Month: December 2023

Cradled in the palm of my hand is the gift that keeps on giving. It is not returnable nor refundable. It never decays, disintegrates or fully disappears.

Behold, the artificial pine needle.

Each year we wrestle the Christmas tree and greenery from their large plastic tubs, see all the pine needles nestled in the bottom of the tubs, and are relieved to think they have already done their shedding.

Ho, ho, ho. The joke is on us.

As soon as the tree is up, and garlands are in place, the shedding begins.

The tiny hard-to-grab needles wedge between the hardwoods, huddle in dark corners and lurk under furniture. They multiply faster than plastic containers with no lids.

Based on the volume of pine needles consumed by the vacuum, our tree and garlands should be bare—Charlie Brown-style Christmas.

Manufacturers boast that their artificial trees replicate the realism of live long-needle trees. Maybe shedding is part of the realism. That said, we have three white pines and two firs in our backyard that don’t shed this much.

Last week I found two artificial pine needles stuck to the ironing board cover. Considering how infrequently I iron, I’m considering having them carbon dated. Just curious.

Last summer I found one in our safe deposit box. It’s our fault for not locking it.

When we whipped out the Scrabble board a few weeks ago, three pine needles were clinging to the cloth bag holding the letter tiles. On the upside, it prompted me to make the word conifer, thereby scoring 50 bonus points for using all seven tiles.

Loose pine needles seem to have the upper branch this year. Emptying the vacuum again, I ponder switching to the leaf blower.

This morning there were a half dozen in the dustpan when I swept the kitchen. My theory is they smelled cinnamon rolls baking. I’ve found them under the kitchen table, stuck to my good winter coat and on a sofa pillow. I have no comfort or joy.

A few years ago, we bought a real tree. It didn’t solve the stray needle problem; it only compounded things with pine scent that triggered allergies.

As of two minutes ago, I have nabbed all the stray pine needles in sight and am once again in the lead. Of course, the day is young and more will surface tomorrow, the day after that, next spring, next summer and next Christmas.

As Tevye in “Fiddler on the Roof” would have said, “Tradition!”

The only good thing about finding stray pine needles throughout the year is that Christmas never ends.

The biggest problem with the small nativity play turned out to be casting. Who knew 5-year-olds could put an entire production in jeopardy?

Every parent of a 5-year-old just raised their hands.

The plan was that Brown Eyes, a 5-year-old grand, would be Mary and Blue Eyes, her 5-year-old cousin, would be an angel.

Brown Eyes was happy with the role of Mary. In hindsight, this makes sense. Who would refuse top billing? Meanwhile, Blue eyes was digging in her heels, refusing to be an angel.

She wanted to be Mary.

A lot of liberties have been taken over the course of history interpreting the manger scene in Bethlehem, but at no time has Joseph ever had two wives.

I said I would see how adamant Brown Eyes was on being Mary and asked if Blue Eyes’ stance was “Mary, or she walked.” Talk about navigating a tense situation. I suddenly understood why Hollywood agents often skim money from the talent they represent.

The response came that Blue Eyes was softening and considering the angel role—providing Brown Eyes would be an angel, too.

Blue Eyes has golden hair, a sweet smile, a soft voice and plays hardball. She may one day do well in sales.

When Brown Eyes was asked if she would yield the role of Mary and agree to be an angel with Blue Eyes, she put her hands on her hips and matter-of-factly asked, “Do I get to fly?”

If Blue Eyes is stealth, Brown Eyes is “go big or go home.” Brown Eyes had every right to ask if she might play the role airborne.

Brown Eyes’ mother explained that she would not be flying, but she would have a star. It was a good bargaining chip. Brown Eyes seemed satisfied but was no doubt imagining a star that would be remote-controlled and shoot lasers.

Brown Eyes later asked an aunt if she had met Mary (Jesus’ mother).

“No, but I hope to someday,” came the answer. “Do you know where I could meet her?”

“Israel?” Brown Eyes asked.

“No, that was a good guess, but she isn’t alive anymore.”

Brown Eyes’ next guess was heaven.

That was an interesting question; however, I thought Brown Eyes would ask if her Labradoodle could come to the manger, which would mean Blue Eyes would want to bring her big black lab that lands both font paws on your shoulders to say hello and lick your face, which would meant her siblings would insist on bringing the ducks, the chickens, the cat and the rabbit, and the whole thing would be over before it ever began.

The line was drawn on live animals, but one who plays violin is bringing her fiddle and another is bringing his guitar. Chances are, someone will load the drum set as well.

With cardboard stars wrapped in aluminum foil and angel costumes made from white satin pillowcases, it may not be a polished operation with all the bells and whistles, but it may capture the heart of Christmas: An invitation to draw close to the manger just as you are, with whatever you have.

We knocked the birthday candles out of the park this year.

Our oldest granddaughter’s birthday fell on Easter, her mother’s birthday fell on Mother’s Day and my sister-in-law’s birthday fell on Thanksgiving.

One was overshadowed by the resurrection, the next melded into a towering pile of handmade cards and the last was in competition with turkey, trimmings, pilgrims and Plymouth.

Frankly, it was a lot of two-for-one.

Happy Birthday and He is Risen!

Happy Birthday—how was your Mother’s Day?

Happy Birthday! Pass the dressing, please.

A son-in-law and his oldest daughter have birthdays on either side of July Fourth. Now, that’s the time to birthday—cookouts, parades, fireworks and flags—it’s all about you, baby! Well, it’s not really, but why not pretend it is?

Having a birthday on Christmas is an entirely different matter.

I had a beloved great aunt whose birthday followed Christmas. It was always a dilemma what to give her so soon after an avalanche of gifts. Mom usually wrapped a pretty package for her containing lotion or fragrance.

Her birthday was overshadowed by a major holiday, but she always smelled good.

December 25th, Christmas Day, ranks first in the U.S. for the least common birthday. The second least common birthday is New Year’s Day. The third least common birthday is Christmas Eve.

And yet a few squeeze by: Jimmy Buffet was born on Christmas Day, as was Isaac Newton, Clara Barton, Humphrey Bogart and Justin Trudeau.

The downfall of a birthday on Christmas? You rarely have a party. For starters, nobody can come. Seems they’re all busy doing other things.

Candles on the cake pale next to the brilliance of a Christmas tree with a thousand sparkling lights.

Your gifts have tags that say, “Merry Christmas/Happy Birthday.”

On the other hand, a good thing about a Christmas birthday is that nobody forgets it.

Plus, some of those Christmas birthdays come with riveting stories about a harrowing journey preceding the birth. Ice and snow, plows and ambulances—there’s even one about a trip through the desert on a donkey.  All of which is followed by the giant exhale and cloud of euphoria once the baby safely arrived.

Nearly every December birthday is somewhat swept up in the whirlwind of joy and celebration that permeates the season, an air of giving and human kindness that can puncture the most dismal of headlines. That’s a lovely ambiance for a birthday or any day.

A Christmas birthday also shares a timeless truth with a unique birth that has been celebrated on Christmas Day for centuries—a baby changes everything.

 

 

 

The pie contest from Thanksgiving would be completely forgotten by now were it not for the Heimlich incident. Nobody actually needed the Heimlich, but that is a minor detail.

It was our second annual pie competition with bakers as young as 10 and as old as, well, let’s just say a woman of a certain age since I’m the one telling the story.

Pie entries were lined up along with a sour cream coffee cake, chocolate chip cookies and tiramisu. Yes, cookies, coffee cake and tiramisu are not pies, but it is extremely difficult managing the talent.

Eleven grands squeezed onto a folding bench in front of the dessert lineup, some adults sat in chairs at a table and some stood.

Our two judges, the husband who believes pie should be the base of every food pyramid, and a son-in-law who considers siracha a major food group, prepared for the first tasting when a 5-year-old began coughing.

Someone asked if she was all right. Someone else asked if she was choking. She was fine; it was just a benign little cough.

Despite the non-event, our daughter in the medical profession immediately flew into action asking if everyone knew what to do if someone is choking. She grabbed her sister (who was not choking and had brought a delectable chocolate pie), leaned her forward and announced the thing to do was give the person five firm whacks on the back.

There was one whack, two whacks, and I wondered when her sister would revolt, pie would fly and small children would run for their lives. But her sister, a teacher, obliged for the educational benefit of the group.

Our medical professional then explained that if the whacking maneuver fails, you then wrap both arms around the person, as she proceeded to again demonstrate on her sister. “Making a fist with one hand located just above their belly button—thumb side on their abdomen—place your other hand over your fist. Now pull quickly inward and upward.

“In and up,” she repeated, executing the move, “so the person can cough it out, not just up.”

At that point, the demo model pretended to forcefully spit something out of her mouth, whereupon all the children and both judges immediately sprang to shield the pies.

Eventually, calm was restored, no pies were harmed and the contest resumed.

The beautiful Greek pie with phyllo woven in a spiral pattern throughout the pie won “Pinterest Worthy.” A fabulous pumpkin pie, made by a boy using a pumpkin from the family garden, won “Best Crust” and another pumpkin pie took the “Delish” award. The apple pie with the secret ingredient (Ritz crackers) took “Beautiful Presentation” and the sour cream coffee cake was awarded “I Don’t Like It – I Love It!”

Everyone enjoyed sampling everything, although everyone was still on edge and did not so much as clear their throats. I personally stepped outside when I felt a cough coming on and saw one of the grands with allergies slip into the hall closet when she had a tickle in her throat.

It was our medical professional who enjoyed the holiday the most of all. She accomplished a worthy educational goal and simultaneously covered for the fact she did not enter the pie contest.

Christmas should be fun. Once the dishes are cleared, she will probably lay someone out on the tablecloth and step us through CPR.