Christmas Eve Eve

When I was a child counting down to Christmas, I would say, “If you don’t count today and you don’t count tomorrow, Christmas is X number of days away.” 

When I told my mother this, she said, “Why wouldn’t you count today and tomorrow?”

I said “To make it come faster.”

“Now, Charlie, you know that doesn’t make sense.”

Later I heard her telling one of her friends about this on the phone.  “She’s such a funny little thing.  I just don’t know how she’s going to get along in the world.”

If she’d sounded amused, my feelings would have been hurt, but she sounded concerned.  So I never shared the countdown with her again, although I kept it up.

 

I did tell my cousin Bethany, who thought it was a neat idea.  Aunt Pooh suggested that we could also count down to Christmas Eve.  “And then there’s Christmas Eve Eve.”

The day before Christmas Eve always had a special feel.  It was the last day of school before Christmas vacation.  I’d get to stay up late.  There would the final deluge of Christmas cards waiting to be gone through when I got home and my parents brought home the schmooze food gifts they’d gotten from business contacts.  It was a preview of Christmas.

As an adult, with the job of “doing” Christmas, I count today and tomorrow to try and make Christmas come more slowly so I can get things done.  I’m not sure if it works.

But by Christmas Eve Eve, I either have finished everything or given up.  The children come home from school all excited and I let them have some of the “not until Christmas” cookies that I’ve been guarding.  We sit around and they try to get me to let them open “just one" of the presents that Ed and I got for them to “help Santa out.”  Somebody says, “If you don’t count today and you don’t count tomorrow, it’s Christmas.” 

And we all understand. 

 

On this day in history

November 12 is the birthday of  Charlotte Emily Anne Sommerville McDonald, heroine/narrator of the fiction family sitcom blog Meet the McDonalds.

Mother of three, who works in the library at The College, Charlie (as she is best known) is a recovering English major and former Unitarian, who became an Episcopalian in  college.

Meet the McDonalds 

Cast of Characters

The Family

Ed, Charlie, Betsey, Josh, Cilla, Duke, and Nigel 

Janet McDonald -- Ed’s mother, married to

The Rev. Kate Parker

Douglas McDonald -- Ed’s father, who left Janet for

Missy Hays (currently McDonald), who has just left him for 

Jack Sommerville – Charlie’s father

Allison – Ed’s sister, married to Tony 
Their children are Dylan and Courtney

Ancestors and Extended Family

George (deceased) and Alice  (deceased) Whitfield. Charlie’s maternal grandparents.  He was an English professor and she was an at-home mom and painter.  Their children are

Louisa (Louie), Charlie’s mother (deceased) 

Ursula (Aunt Pooh)  Married to Dr. Joseph Gruenwald, a therapist.  Their children are Meghan, Joanna, Bethany, and James (Jim). (His nickname was Jamie until he figured out why.) 

Henry James Whitfield (Uncle Hank) Married to Judy, Their children: The Three J’s  Jessica, Jason, and Jennifer

The Girls

Karen – Married to Tom.  Their children are Eric, Jacob (Jake) and Lucas

Nicole (Nikki)  Married to Helmut.  Their children are Jennifer and Ilsa.

Dr. Emily Evans – Professor specializing in Early American Literature.   Single, Lesbian, and looking.

Alice Barrett –New guest  lecturer at The College.

Michele - Emily's ex.  A mysterious visitor.

Charlie’s been blogging and writing in her diary for a year and a half.  Since we can’t do a clip show, here are some recurring McDonald moments.

Charlie says, “Before you can say ‘knife.’”

Betsey says “Moron.”

Josh says, “No way, Jose.”

Cilla says, “Please, please, please.”

Kate says, “How do you feel about that?”

Janet says, “Bless her heart.”

Jack says, "Damn religious foolishness."

Karen says, “More wine?”

Nikki says, “Don’t be such a churchlady.”

Aunt Pooh says, “Let’s have a nice cup of tea.”

Emily  says, "Do I need a makeover?"

Alice says, "Terrific!"

Michele says,  "Charlotte . .  ."                      

What does Ed say? 

 Thanks to Ylvis for” What Does the Fox Say?”

Catch up with the action or relive favorite moments through the Archives.

Memories Monday -- Move Over Miss Woodhouse

 

 

You can’t find a cup of pumpkin spice tea or anything else anywhere, although there are plenty of eggnog and candy cane lattes.  I don’t have to mentally block out the Christmas decorations at the mall.  I may even watch a Christmas movie on the Hallmark channel, and I’ll address the Christmas cards while I do.

Emily came to her first Girls’ Night In at Karen’s.  She brought a bottle of wine and cookies shaped like turkeys and cornucopias.

“How was Thanksgiving?”

“Well, the food was delicious and my nieces and nephews were fun.  But  . . . well, you know.”

“Did your parents give you a hard time?”  Emily is gay.

“Oh, they’re cool with my ‘Lifestyle,’ as my mother says.  My father keeps asking me when I’m going to meet a nice girl, and my mother says, ‘Woman, Bruce.  Emily needs to meet a nice woman!  You make her sound like a damn pedophile.’  She really tries, bless her heart.   

“This year she took me aside for a Real Serious Talk.  She said, ‘Honey are you sure you’re gay?  Maybe it’s the Reverse Katharine Hepburn Syndrome.’”

“What’s that?” Karen asked.

“That’s what I said.  She said, ‘You know how everyone knew Katharine Hepburn was a Lesbian except Katharine Hepburn?  Maybe everyone knows you’re straight but you.  I don’t care one way or the other.  I just want you to be happy.’”

“Where did she hear about that?”

“She read this short story about a straight woman who tries to help her Lesbian friend find somebody.  And they end up together.  It’s called ‘Reversing Katharine Hepburn.’  It’s pretty funny.”

We must have looked concerned because she said, “But don’t worry.  I don’t want to break up anybody’s marriage.”

That was a relief, but later I wondered if Emily was just being kind and the real reason we didn’t need to worry was that we didn’t do anything for her sexually.  But, I told myself, we would always be friends.

“What do you think is the problem?”

 “For years I was really too busy to seriously get involved or even look, but now that I’m back in business so to speak, I don’t have any customers.”

“Have you tried yoga classes or women’s support groups?” Nikki asked.

“Or church?  I can ask Kate if there are any prospects at Epiphany.  Or the Unitarian Church;  people were always hooking up at my old church.”

 I didn’t add that they were also unhooking, but that was a minor point.

“Meeting people isn’t the problem.  I’ve met women and we go to the movies or a concert or something, but when they ask me in for coffee, all I get is coffee.”

“Have you tried asking them in for coffee?”

“Yes.  And that’s all they want.  But we’ll go to the movies again or get together for lunch.  It’s not that they don’t like me.  At least I don’t think it is.”

This was beyond all of us.  If a man asked you to the movies and you invited him in for coffee, you knew what was coming.  Not that I’d had any experience, since I got married so young,  But I read.

Then I got an idea.

I never really liked Emma Woodhouse, but perhaps I can do her job more efficiently.  “Maybe we can help.  We must know some women you haven’t met.  But it will have to be after the holidays.  In the meantime, you can start going to church.  I have to warn you that Epiphany won’t be Christmassy until Christmas Eve.  With the Unitarians you never know.  You can try both if you want.”

“Well, I might as well.  I’ll tell my parents that I have some friends who are matchmaking for me.  That should hold them until the new year.”  Then she looked concerned.  “Do you think I might need a makeover?  Do you think I’m clueless?” 

Nikki took charge.  “Of course not.  Anyway, we’re not the ones to ask.  But we’ll find someone to ask if necessary.”

January is so boring.  It will be nice to have a project.

 

Memories Monday-- Remembrance of Thanksgivings Past

I’

I'd say that Thanksgiving is about my third favorite holiday, after Halloween and Christmas.  Of course, it’s special because Cilla was born on Thanksgiving.  My water broke just as I was bringing in the pies. (My mother made sure Ed had the carpet cleaned before I came home from the hospital.)  My cousin Joanna, who is an artist, was doing the birth announcements for us and designed one with a turkey wearing a pilgrim hat carrying a bundle with a baby girl wearing a pilgrim lady’s cap.  If anyone had said anything, or even looked like they were thinking of something, I was ready to say, “Cutesy is the new trendy.”   But nobody did.

When I was a child, we always went to my mother’s parents’ house for dinner.  (My other grandparents lived in England.)  Aunt Pooh would be there with my Uncle Joe and my cousins Meghan, Joanna, Bethany, and Jim, and my Uncle Hank (Henry James) and Aunt Judy, and their three children,  Jessica, Jennifer, and Jason.  Aunt Judy refused to go literary with the names, although she did try to persuade Uncle Hank to start calling himself H. James, so they could be the Five J’s. 

We kids all had fun running around, but what I liked best was sitting with the grownups and listening to them talk. Someone would always say that Thanksgiving was their favorite holiday, since it wasn’t cluttered with a lot of religious baggage.  There would usually be a debate about what we had to be thankful for, since the world was in such a state and how should we feel about having so much when so many people had so little?  Someone would say something about helping the poor, and everyone agreed that we had to do it, but really what good does charity do when the system continues to oppress everyone?

One year Jennifer, who was just in nursery school, wanted to say grace, but my grandmother saved the situation by suggesting we all go around the table and say what we were thankful for.  I said I was thankful for the Barbie doll and Barbie Dreamhouse I’d just gotten for my birthday.  Aunt Pooh looked at my mother, who said, “She wouldn’t give us any peace.  But we got her Veterinarian Barbie.”

Holidays can be delicate situations for divorced families. Janet and Ed’s father switch off between Allison and Ed.  This year, Janet and Kate are came our house, as well as my father.  There was some game on TV for the men to watch and Janet and Kate like to help in the kitchen or amuse the kids.  By dinner time, everyone had had some wine, so we all got along.  I’m thankful for that.

Memories Monday -- Boo Ho Ho (Not to Mention Gobble Gobble Gobble)

Well, here it is the beginning of November and Christmas Madness has started already.  The Hallmark Channel is showing Christmas movies every day, Christmas candy is out next to the last reduced price candy corn at the drug stores, and on Facebook, people are sharing pictures of Santa with a countdown of shopping days.  Sometimes their comment is “Mwahaha.”

I had the girls over on Saturday night, and, just to be ironic, I served eggnog and fruitcake.   The fruitcake had brandy in it and I had a bottle of rum so everyone could do it themselves with the eggnog.  As a nod to Thanksgiving I got pumpkin spice eggnog as well as the regular kind.  Fortunately, the kids think eggnog and fruitcake are yucky.

“This is probably the last chance I’ll get to relax,” Nikki said.  “I’m doing Thanksgiving, since Helmut’s invited some German friends for ‘a real American feast.’” (She said the last with a German accent.)  “I was afraid my mother would get mad, since we usually go to her house, so I had to invite her and my father.  Fortunately, my sister has to go to her mother-in-law’s.  It’s not that I don’t want them, but still . . . I was thinking I wouldn’t have to get too fancy, since the Germans wouldn’t know the difference, but if my mother is there, she will.”    

“Did Helmut ask you first?”

“He said,”(in a German accent) ‘If you wouldn’t mind Liebchen.’ “ 

“How can you say no to him when he’s so charming and has that cute accent?”

Nikki snorted.

Karen has really gone Methodist, so she is now Assistant Director of the Church Christmas pageant.  “They tell me it’ll be fun.  Now Tom has even more opportunities to tell me how awful organized religion is.”

‘What do you say to that?”

“I tell him he should be glad that I have some organization in my life.”

“I’m doing Christmas, but Missy offered to do Thanksgiving at her house.  I mean my father’s.  I don’t know what the kids will say or what I should tell them.”

“They know what’s going on.  They could probably tell you.”

“Maybe they think she sleeps in the guest room.”

Nikki rolled her eyes and Karen sighed.

“Well, maybe Cilla does.”

“Just hope she doesn’t ask in the middle of dinner.  You don’t want to be spitting cranberry sauce all over the tablecloth.  You can’t get the stains out.”

I wondered if I should have a talk with the children about the situation.  I really didn’t have the courage to bring it up.

“I still don’t know how I’m going to handle Christmas Eve when they’re coming to watch the kids while we go to the midnight service.  My father always slept over.”

“Maybe Missy will be divorced by then and they can get married.”

“Good one,” I said and had another eggnog.

Memories Monday -- I Get the Urge For Spicing Pumpkins

Fall is my favorite season.  School starts, then Halloween arrives, then Thanksgiving, all leading up to Christmas.  And Cilla and I both have birthdays in November.   The only problem with fall is that you know what’s coming next.

On Saturday, I got out everyone’s winter clothes and put the summer ones in garbage bags until I could decide what to do with them.  We had just had the first prediction of frost and the college radio station was playing wistful Autumn songs.  Ed says they're annoying and if he wanted to get bummed out, he'd watch TV ads for animal shelters .  I tell him not to be such a curmudgeon;  the point of the songs is to get pleasantly depressed. 

On Monday, I had lunch with my friend Emily who teaches English at the college.  “I see it’s turtle time,” she said.  “You know, your turtleneck.”

“Oh yeah, I got them out on Saturday.”

“How do you get anything done on Saturdays after your debauches on Friday night?”  Emily loves to hear about our Girls’ Nights In.  She jokes (I think she’s joking.) that my stories are the only excitement she has in her life. But since her specialty is early American literature, maybe she isn’t.

“I guess I have a high tolerance.  They say that that’s a sign that you could be an alcoholic, but nobody in my family ever had a drinking problem, so I’m probably okay.”

Emily nearly choked on her pumpkin spice tea.  “Bless your heart, Charlie. You think you’re such a wildwoman, but I think your idea of heavy drinking is two glasses of wine.”

“Three glasses,” I said with dignity.  “And we have cocktails.”

We would love to have Emily join us, but before she got tenure, she usually had to go to some English Department thing so she could schmooze and politic.  And now that she has it, she’s free to live the life of a madcap bachelorette and to try to meet somebody, so she can’t be sitting around with three tired out old married ladies on Friday night.

“You know you’re always welcome, but we don’t want to cramp your style.”

“Maybe I will come after Thanksgiving.  I’ll need something after a weekend with the family.”

“Will you be able to hold out until Friday?”

“My mother is going to send me home with lots of food, so I guess I’ll be all right.”

It made me sad that a holiday with your family could drive you to drinking and eating, especially when you don’t have to cook.

The Spiral Staircase -- From Charlie's Diary

 

I had forgotten my lunch, and as I was coming out of the library to go to the snack bar, I ran into Michele.

"Why, Charlotte, what a nice surprise! I’m having lunch with Emily, but she’s tied up in a meeting and told me to sightsee. And I remembered what you said about the library. It’s lovely." The College has two libraries. The science library is in a modern building from the turn of this century and liberal arts library is from the turn of the last century. It has stained glass windows and hardwood floors.

I decided I could quickly show Michele around and still get to the snack bar. "Do you want to see basement first? It’s full of old files and really creepy. In a fun way." I didn’t explain that whenever anybody calls me Charlotte, I feel like I’m being scolded and anyway I didn’t.

"Fun?"

I felt I’d said the wrong thing. "Or we can go up to the top floor where the 800’s are. You know literature and sh—things."

The spiral staircase is like something out of a Victorian murder mystery and when you get to the top floor, you can see most of the campus. The 800’s don’t get a lot of scholastic action and it was deserted.

"What a wonderful place to escape everything, Just you and all these stories."

I don’t know how she knew that I liked to come up there on my breaks. "It makes me sad, sometimes. All these books just sitting and waiting and gathering dust. And the authors are probably dead."

"But that’s what makes it so special isn’t it? I’m so glad you shared it with me."

"I’m glad you like it." I’d never told anyone about it except Ed, and then we started reminiscing about the stacks at our old college where people came to get high and make out.

I went to the window. "It’s so pretty in the fall."

"Yes, isn’t it?" Michele was standing in back of me. I didn’t know what to say next, so I just stood there trying to think of something.

"You know, Charlotte, . . ." Michele began, but all of a sudden there was a crash. Someone somewhere had knocked some books off a shelf.

I had to get back to work and Michele had to meet Emily. I got some crackers and soda out of the food machine. I didn’t feel like eating, though.

 

Memories Monday -- Boo Two!

When I was a child, Halloween was my favorite holiday.  I loved dressing up and going outside in the dark.  The weather was usually just turning nippy by October, but somehow it was always warm enough on Halloween that we didn’t have to wear coats over our costumes.

My mother had never liked dressing up.  Even as a child she couldn’t see the point of pretending to be something you weren’t.  But she liked the candy, so she always went trick or treating.  She’d usually wear Aunt Pooh’s costume from the year before.

My grandmother loved to make costumes.  When the kids were quite young,  she decided to dress them as the Three Little Pigs.  She got my grandfather to stay home and hand out the candy and she made herself a wolf costume.  She enjoyed it so much that the next year she decided to do Little Red Riding Hood.  Aunt Pooh was the woodsman, my mother was Little Red Riding Hood, and my Uncle Hank was the grandmother. “You should have seen your mother.  She was five years old and she kept saying ‘This is really dumb’ and rolling her eyes, just like a teenager.  My mother finally told her that she could stay home, but she wouldn’t get any candy and she wouldn’t let me or Hank give her any of ours. Not that she really had to worry about that.  So she went.  Poor Louie.”

This year, Betsey decided she wanted to be a cat.  “A sexy cat?” Josh wanted to know, “Or just a regular one?”

“Or a slutty cat?”  Cilla piped up.

I didn’t know what to say.  But Betsey saved me.  “Don’t be such a moron.  That’s gross!”

Then Josh wanted to know the difference between a sexy cat and a slutty cat.

“Nobody is going to be a sexy or slutty anything.” 

“Veronica and I are going be nuns,” Cilla said.  “But just regular ones.  Veronica’s mom is making the outfits for us.”

“That’s a lot of work for her,” I said.  I didn’t want Cilla to get any more ideas about converting.   “I know!  Why don’t you go as a priest?”  That was an easy costume – black pants, black sweater over a white turtleneck and a cross.  “You can wear makeup.” 

“But she already started it!”   I could feel the “please, please, please” coming.  I didn’t have the energy for it.

“All right.  But you know, there are Episcopalian nuns.”

“Ok.  I’ll be one of them.  Are they sexy or slutty or anything?”

“Certainly not.”

Josh decided to be a zombie again.  Just a regular one, he assured me.

Memories Monday --Boo!

 
When my mother was a child, she lived in a suburb that was really The Country.  There were cornfields on two sides of her house.  She and her friends would go into the fields, pick corn, shell it, and on the nights before Halloween, go out without adults, sneak up to windows of houses, throw the corn, and run away.  (It was animal corn, so it was hard, like the decorative Indian corn you see in stores, although in the summer, when it was soft, she and her friends would eat it.)  The bolder ones would ring the doorbell.  The kids love this story and would have loved to try it, but fortunately there aren’t any cornfields around.

In our town, Trick or Treat night is always the Friday or Saturday before Halloween, so the kids won’t be kept up too late on a school night.  This makes Halloween rather anti-climactic, but I always make a Halloween dinner, which we eat by candlelight; pumpkin soup from the intellectual deli and grilled cheese sandwiches imprinted with a jack-o-lantern. (I got the stamp in a set, with stamps of a smiley face,  Santa, an Easter egg, and a turkey.)  We have tomato juice to drink, since it looks like blood.

Karen asked me if I wanted to come over and try to contact Margaret with a Ouija board.  I said we always watch scary movies together, and why didn’t they come over here.  Maybe it makes me a wuss, but after The Exorcist, which gave me nightmares as a child, I’m afraid of Ouijas.  I asked Karen if they were going to have pea soup.

I would have told Karen that it would probably be more worthwhile to say a prayer for Margaret on All Saints’ Day, but I didn’t want to be an obnoxious churchlady.

Memories Monday -- Pulp Nonfiction

“So,” I said to Karen and Nikki “Betsey had her friend Becky overnight last Saturday and the next morning, I asked if she wanted orange juice with lots of pulp or no pulp.”

“You get both kinds?”  Karen was incredulous. 

“Well, Cilla and I like it with pulp, but nobody else does. We tried some with ‘some pulp’, but then nobody was happy.”

“Nobody ever is when you compromise,” Nikki said.  “You have to make a commitment, especially with things you feel strongly about.”

“What kind did she want?”

“Lots of pulp, and of course Betsey had to say how yucky it was, and I had to remind her that everyone is entitled to their own preferences.”

“Not at my house when I was a kid,” Karen muttered.  “My mother refused to buy chunky peanut butter.  Fortunately, Tom and the boys like it.”

“If they didn’t, would you buy smooth for them?”

Karen looked surprised, as if she had never thought this could be an option.

“I guess so, but wouldn’t it be spoiling them?”

“Well, not if Tom liked it too.”

“We always used Hellman’s Mayonnaise,” I said, “and Janet always used Miracle Whip.  It’s no wonder people say she can’t cook.  Anyway, when we got married, we bought both.  I think that’s when I really felt independent.  My mother probably would have made herself use Miracle Whip.”

“Unless she hid a little jar of Hellman’s in the back of the fridge and snuck spoonfuls of it once in a while.”

 “But anyway,” I said, getting back to my story, “Becky told her mother about it and about the mayonnaise and her mother called me and said that I was spoiling the children.  I told her that it gave them practice making choices.”

“What did she say?”

“That there are limits.”

“Did she mention the jelly, too?”  We have about eight kinds of jelly in the refrigerator: strawberry, raspberry with seeds, raspberry without seeds, grape, blueberry, peach, pineapple, and marmalade.  And we’ll probably have more after the Christmas Bazaar at church.

“Dear, God, the jelly!”  Karen looked up to heaven and laughed.  “I’m never going to let the boys look in your refrigerator”

“So what did you say?”  Nikki got us back on track.

“I thanked her for her input and told her what an angel Becky had been.  Then I said I had to go because Ed needed me for something.”

“Did he?” 

“Well, he might have.”

“I’m sorry I only have one kind of wine, tonight.” Karen said. 

Nikki snorted.  “It’s lucky we don’t need to learn how to make choices.”

 

 

Relax -- They're Short -- Poems by Alice Barrett

Word Choice

Alice Barrett

My parents died.

My dogs and cats passed away.

My old loves kicked off.

(And not a minute too soon;

It served them right,)

My favorite professor was killed;

His car went over a cliff.

How will they phrase it

When I’m no longer here?

Light in a Churchyard

Alice Barrett

In the early autumn late afternoon,

Tea-stained gold sunlight

Splashes through the umbrella

Of the magnolia’s leaves,
Into the birdbath
Between the chapel

And the parish hall.

  

Although best known for her fiction (The Story Lovers, The Cod), Alice Barrett first came to attention through her poetry.  Her collections include Rings on Tables and Hoping for Lies.  

My Dinner with Michele -- From Charlie's Diary

 

I had expected Michele to be gorgeous, either in a hippie bohemian way or a cool bad girl motorcycle jacket way.  Emily didn’t have any pictures.  She said it was too painful.

But when I met Michele, she reminded me of Joyce Carol Oates.  Ms. Oates (I feel odd calling her Joyce or Joyce Carol) is a great writer and probably a nice person, but she doesn’t do anything for me sexually.  And I can’t see her doing anything for anyone else.  But what do I know?

“I’ve been so wanting to meet you,” she said.  “Poor Emily does need taking care of doesn’t she?”  I was surprised that she didn’t scold me for getting Emily in a situation that broke her heart.  But as Karen pointed out, our efforts had put Emily in a position where she was a sitting duck for Michele. 

The three of us had dinner at Emily’s; Michele was staying there.  I wasn’t sure if that was a good idea, but Nikki said it really didn’t make any difference.  If Michele wanted Emily again, she could get her wherever she was.

Michele is quiet but very intense, with a way of looking at you straight in the eye as if whatever you said was very important to her.  When Emily was in the kitchen, Michele leaned forward.  “How is she doing?  I’ve been very concerned.”

“I don’t know.  She still sees Alice and she swears she knows they’ll never be more than friends, but . . . I don’t know.  I feel terrible for starting this.”

“It must be very hard for you.  But you really shouldn’t beat yourself up.  You wanted to help a friend.”  She reached over and patted my hand.

“Well, yes.”  For some reason I felt a little funny, but then Emily brought in the spaghetti.

“Just the way you used to make it with the cloves,” Michele said, smiling at Emily. “This is my all-time favorite spaghetti sauce,” she said to me, as if she was confiding a secret, like she'd lied about her age on Facebook. “It was the first real dinner we shared.”

Shared?  She sounded like a character in a Bible movie.

Emily giggled.  “We were going to go to the movies afterward, but we never got there.”

For a change I got something.

“Did you ever get to see the movie?”

“Oh, Charlie,” Emily laughed.  “Charlie thinks of things nobody else does,” she said to Michele.  Then she looked sad.  “So does Alice.”

“Do you, Charlie?”

I felt flustered and started going over my repertoire in my head.  I’d really rather do my wives of Henry VIII trick.

“You must be very creative.  Creativity is a real gift.”

“Thank you.”

“I love your blog.  You have such a feeling for people’s idiosyncrasies.”

“I’m glad you enjoy it. . . Have you done any sightseeing?  Not that there’s that many sights.  Of course the college is beautiful.  The library has a great spiral staircase.  And if you’re here on Sunday, you should go to Mass at Epiphany.   The high Mass is at ten.  Does incense bother you?  It doesn’t bother me, but my husband said worlds would collide if we went to his mother’s church, so we go to Trinity.  It’s Low Church, but I don’t mind.  Cilla would like more pageantry, but I tell her she’ll have to wait until she can drive herself there.  That won’t be until she’s sixteen or maybe even eighteen.  I want to hold off on the kids driving as long as possible.  They’re pretty responsible kids, but with all the crazies out there, you never know.”

“Charlie knows all the wives of Henry VIII and the husbands of Elizabeth Taylor.”

“Oh, let’s not make Charlie perform,” Michele said.  “It’s so much more fun just talking.” And she smiled at me.

Emily had carrot cake from the organic bakery for dessert.

“I know it’s both of you’s favorite.  Or both of your favorite.  Or the favorite of both of you."  Emily giggled again.  "Here I am an English professor making grammar mistakes.”  

I was glad I didn’t get the history of the two of them and carrot cake.

We really did have a nice dinner and I liked Michele in spite of all the awful stories about her.  She hugged me and said, “I’ve really enjoyed meeting you,” and squeezed my hand.

I’ve had Emily’s spaghetti and the bakery’s carrot cake before, so I don’t know what it was that made my stomach feel uncomfortable.
 

 

A McDonald's Memory -- Corn Dogs, Cannons, and Cotton Candy



My mother, aunt, and uncle grew up in what was technically a suburb but was really the country.  They had cornfields on two sides of their house and a neighbor who raised bantam chickens.  Every year, the township Volunteer Fire Company held a carnival the second or third week of September.  My mother, Aunt Pooh, and Uncle Hank had always gone and years later they would take me and my cousins.

The carnival was held in a large field in back of the firehouse.  A policeman would direct you to a parking spot in the beaten down grass and you hoped the ground wouldn’t be muddy.  As soon as you got out of the car, you could smell the carnival:  pierogies frying, the cotton candy swirling in its machine, the pony ride ponies simply smelling like ponies.

We were all supposed to stay together, which meant that the older ones had to stand around while the younger ones went on the baby rides and the younger cousins had to wait while the others did the flying swings and the house of mirrors.  I’d like to say we did this without complaining, but I know you wouldn’t believe me.  Aunt Pooh had told us stories about children who wandered off from their families and were never seen again.  That scared some of us, but later my cousin Jimmy pointed out that maybe the children had run away with the carnival, which didn’t seem so bad.

When it got dark, the strings of lights went on.  Local bands would play on the stage – country music or tributes to whatever rock group was popular.  The younger children would dance, while the older ones stood around and said how corny it was and then went on to talk about how corny the world was.

I liked to wait until it got dark to go on the Ferris wheel.  It seemed braver to go up in the dark and feel you were in the sky yourself in the middle of the stars.

Towards the end of the evening, a man would be shot out of a cannon.  We would spend the ride home talking about whether we would want to do that and arguing whether girls could be human cannon balls.

The carnival is still going on, and naturally Ed and I try to take the kids every year.  They sit in the back seat playing video games and asking if we are there yet.  Ed, who can be quite literal at times, says, “No.  We are on the way.  If we were there the car wouldn’t be moving.”

“What if you’re parking the car?  Is that being there?”

Josh had him on that.

“It depends on what you mean by being and what you mean by there.”

But eventually we are there, the car is parked and we are in the middle of the crowds and smells and noise.  The kids are discussing what they are going to eat, but I tell them they should go on the rides first.  They are still the same, including the “sit down ride.”  After Ed took Betsey and Josh on it last year, he had to sit down.  It’s one of their favorite stories, although, as Betsey pointed out, it would have been better if Ed had thrown up.

Then, of course, we have to eat, after we have walked around to see what’s available, so that no one gets stuck with something after they’ve seen something better, stopping at the game booths to try to win stuffed animals or tee shirts or outdated video games.  Cilla wins six stuffed animals at the skill crane, with Betsey and Josh cheering her on as Ed and I hand out the money.  I end up carrying them for the rest of the night.  Fortunately, I have some plastic bags in my pocket that I keep for Duke’s walks.

Finally it is time to go home.  Topics of discussion during the ride home are:

Why do they have only the sucky red candy apples and not the caramel ones?

Why wouldn’t working for a carnival be a good career choice, since you could probably go on the rides for free?  (Because carnival workers don’t have health insurance.)

                                                                  

                                                             

Are the ponies being exploited?

How many times did everyone see the ponies go to the bathroom?

Why do we say that animals “go to the bathroom” when they don’t have bathrooms, except, of course, those cats that are trained to use the toilet or cats whose litter boxes are in the bathroom?

Why don’t they shoot people out of cannons any more, or did I make that up?

By the time we get home, Cilla is asleep and even Betsey and Josh are rubbing their eyes.  Ed leads Cilla upstairs and tucks her in with her new stuffed animals. 

I give Betsey and Josh some cocoa and then herd them up the stairs. 

“Do you think they might shoot somebody out of a cannon next year?” Josh asks.

“Do you think they might have caramel apples?” Betsey wonders.