Merry Krimmas

“Merry Krimmas!” Yes, that’s how someone greeted me yesterday. “Merry Krimmas!” In fact, they’ve carried on for the last couple of weeks about their “Krimmas” party and their “Krimmas” plans. I guess “Krimmas” is a way to celebrate the day without offending anyone who might have some beef with Christmas or maybe it’s some awfully cute way of saying Christmas like you’re still four years old – it’s adorable coming from an adult… no really, adorable.

Either way, it’s stupid. There’s really no way around it. Every year we get to hear people weigh in on the whole “Happy Holidays” thing – a greeting that supposedly encompasses all during these few weeks in December – a politically correct way to not tread on toes. “Merry Christmas” “Happy Chanukah” and “Happy Kwanzaa” have to take a backseat to a more generic “Happy Holidays”. As if being more specific will some how ruin the whole month.

Well, I’m here to spread the news – receiving a greeting that isn’t part of your belief system has not been shown to cause any real harm. Despite the warnings, your ears will not implode, your fingers won’t curl up and your eyes won’t drop out. You won’t have to tear down your decorations or stop lighting candles. Mass will not be called off. It’s a greeting filled with good wishes. Take it as such. Otherwise, I’m going to be forced to create a movement to make all holidays politically correct – Passover/Easter will become “EEK! Hide Your First Born Day” and I will move that everyone greet each other appropriately. I’m still working on the rest – trying to figure out what would offend me the very least as we move through the year. There’s Memorial Day, that’s got to change as it might offend people with Alzheimer’s and those suffering from memory loss. Then there’s Arbor Day, that’s out, too - I don’t think Republicans take a shine to it. President’s Day offends the anarchists, socialists, monarchists and many dictators – can’t have that. Not to mention, it’s not very specific. I mean do we really have to celebrate them all? William Harrison? Millard Fillmore? Andrew Johnson? Labor Day is just another way to mock state and federal employees – not to mention the unemployed. Thanksgiving is just another way to take a slap at the ungrateful and force people to eat dry turkey. Looking at this small list, I see we could really stand to have the whole holiday thing revamped into some Orwellian shade of grey or beige if grey offends you.

Christmas Thoughts

We’re having a quiet Christmas/birthday at the house today. Most people suspect it has to do with my Mom passing away; it’s an expectation people have of you when a major holiday comes and goes without a particular person around to share it with. It’s not true in this case. My Mom didn’t care much for Christmas although she loved a good present. She felt it was too commercialized and didn’t like feeling pressured to spend more money than she had. Being told who to spend money when she had no money dampened her spirits year after year.

She loved presents more than any person I ever met and every present she received was a treasure. She wasn’t the kind of person to “re-gift” or hold onto a present in hopes you can trade it away at a White Elephant party the following year. In fact, you’d never see your presents show up at a garage sale. Your present was paraded around, displayed, devoured and spoken of for weeks to come; it didn’t matter what it was. Presents made Mom happy – almost giddy with delight and I can’t think of a single person I know that loves presents as much as she did. The true Christmas gift with Mom was seeing her expression as she got that one thing she asked for months before.

Mom never hinted about what she wanted. She told you flat out and if you could order it online, she’d send you the link. Last year it was: “I want a La-dee-da shirt, In Cold Blood” and a “Howdy Doodie Sandwich Whistle tin”. The shirt was easy because it involved finding an embroiderer, the book wasn’t on her Amazon list so she couldn’t check the purchases, however the sandwich tin was on an auction that I knew Mom would watch closely. Mom liked a surprise, but she really liked knowing the most which is why it had always been a trick to surprise her – she wanted hints, she wanted to shake the gift, she wanted to open it 2 days early, because what’s 2 days really… For the auction, I had someone bid against me to throw Mom off and got a call a few hours before the auction closed closed saying “Beth, the tin is too expensive now. You can stop bidding.” I asked her who bought it and she replied, “some guy named Pipay Dinglemeyer.” That wasn’t the name; she’d completely butchered it so it was hard to not bust out laughing. “That’s quite a name.”

I miss my Mom, but no more today than any day. The truth of the matter is, I’ll miss her more come Oscar night. Now that was truly her “holiday”. And I’ll miss her when I enter the annual Oscar pool. I don’t have a clue who will win Best Cinematographer. Our ritual that involved 40 phone calls before the night was over is gone along with being able to call her to share something I’ve seen or read. Christmas… well, Christmas is just another day.

Cooking Tip #1

Caramel meant for ice cream and caramel meant for you to melt and place in fudge are two different things. Do not substitute because you don't have a double boiler and are two lazy to float a smaller pot in a larger pot.

Results: Fudge you not only can eat with a spoon, but it's probably for the best. Bibs highly recommended.

My baking thanks:
Thank God I worked at a cookie store. I'm a darn fine cookie maker.
Thank God my stepmother taught me how to make cranberry nut bread.
Thank God my aunt and cousin understand I live in an I Love Lucy episode.

Death by Fudge

As I wait for the butter to soften for my Christmas fudge, I approach it knowing that what I’m about to do comes from a darker place – a place without Santa watching over his sweatshop getting ready to lash out at eight “tiny” reindeer (poor midget deer, imagine their burden) and madly drive them all over the globe, cackling along the way . It’s a place that doesn’t celebrate Visa or Mastercard. No, it’s much darker. Yes, I’m preparing to “do in” my family.

I came up with the idea while visiting the local Hobby Lobby. There on a shelf were festive tins calling to me. They said, “line me with tissue and fill me with artery clogging goodness. You know you want to. Do it. DO IT!” And I submitted to the dark baking master that is guiding my hand today.

I’ve already flipped through the recipes and settled on the one. Caramel, butter, evaporated milk and nuts... oh yes, perfect – my dark plot unfolds. But just in case, that fudge should fail me, I’m making back-up cookies and cranberry nut bread. You’ve seen it in the movies and on TV – the villain always forgets reinforcements, but not me. I’m prepared with more sweets. Surely, one of those should finish them off.

I plan to cover the offerings with Hershey Kiss Cordials and peppermint. These trusted candies will act as the Judas lamb leading them to the artery slaughter. HO HO HO!

(Ok, ok, the butter isn’t softening fast enough so I had to come up with something to do during the down time. It’s either this or clean toilets. Sheesh! Tough room.)

The Five Guests

Not so long ago Lori asked me a simple question: “If you could invite five people to dinner – real or fictitious, living or dead, who would they be?” I over-thought this one, as I always do with the simplest of questions. Should I go the historical route? Ghandi, Martin Luther King, Robespierre, Andrew Jackson and Jesus? Would we get along? Would they want me in the same room? Would Ghandi eat? Could I get away with handing out glasses of water and hoping we might score some free wine? Then there was my Hollywood line-up: Morgan Freeman and Jodi Foster, thrown in with a few characters from books/movies - Atticus Finch, Jean Luc-Picard and Graham Dalton (I’m going to make you work for that one). Would every course come after Picard directed the catering staff with lines like “make appetizers so”? Could anyone get a word in with this crowd?

I struggled with this question. What would my answer ultimately say about me? Out of five people, who would I really, deep down want to have sitting with me at a dinner table for one magical night. I sent Lori my list.

If I could have one night where five people could gather around a table. I would wish for: my Dad, my Mom, Jay and my Aunt Jen who passed away on June 24, 2005. My fifth guest is someone equally close to my heart, but will remain private. I would wish that the night would start early and carry on until dawn. And at the end of it, I would still find myself surrounded by my two favorite guys and the memory of one perfect, magical evening.

Tis the Season

(Due to the increased number of hits on this particular post, I would like to remind everyone that:
The image below is COPYRIGHTED by its artist, Jeff Bent.PLEASE CONTACT HIM FOR PERMISSIONBEFORE YOU USE THIS IMAGE IN ANY FORM.)



Once upon a time I commissioned a set of Christmas cards from my friend Jeff. (The one above happens to be my favorite.) For me, finding the perfect holiday card to clutter my friends mailboxes with is a huge annual chore and this year I've just dropped the ball. Where I like to find the perfect card that has the right sense of humor or the perfect piece of art, this year I may be stuck with the dregs. You know, those white cards with an embossed dove that say "Peace" or a picture of a dull looking wreath with an obligatory "Happy Holidays" on the inside, because apparently we don't have "Merry Christmas" any more. (If you're sending one of those to me, I love it. I didn't mean a word of what I just typed. Honest. Peace on Earth to you, too.)

I thought I had a few more days and then the cards started hitting my mailbox announcing that I was behind again. I don't feel bad being behind those people who send out the card with just their name scrawled inside, but then I get cards like the one from Lori. She's cleverly created a card using a picture of her sidekick Dot all decked out for Christmas and to add insult to injury she's even included a thoughtful personal message. Knowing Lori as I do, she's sent out 100's of those, each with their own special message to the card receiver to make them feel special. And that's how I know, I really haven't gotten my act together.

Sure, I could easily fall on the crutch "I've had a lot on my mind lately", but it's really just a crutch. The truth of the matter lies somewhere between there and my raging distaste of places that sell cards at the moment - and as you know, there's a lot of places that fall into that category. (Could someone please go to the grocery store for me?)

So, tomorrow is my last chance. I'm heading to the tacky card store, where they sell all of my favorite tacky cards (and they also happen to sell pet costumes - pictures of Sage as a pirate for Halloween will one day be posted - cross your fingers the cowboy hat is still there) and here's hoping they have something that's perfect. Something that screams "me".

If I fail in my one mission, you may get the card from last year. You know, the one with the tabby cat snowman and a tabby cat sitting next to it rubbing its face on tabby snowman's whiskers. Now that was a classy card. You love it enough to see it again... and again... until the box is empty.

Pre-apologies for my getting your card to you after Christmas. You all know the love is still there.

Wisdom

At my age, I feel fairly comfortable dispensing sage advise. Yes, I feel that I'm so darn wise by this point that people could actually benefit from this wealth of wisdom I keep stored. Lucky you!

After watching too much television, flipping through too many articles on the Internet, I decided to share this little pearl from the bowels of my brain:

Do not trust anyone whose name you'd feel comfortable bestowing on your pampered poodle. The same holds true for Jack Russell terriers - Skippy is not someone you want guiding your day to day activities. He's your hyperactive racquetball partner. If they wanted to be trusted, they'd change their name to something you'd name your St. Bernard or Corgi. Mr. Hubert Bigglesworth inspires trust and would probably bring back that ball you carelessly tossed into the middle of the yard.

I hope this helps you make it through your Monday.

Maintenance & Thank You's!

I want to thank everyone whose giving me such wonderful feedback. It really means a lot to me, although I'm frankly shocked at your bad taste. (It'll be our little secret; I'll never tell another soul) :)

Something that my older four readers had to learn - I'm terrible about editing and reserve the right to edit anything I post for up to 24 hours. I "try" to read what I'm posting before I hit the publish button, but I get mixed results. (Translation: I do a spelling pass and not necessarily a grammar pass. Homonymns are not my friend, but we're working out a small truce.)

Trish, Scott's friend (Hi Trish & Scott!) asked about RSS feeds. I believe they're enabled, but I don't have a handy little icon on the site. I know the feed address is:
http://www.bigbluemess.com/blogs/main/atom.xml
Sadly, that's the extent of my knowledge.

Anna/Seth/April - could you explain in comments how you got the Big Blue Mess on your feeds? I'm personally not very RSS feed savvy and rely on a browser called Flock in order to cheat. Guys, is there an icon I can put on the site that would make it easier?

Maintenance - This morning I'm going to try to upgrade to a newer, sexier version of Blogger. The site may explode, but I guess it wouldn't be a "Mess" if I didn't occasionally blow something up.

Revelations

I was being a big car loser today. Definition: It's when I go hide out in my car over lunch and heckle people on the phone. I called up April to go over the highlights of the big four hour meeting I had this morning - how I had stood with feet firmly planted on the Earth then slowly raised my arms towards the sky exhaling all the bad energy, then rejuvenating my lungs with the good before the meeting started - it was a group exercise. And how we generated chi. (We were told it was the tingling sensation in our hands - I always thought that was the beginnings of carpal tunnel; what do I know?) I carried on and on in the way I do when forced to run with wolves or feel the healing power of a rock when April interjected: "Beth, you're too bitter for chi."

Amen! I am too bitter for chi! I felt such a release with that revelation.

Now if I were only too bitter for karma.

Birthdays of Yore

There's a little deleted comment (I didn't do it, I swear) on the previous post. I happened to see it because the author couldn't get into my e-mail and delete it. That author, ANNA, changed up her comments to include a "DO IT" link. (Before it said "wah-wah" *ahem*.)

What Anna also mentioned in that comment, is that Anna was the only friend to surprise me on a Christmas Day. Back in the day, we were roommates with two cats and three, no four, no five ferrets (ok, so it was maybe just four, but the brood eventually grew to 6, which is another story).

I was doing something, who knows what, but it involved a car and being out of the house. I showed up at my parents late. I wasn't in a particular rush and there was Anna, asleep (she can sleep ANYWHERE at ANY TIME - also, if she wakes up, she's probably not awake and that's where the fun begins, but again, that's another few stories) along with a chocolate iced cake with peppermint sprinkles on top. Mmmmm! I thought Anna was back home, so I completely wasn't expecting a special cake just for my birthday, which is why I was late. Whoops.

It's good to have friends that are birthday people or just want me to shut-up about my birthday - I'll take it either way.

Bowling for Trolls

I’m a huge drama queen when it comes to my birthday. Everyone knows it and I freely admit it – since I acknowledge it, it makes my irrational behavior acceptable.

See, I’m a Christmas baby. Yes, born on the actual day – 8:52 am – Mom thought it was food poisoning from something she ate the night before. On that morning, I burst out at 7 lbs. ½ oz., 21”, with a full head of hair and big issues. From 8:53 on I had to share my birthday with the world. The problem was only compounded by being an only child. You see, we’re naturally selfish if you listen to any pop-psychologist. So, it’s really not my fault, I mean what is? (another thing I learned from pop-psychology).

As a Christmas baby you have to learn to compromise. Birthdays have to be held a few weeks in advance because no one can come on the actual day. Family frequently forgets it’s your birthday at gatherings on the actual day. It’s just hard to feel special. (I discount any time I get to whip out my driver’s license and hear “oooh, Christmas!”)

For the last 9 years I’ve had an annual skate party and every year I swear up and down it’s the very last one. As I explained to Jay, “no one ever comes” and then he counted out 8 people who showed up at the last one – really uncool, because in Beth’s new math 8 some how got remembered as maybe 3 or 4.

Well, this year was it for me. No more birthday parties. I was throwing in the towel. My grand plan was to count the cards I didn’t receive and throw a pity party for one.

That’s when April stepped in. “If I throw you a birthday party, will you agree to have it?” Sure. “How many people will have to be there for you to actually feel like it’s a birthday party?” I think I begrudgingly said 10. (Like I said, I’m a HUGE DRAMA QUEEN about my birthday. I did NOT say I’m a rational human being… ever.)

Today I got the e-Vite (an e-Vite that I didn’t make for once) which completely made my day. In the hottest pink background possible (love it) I read about “Beth’s Birthday Bowl-a-Thon” and "Bowling for Trolls" with promises that if you bowled a strike or spare you got to “get a prize from the bag of mystery”. How can you resist a "bag of mystery"?

April, you crack me up and you completely made my day. Thank you, my wonderful friend. And another thank you for babysitting me through the years and for listening to all of my ridiculous birthday whining (yeah, yeah, thanks to the rest of you who listen to it, too).

Deadiquette

Every culture has rituals, customs, rites of passage, etc. etc. And it would seem to me that since they are our rituals, customs, rites of passage, etc. etc., that we should know how to make it through most of them without making a complete fool of ourselves – simple things like how to make it through: mass, retirement parties, birthdays, weddings and funerals (I bet you can see where this is going). Instead, we usually meet up with some director in a suit after having read a few books, a pamphlet or two and maybe some magazine tips. With notepad in hand we carefully jot down the instructions offered to us. “Take a woman’s arm like so…” “…all the family stands up and …” “... that water is blessed; it’s not a fountain…” “… and the recessional music plays as everyone exits…” “No, the bride comes in last.”

I love these types of events because with all the unfamiliar formality something invariably explodes. I live for these moments; it’s like a little reward for having to dress up and wear uncomfortable shoes. Like the time I laughed during my vows. (We like to call that foreshadowing.) The time Groovy Kind of Love came thundering out from a majestic pipe organ or at the one wedding where the Reverend said in his thick East Texas drawl, “Dana ‘n David, when you come together at your honeymoon bed…” (I don’t remember the rest; I fell over and was getting hit by the person who brought me. Trust me, you had to be there.) Well, these aren’t exactly great examples, but most of you know what I mean – problems with caterers, the cakes, the rings, or your grandmother flinging herself into the coffin. And all the drama usually comes from the people who have been presumably coached on how to respectfully make it through the event.

While the director’s direct the person or family through these cumbersome rituals, I think it wouldn’t hurt to have another guy whose sole purpose is to coach the guests.

With that in mind and because I honestly only have one thing on my mind, here are some tips Lynn and I have put together on how to be a better funeral guest:
Don’t ask for details unless you really want to know.
If there isn’t a body, don’t ask the immediate family if they found things like “teeth” or “bones”. Sure, you may want to know, but it’s safe to say the family doesn’t want to discuss it.
Don’t monopolize the family member. If you’re nearing the 45 minute mark, it’s time to move on with your “deepest condolences”.
Get the name of the deceased right. This is especially important if you’re officiating in any way or sending sympathy cards. (Toree, I wish I’d met Yvette.)
Avoid awkward questions that make it seem like you’re trying to size up the tragedy.

In fact, here’s how I think I rated in that regard:
Only child – TRAGIC
Adult – Not so bad
Sudden death – TRAGIC
Closeness to mother – BAD
Scorecard: Pity Beth

It’s probably better to simply offer condolences rather than grilling the next of kin with questions that seemed designed to size up the loss. “No, I’m an only child.” “Yes, I was close to my mother.” I really needed a sandwich board detailing everything so I wouldn’t have to repeat myself – much like my cousin’s son Trevor who we teased about having to answer “Yes, I am 14. Yes, I have grown. Yes, I am very handsome.” Well, on that last bit he just blushed and giggled.

Sorry Anna… I’m working on funny.