Christmases past

ECHOES FROM THE LOAFER’S CLUB METING

  Do you believe in the hereafter?

 

  I do, but is that a proper question to ask a pharmacist?

 

  It is. I’m hereafter my prescription.

 

DRIVING BY BRUCE’S DRIVE

  I have a wonderful neighbor named Bruce. Whenever I pass his drive, thoughts occur to me. Everything was merry and bright. Inspired by Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, I leaned into a headwind cold and strong enough to give me a red nose. I shuffled along in a slant that reminded me of an exchange in the movie “The Electric Horseman,” when Hallie Martin (played by Jane Fonda) said, “You're all bent. Are you sick?”

 

  Sonny Steele (Robert Redford) replied, “Nope. Just bent.”

 

  I’d decided I wanted to get my wife a surprise for Christmas, but surprises aren’t always good things. I rode in a friend’s junker one day. The car was held together with hope, wire and duct tape. We were sailing along at a more than adequate speed, listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival, when the hood flew up. I think it made a terribly loud noise, but I couldn’t hear it over the screams. Not a pleasant surprise.

 

SCENES FROM CHRISTMASES PAST

  Everyone took their turn opening gifts pulled from under the tree. My parents were always the last to open theirs. There were reasons. My mother gushed over her presents before opening them. “What lovely wrapping paper! Where did you get this? Was it from the dime store?” My father used his Barlow jackknife to cut the cellophane tape holding the wrapping paper in place. He’d remove the paper unharmed, fold it neatly, and save it for next year. Only then could he pursue the identity of his gift.

 

ROMMEGROT

  My almond bark is never worse than my frostbite, and rommegrot rocks. Romme means sour cream and grot means porridge. The tradition of using sour cream has given way to sweet cream. Norwegian immigrants brought rommegrot here. The fjord country had a heritage of dairy farming that could feed a family, and rommegrot played a part.

 

FESTIVUS

  Each year on December 23rd, Festivus commemorates an episode of the television comedy, “Seinfeld,” in which Frank Costanza (played by Jerry Stiller) explained he’d invented the holiday in response to the commercialism of Christmas. "A Festivus for the rest of us" is its slogan. During dinner, the airing of grievances is allowed. Each person takes a turn describing how the others had been a disappointment over the past year. You may count carrying all the groceries into the house for dinner without tripping or dropping a bag as a Festivus miracle. Daniel O'Keefe, a Reader's Digest editor, created the holiday in 1966, and his son wrote the “Seinfeld” episode featuring Festivus.

 

BAD JOKES DEPARTMENT

  Which candle burns longer—the paraffin, soy or beeswax? None of them. All three burn shorter.

 

  What do you get if you cross a bell with a skunk? Jingle smells.

 

  Santa has been reading your posts all year—most of you are getting dictionaries.

 

  What do you get if you cross a snowman with a vampire? Frostbite. 

  

  "Doctor! Doctor! I keep thinking I'm a fruitcake."

 

  "What’s gotten into you?"

 

  "Oh, you know, eggs, flour, dried fruit—the usual ingredients."

 

CHRISTMAS NATURALLY

 I heard a cardinal singing, announcing its presence in December, which caused me to remember being a Christmas tree wrangler. The tree had been hog-tied and brought home on the roof of our Pontiac. My job was to carry the conifer into the house and place it in the red tree stand with green legs. I tightened the screws to hold the tree’s trunk firmly in place. The stand also provided a watering bowl to prevent excessive needle drop. “Excessive” meant it dropped every single needle. It looked like a rescue tree, but when it was tinseled and precious ornaments put in place, it’d be a beauty.

 

 I stepped back to admire my work, something done by those who do little work worth admiring. It was then that I saw it. A red feather standing at attention from a bough as if purposely placed there. I’d never seen a cardinal on the farm. I longed to see one. The feather was a cardinal starter set.

 

 The red feather was a choir of angels singing without the choir of angels or the singing.

 I can’t give all the credit to a single feather of a handsome redbird, but I can’t deny its complicity in making it a memorable Christmas.

 

 There are cardinals on that farm today.

 

 I wish you simple pleasures. Merry Christmas.

 

MEETING ADJOURNED

  “The best gifts come from the heart, not the store.”―Sarah Dessen. Be kind.