Nah. So I be done with Santy man. Me mind drifted to that wonderfully beautiful Christmas table my old neighbour's wife worked on so diligently last year. She even had the food prepared to a delectable mouthwatering placement between all the pretty Christmas things. Did anyone notice? Did anyone say, "Oh my God Virginia, you outdid Martha Stewart?" No, they hit that table like cattle at a feed trough. And after that, did we all take our cookies and nog to the big parlour where there is a baby grand piano and stand around singing carols? Em, no, and if memory serves we took that lovely decorated dining room food into the kitchen and ate it there, not in the place that was made to look so Christmasy. And why? Because no one wanted to disturb the decor. WHAT? Then why do it?
We didn't go into the big parlour to gather round the piano either, because the fireplace has a tendency to smoke. So we ended up in the cold family room like a bunch of losers talking about nothing with the telly running. Sigh. It is my conclusion whether at home or at someone else's house, we manage to spoil Christmas for ourselves.
At my house when I was growing up me father pretty much spoiled Christmas, and he continues at it each year. Me Mam was the designated shopper for presents and Christmas morning opening our gifts was met with me Da mumbling, "Och, I can't wait to see the credit card bill for THAT one!" Yee-ah bah humbug! And he still does it, did it at my house so I'd get the joy of remembering how it used to be with Christmas at home. Oi!
Add to this, me wee boyos gave Tonya and me a healthy dose of making fun of Mom and Dad kind of humour. One day it is Ton and my hope they have children as delightfully funny as themselves. The Dragon had given Tonya a video camera and as the camera rolled, O'Hare proceeded to imitate his Mam looking for coffee first thing in the morning. It wasn't pretty the stumbling into walls, the bumping into furniture, and the smaller one couldn't be outdone, so he took the starring role of being Mr. Moon. Yes, he'd pull down his nappy and moon us every time that camera was pointed in his direction. We are saving that film for his first serious girlfriend. Yes, we are.
So that's my memory of me wonderful Christmas, present and past. I haven't thought to put in the cat climbing the Christmas tree and knocking it over three times, lights being replaced by a cursing old man and his wife with broom and dust bin mumbling over the mess. Nor, have I said a word about the setter lifting her leg like she's a male on the tree trunk so that in the mornings we'd come down to a terrible smell. Yee-ah. Nor have I said a word about me Mam not wearing her glasses and my glass of eggnog that I had set on the floor so I could get down there and read toy directions, being knocked to the other side of the room and me wearing nog. Or the disappearance of the whoopee cushion Da thinks is such a fun gag to move around to unsuspecting visitors.
:-)~
With all of THIS in mind, I plan on spending New Year's Eve drinking much, and doing little. The next day I should be crawling into the lounge, turning meself into a ball on the sofa, flicking on the telly and watching grown men wearing feathers make fools of themselves or watch an older grown man act the fool in my own living room as he dances around with the fools wearing the feathers on the telly. YUP, can hardly wait for it all to be over. BAH HUMBUG!
Happy New Year!
Gabe
Me Da's New Years Resolution
31 December 2010
349
349
R. Linda:
You're going to love this. Today we were sitting at the table (we have done a lot of that since the old people arrived) enjoying (which is pushing that word) the eternal cup of tea with crumpets. Yes, CRUMPETS. We have downgraded from scones to crumpets! I know you are picturing me dressed as Little Miss Muffet sitting on her tuffet but instead of curds and whey, it's CRUMPETS! Oi!
In this lovely setting me Da pipes up with, "Since I've been living in the New World, I've gained at least 20 stone."
First the New World? How old is this man? I actually glanced out me window to see if the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria were harboured in the stream out back. Sigh. And second, 20 stone? Do you know how huge he'd be if he had packed on 20 stone? He would be sitting in the kitchen by himself! He'd be so big the rest of us couldn't fit in there with him. Gees the man!
And to make this more stupid, me Mam mutters, "Ohhh, my oh my 20 stone!"
Give me a break! The two of them. I decided it was best to ignore this but it wouldn't go away. Next, he is saying he's making a New Year's resolution to go on a diet. But not just any diet, no, no, no, the Irish Potato Diet!
Me wife was under the table laughing because it was just so bizarre. She feigned choking on her CRUMPET and dropping her napkin all at the same time, leaving me to sit there bare-faced trying to look serious. Which was a stretch I can assure you.
I know what you're thinking I can hear you in my brain, "Gabe let him go on it, you'll have to cut a wall out to get him home, and he wouldn't be able to fly, maybe a barge?" I sat there in a stupor thinking about that wall. Then I snapped back to reality.
"Ok, I'll bite, what is this Irish Potato Diet, I never heard of such," I said.
He started folding his napkin and pressing it into a neat oblong as he thought. Then he said with slow deliberation, "Well now, ye eat nuthin' but tattas fer 60 days and ye arrr guaranteed to drop 21 pounds."
"Ohhh my," this from me Mam all impressed she was. This sent Tonya back under the table for that pesky slippery napkin.
"So, let me get this straight, you eat potatoes for 2 months and you lose weight. How does that work? I'd have thought you'd be packing on the pounds, not the other way round there Da."
"Nooo, nooo, it was done. And, ye can drop yer cholesterol by 60 points!" This said with emphasis by hitting his fingertip on the tabletop.
"Indeed," me Mam said all a-wonder.
Indeed, indeed. Then he got all technical on me and I felt like I was back in school and Father Timothy was lecturing me on the bylaws of the Chinese Society for the Suppression of Meddling with other People's Business. Don't even bother to ask.
"Ye see tattas are rich in the nutrients we need to exist they be. There was a study done by some university I tink it was, and they proved this. It werks!" He said looking all astounded himself. "So ye eat only tattas mornin', noon, and night, baked, steamed, whatever ye prefer ya just cut way doon on the butter and cream ya do."
"Really dear, and what do ye use to flavour them spuds?" Mam asked all interested. Bye-bye Tonya back under the table, SIGH.
"Well, I sa'pose ye use herbs and chives, yes that be it, chives and plenty a garlic, some dill, even mint leaves."
MINT LEAVES? I definitely do not want to try those.
"Can ye fry 'em up dear?" His missus (AKA me Mam of which I hate to admit she's mine) asked as I shook me head in complete disbelief we were having such a conversation.
"Uh no, no, ye can't fry 'em," he said sadly, "ya can boil 'em in tatta juice or herbal tea," he said perking up.
YUCK!
"And, if ye leave the skins on ye'll get yersel over 75% of the tatta mineral value."
Now THAT impressed me, Mam. God knows you could get the same 75% mineral value by sipping cod liver oil. Something that to yours truly is more palatable than potato juice. OH MY GOD these people WHO ARE THEY AND HOW IS IT I BE RELATED TO THEM?
"But you can mash them in water right?" This from the sarcastic wife of mine who joined us long enough from underneath the table to throw that out there before she disappeared again, her shoulders shaking from where she was doubled over choking with mirth.
"Oh yes, there be that too," Da said thinking that a truly wonderful idea.
It almost sounded like he'd been condemned to life in prison the way he was trying to find something appealing about this resolution of his. I for one, be taken aback entirely and about to become a hobo because really, this has got to stop. They are driving me over the edge and the thing is they are serious about all this STUFF and here I am, thinking I lost me mind and am somehow dreaming I am having tea with the Mad Hatter and company. Oh, woe is me. Me New Year's resolution will to be make meself SCARCE.
Gabe
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