19th Hole and 20 Questions

Today my family attended a funeral.  A family friend of ours lost a battle with cancer.  My brother and I grew up with the kids while our parents bonded over tales of swim team at the 19th hole.  Ross was an incredible guy so it wasn't surprising when we showed up to the viewing and the line stretched out rooms and down hallways.  There we stood trying to identify people our family knew from decades past.  Most of these individuals were my parents' age and didn't recognize my brother or I in our adulthood.  In our boredom of waiting to pay our condolences, my mother and I began to identify the bad face lifts and my brother began a game of 20 questions.  In grief, you look for distractions or humor or both.  One of our funniest moments is when a family friend stopped my brother to ask who the "lovely lady" was with him.  As he turned shades of crimson, my brother flatly remarked, "my sister."  Ooh, yeah, what a great date idea!  A viewing!

Holiday Spirit

Yesterday my Mom and I ran last minute errands for Christmas and stopped to have lunch.  We talked about what gifts we still need to pick up, whos making what for which party, which dog is the culprit for eating the christmas lights off the tree (whole bulb and wires inluded), and what the wrapping status was on the presents.

Apparently the other night my parents were drinking their festive boxed wine and while my mother was choosing gift wrap, my father was stewing.  The more tipsy they became the worse things got (no surprise here.)  She was hoping that she actually gave the right present to the right recipient and actually as the night wore on she finally gave up on even signing their names, but resorted to their initials.  While I snickered at this one imagining my cute female cousin opening up my brothers boxers, I didn't realize this was the best part.

My Dad was stewing (we like to call him Chuckles).  Chuckles was downing the elegant chablis wine getting more and more upset about the neighbors.  They went out of town for the holiday and in the meantime all the flowers/plants/gifts have been arriving at my parent's.  The neighbor does not like the dogs barking and my father takes it personally although will not do anything to actively stop the noise.  It got to the point where my Dad marched over in the night (or stumbled as the case may be) to take the delievery notices off the door and proceeded to unwrap the gifts at his house.  Once my mother realized what was happening she scolded him and took the delievery notices back to their house and put it in their mailbox (no way to get them back) and attempted to put the bows back on things. 

Ah, can you feel the love?

The Perfect Gift

Have you ever found the perfect gift for someone?  You know, the experience where you cannot wait to give them the gift?  You start dancing around like you need to pee as they are attempting to untie the ribbon and you are thinking, "Just cut the damn thing because you are taking too long!"  I found that gift.

One of my dearest friends has a passion for single malt scotch and women who drive stick shifts (how he and his wife now have automatics in their garage is beyond me.)  Every quarter or so he dresses up in his kilt, shows educational videos on the different regions of Scotland, and cons our graphic designer from work to be the pourer for a high end Scotch for a fun fun tasting among friends. 

When I first found the dessert plates with different old (perhaps made up) labels of Scotch on the faces, I knew I found THE gift.  However, the pragmatic side of me left them at the store somehow convinced that I could find an equally wonderful gift without breaking the bank. 

This is when my logic side is damned because I wandered the city for the next few weeks finding nothing that would compare and kept dwelling on why I didn't follow my gut in the first place and buy the plates to begin with!!!  I went back and got the plates.

When he opened them this week I was estatic.  He loved them.  He had never seen them.  He had them on display in his office (not really acceptable in Mormon Utah to have ceramics tooting the wonderfulness of liquor in the office).  However, he could get away with it as he is the chaplain who is known for his off colored remarks and jovial passion about spirits made from peet.

The next day he came in letting me know that he thought the plates were too special to serve any food off of them.  He was going to make a shelf and have them on display.  I assumed this was at his house near his Scotch shrine, however I wouldn't be surprised if I found the plates between the life sized print of Rembrant's "Prodigal Son," and the photo of him with the Dali Lama in his office.

Postal Pressure

Its the time of year that friends and family send their yearly tidings of joy via Mr. Postman complete with a stamp that has some trendy artistic rendition of the season.  My first card arrived yesterday.  Its actually one of the cards I really look forward to every year.  This family is just plain classy.  Simple black and white photographs and a printed message on thick paper and pretty ribbon.  I actually save this card every year and have a small collection of them in a box downstairs. 

I find that people send a variety of cards:   There are the ones from your insurance agent who you don't know from Adam.  The cards that seem cheap and rushed through.  The family picture postcard (usually from my milkman inspiring guilt for me to leave a big holiday tip so he can feed all of the starving children his wife pumped out standing by the milk truck).  The cards from your girlfriends who also scrawl their new boyfriend's name at the bottom, however you've never met the guy and seriously doubt he truly wants to send you "season's greetings with love."  And then their are those who really come heart felt.  They are the ones with personalized inscriptions that really capture your relationship to the sender, what they mean to you, and real wishes that there could be more time spent over coffee sharing lives.

I try to send cards every year, but I find that my numbers are dwindling as my inscription gets more lengthy.  They are usually sent towards the end of the month only because I am a procrastinator.  I have tried several methods of trying to keep on top of this holiday tradition:  I have kept cards from years past and sent them cards the following years.  I once read to write cards the afternoon of Turkey day, but this year I was busy baking tasteless rolls.  Although none of these methods work for me, I still subscribe to "Real Simple" magazine for the helpful hints that may or may not get the ball rolling.

All in all, holiday cards are little gifts that arrive M-Sa from friends that mean more to me than any wrapped scarf or pair of earrings could ever give.