Filed under: General Nonsense
Christmas is over. 2007 will be over shortly, too.
Thea’s in bed, pretending that she doesn’t feel sick. I practically had to force-feed her cough medicine. And then when it got all over her face… and clothes… and hair… she became a little irritated with me. But when you have to hold someone down with one arm and feed them with the other, you’re going to spill a little.
We’re off to Thea’s parents’ place for New Year’s.
I’m leaving for the Philippines in a week.
Anyway, Happy New Year. See you on the other side.
Filed under: Matrimony, Nuptials, marriage | Tags: engagement, marriage, proposal, wedding
My best friend Dan asked his delightful lady to marry him last night, and she said yes. It’s going to be another busy year for weddings.
Don’t forget about www.isitchristmas.com/.
Happy Christmas, everyone!
Here’s my Christmas post from last year.
And one from two years ago.
And here are some pics from my second Christmas, probably my earliest memory.
Filed under: General Nonsense | Tags: A-Team, C.O.P.S., Christmas, Mr. T, Sheffield
I think we went to England for Christmas when I was in Grade 1 and Grade 3, and I can’t differentiate the memories from these two trips.
My grandfather (“Papa”) wrote down the wrong arrival date on the calender and we had to wait several hours at the airport waiting to be picked up. I remember lots of snow. I shared the pullout couch with my brother in the living room, and on Christmas morning presents surrounded the tree beside the bed. And I couldn’t figure out how Santa could have been so quiet.
My brother and I both got C.O.P.S. action figures. Jordan got Bulletproof and I got Longarm.
I think we also got A-Team action figures. I got Murdock and Jordan got Mr. T.
Jordan always had an affinity for black action figures. I think because he received a Mr. T action figure while in the hospital as a toddler. Once you go black you can’t go back.
Papa bought me a train set, but I think he was more excited about it than me.
Looking at this picture, the kitschy Christmas decorations appeal to me more than the classy Christmas my mom does now. I think Christmas should be a little garish, so I’m quite fond of our dollar-store-decorated tree.
Those England Christmases have been idealized and sentimentalized in my mind: the smell of their house, getting exactly what I hoped for Christmas, and having my grandparents for the holiday.
I miss being a kid at Christmas. I miss Papa.
I love that Lily will be making her own Christmas memories. Probably not this year as she’s too young, but one day she’ll look back at Christmas with Grandma and Deda the same way. I can hear the pitter-patter (read: thunder) of her tiny footsteps upstairs right now.
Anyway, here’s a picture of the three of us outside Granny and Papa’s house in Sheffield. No snow yet. Dressed as British schoolchildren by our mother.
The new trailer for The Dark Knight came out on the weekend. I’ve watched it about 50 times. Thea can’t get enough of it.
I came across pictures of children being frightened of Santa. I had a history of spontaneously shrieking when in the vicinity of St. Nick, but these kids look like they’re being forced to watch their parents being horribly murdered.
The first one is my favourite: “OH SWEET FANCY MOSES NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” while his ambiguously gendered sibling beams, giddy with seasonal consumerism and greed. Santa glares at us through pure evil and silver mascara to singe our Christmas spirit.
This little lady clearly suffers from a fear of holiday-themed treats. “The twisting colours and minty freshness… it burns! IT BURNS!”
Santa looks a little scurvy in this one. I can imagine him taking a bite out of the kid’s head in the next shot.
Finally, let’s just bask in the bewildered look on Santa’s face.
Filed under: Christmas
That money post was a depressing one to leave at the top for so long. Oh well. At least it had Santa vomiting.
One Christmas Eve, long ago, mom let us open one present. Some people open presents on Christmas Eve; we’re a Christmas morning family. I suppose my brother and I got so annoying examining the presents and begging to open only one just one pleeeeease that mom finally gave in to shut us up. I remember Jordan had already systematically picked away at the wrapping of one corner of the present and had a extensive mental list of viable toy options that matched the action figure ankle behind the plastic bubble.
For years afterwards we hoped that the one-present-on-Christmas-Eve would become a tradition and we often referred back to that joyous solitary event thinking that it would inspire similar mercy. To no avail. To this day mom denies having ever allowed us to open a present on Christmas Eve. To be fair, memory isn’t one of her strengths.
And it doesn’t bring happiness. We’re programmed to think it does, but it just doesn’t.
When we awkwardly reunited with past friends on Sunday night for a Christmas party, the conversation naturally circled around vocation because… what else is there to talk about? In university you were asked about your major… now you get asked about your job. But there was a moment when I felt a pang of shame that my vocational path probably won’t provide an impressive income for my wife and future family. Sometimes I wish I had had a taste and gift for engineering or medicine or law and never have to worry about money.
But my dad has had lots of dealings with wealthy folks. And they worried plenty about money. My encounters with affluence at the bank have led me to conclude that lots of money certainly does not make people generous.
Anyway, I’m just as caught up in materialism as anyone else. I drool over the thought of a big-screen TV. I dream of living in a secluded house in the forest, only having to read all day. I know we have to be responsible with money, it’s just so easy to be enslaved to it.
Merry Christmas! FALALALA!
A quick Christmas memory: One year my mom announced that Santa didn’t want milk with his cookies and instead “could go for a cup of coffee.” So we made him a steaming cup of Christmas coffee only to discover a still-full cold mug in the morning, the milk slightly congealed. The cookies were gone, but the coffee remained. We were horrified that our breach of the Christmas contract had offended St. Nick (having nothing to wash down his Christmas cookies), but mom assured us that he appreciated the sentiment, the coffee had just gone cold by the time we finally went to bed and perhaps we should make an effort to be a little more punctual lest Santa start skipping our house in the future.
Approaching Christmas my mom would also tell us that “Santa would puke” if he saw our messy rooms. Of course, this triggered images of a nauseated Santa with Christmas vomit caked in his beard. Although, I don’t think Santa wanders around the house, checking each room for cleanliness. He pretty much sticks to the family room.
I’m surprised how many people come to this site looking for “Christmas turds” and “ovary juice.” Merry Christmas, perverts!
In Grade 3, Mrs. Morrow had us dress up as elves or something for the school Christmas concert. We pretended to be mini-people where the person behind you is your hands and your hands are your feet. Get it? Anyway, I think we lip-synced to chipmunk voices singing Mele Kalikimaka (Merry Christmas in Hawaiian). I remember one time when Mrs. Morrow wouldn’t let the boys go to the bathroom to change because we only had to change our shirts into green elf shirts. So we had to take off our shirts in the classroom. And I was horribly embarrassed due to the snickering and whispering girls. And now conversely, as an adult I have to regularly listen to my wife say, “Where are your pants?”
