'Tis the Season

‘Tis the Season. Shoppers gone mad. It’s been said many time, many ways, but when did Christmas get so-o-o out of hand? The shopping. The lines. The meanness. Unbelievably, one of the sweetest young women I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with was called a snotty little bitch. Twice. In one week. Two different women, who probably had waited until the last minute to get something we had been sold out of for weeks, called her that. Snotty and bitch seem like the perfect adjectives to be using at this time of year. They just didn’t realize that they were referring to themselves instead of an underpaid hourly retail employee who was doing her job and trying to be helpful.

Does anyone really remember what this time of year is supposed to be about? There are a few people, I’m sure, that do. But there are more than that who think if they don’t have the perfect Martha Stewart holiday, then everything will be ruined. So they rush around (some all year long) looking for that perfect tea cozy for Aunt Sarah because she loves her herbal tea so much and Niece Mary wants to get the perfect gift that will make Aunt Sarah remember Mary even more the rest of the year. Why wouldn’t she? Every day that Sarah get’s the tea cozy out to keep her pot of tea at just the right temperature, she’ll remember what a perfect and thoughtful gift her Niece Mary got her. Then they rush around making the most perfectly iced sugar cookies with hand drawn angels and snowmen on them. All this while decorating their homes to look like a spread out of Better Homes and Gardens. Honestly, who has all that time or energy without getting a little help from their local pharmacist?

But the reality is that Aunt Sarah will probably think “where the hell am I going to put this thing? I have enough crap now including the shiatsu massage that my brother Roy got me last year. The damned thing feels like someone’s digging their knuckles into my back every time I use it.” And Roy is out the $24.95 that he spent plus the time he finally dragged his ass out to the mall (in reality, the local Rite-Aid) to find something for his sister that he hardly even speaks to now that their parents have died. So why do people do this? Is it because it’s expected? I think that most people if they are honest would say that they do it because they are afraid of looking cheap if they don’t. That’s not what the season is supposed to be about.

I’ve noticed there are fewer people shopping this year. And the retail numbers are showing it. Yes, you have people lining up in droves for the super discount deals that many retailers are offering. But most of them are still spending less than they would have in a better economy. I suspect that a lot of them aren’t even using credit cards like they would have in past years as they are afraid that when the bills do start coming in, they won’t have the cash to pay them off. The ones that are out are looking for the deep discounts and, I suspect, not at what they are truly buying. False hopes, empty promises, and overpriced gee-gaws. Batteries not included.

My point is this: maybe, just maybe if people realize that the gifts aren’t the most important part of Christmas, maybe they’ll stop with the compulsive spending habits. Maybe instead of a tea cozy or shiatsu massager all Aunt Sarah needs is that time you would have spent at the mall looking for the perfect gift. And don’t forget the food! Some of my most vivid memories as a child aren’t of the gifts I received as a child. They are of the smell of my aunt’s Parker House rolls. The smell of yeasty bread pungent in the air, the pumpkin pie spices lingering along with the smell of savory turkey and stuffing the minute you walked in Aunt Sarah and Uncle John’s front door. And the laughter of aunts, uncles and cousins all gathered around the farm house reliving the past years and reminiscing about the relatives that had since passed. It’s a fitting way to end the year.

Maybe that’s what the holidays should truly be about. Reminiscing, reconnecting, reliving what brought us all together in the first place. But today it seems that so many families are fractured, split up all across the globe or just plain broken. They can’t get past distance or the past to enjoy today. If you are a member of one of those families, just remember that Robert Frost said “Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” The “Hallmark, Norman Rockwell” Christmas for most people is either a myth or an impossibility. Don’t hold yourself to someone else’s standards. If you feel more comfortable or enjoy being around people other than your relatives, then be with them. You know who your “family” really is.

Or if you have a family that you do want to spend time with, then just spend time with, not money on them. I’m sure that they’ll hold those memories a lot longer than they will the stuff that they probably won’t remember past the time it takes to throw out the torn wrapping paper. It may be too late to do anything this year, but bookmark this page, mark your calendar for next November and take a look at this next year. Remember what made you so crazed this year and you can make it a different Christmas for everyone including yourself next year. Have yourself a Merry little Christmas by remembering the true meaning of Christmas, that the true gift is one of love, of time, and of yourself. For this is the time of year when we were given the ultimate gift of love, by the true Father of Christmas.

Merry Christmas

It's been quite a year. Moved back to Indianapolis. New job for Robbie. New car for me - OK so it's a used PT Cruiser, but it's new to me. And Riley, well she's growing quickly. She's become quite the little dancer. Check her out in this home video:

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. - Proverbs 31:10

I have a favor to ask of everyone.

My sister-in-law Becky’s mother Dee passed away this morning after a short - way too short - battle with lung cancer that had metastasized to just about every possible organ. They had just learned only a few weeks before Thanksgiving that it was there and terminal. My S-I-L found out about it in the most horrific way possible. Becky is a nurse and was looking at x-rays of a patient before consulting the chart to see who the patient was and could clearly see how bad the cancer was. You can surmise the rest.

Dee's wishes were to be cremated and that there is to be no funeral. She wanted her family to try and enjoy the holidays and remember what this time of year is truly about. Becky said that after the holidays that the family might get together for a memorial tribute of some sort. Becky is also an incredibly warm and generous woman. I think that in itself is a very fine tribute to her mother.

My favor is this: please send any thoughts, energy, or prayers to Becky and her family. This has been an incredible shock for everyone. I only knew Dee for a brief amount of time and the loss is unimaginable for even me. Dee was an incredibly thoughtful, warm and caring woman that made the world a better place with her presence. I'm sure my brother Matt is feeling the loss particularly keen as well. Dee treated him like her own son, joking around with him, getting flustered with his bad jokes (yes they run in our family.) She treated him like someone who mattered and not like someone who could break her daughter's heart. She gave him a chance. To me, that is the ultimate in being a good person. Give people a chance every now and then and they just might surprise you with their potential.

Dee was always glad to see us and Riley. She seemed to adore our little one. And she was always interested in what ever was going on in our lives, making sure that we had settled in to our home, and making us feel like we were part of her family. In a way I guess we are.

Thank you everyone,
Jim

Christmas Memories Old and New

A big question I have of late is why I have such a visceral reaction every time I see Santa Claus. I can’t look at the mall Santa without getting choked up. I don’t know if it has something to do with missing the way my childhood used to be, but I’d bet that it does. I used to have the same reaction whenever I would watch Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer. I’d cry through most of it, missing how my family used to be whole and together.

The crying ended last year. I held my daughter in my arms and watched it with her for the first time. OK. So I did the watching, she mostly slept as she was only seven months old at the time. It was a great feeling to talk to her letting her know that one of my first memories was watching Rudolph. Of course all she heard was a sound akin to the teacher on another Christmas classic, Merry Christmas Charlie Brown.

This year, we made a date to watch it together again. She did really well for being only 19 months old. She sat next to me on the sofa (for the most part) only getting up occasionally to grab or look at something else. But she always came back on her own to watch the rest of the show. The whole hour long show. I don’t have an attention span that long. She was most fascinated with the singing. Any singing or music will capture her attention like nothing else.

Yup. It was the best hour I’ve spent this holiday. And last year too. I can imagine one of the days Riley will look at me and roll her eyes and say “Not again, Dad. It’s just cheesy.” But until then, I’ll relish every single moment that I can make new memories with her, sitting on my lap seeing what I saw for the first time 40 some years ago.

December 2, 2002 - Maxx

I was missing my Westie puppy Max. The psycho had popped back up after being gone for three months and said he wanted his dogs back. I put up a fight. After all, Max was supposed to have been my dog. And he sure wasn't concerned about his Scottish Terrier for those three months. But then the psycho called the police, told them I stole his dogs, and that was that.

A few months later, I was sitting outside of work with my friend Connie when a man went walking by with his Cairn Terrier. I told Connie that I missed my dog. She asked me what kind of dog I had and I told the story to her of my Westie Max. Connie said that she had a friend who was looking for a home for a dog, she thought it was a terrier of some sort and she would get me the contact information the next day.

The next day at work, Connie dropped by my cube and just dropped a piece of paper on my desk with a woman's name and phone number on it. Under it was written the words Westie and Max. I made the call and set up a time to see him that evening.

Max had been rescued by a groomer,Sara, who when she went to go look at him told the owners that they didn’t deserve to have a dog and took him home with her. Sara originally planned just to see what kind of dog he was and place a notice in the shop where she worked. She took one look at him chained to a barn, covered in dirt and grease and that was it. Sara said he was so dirty that she didn’t even realize that he was a Westie until she started cleaning him up.

He was malnourished and had lost most of his hair across his back. What little hair he had left was so matted down that Sara had to shave him almost completely down to his skin. His right ear was broken and flopped over from apparently a very bad case of ear mites. The ear mites had caused him to shake his head so violently that he developed a hematoma which, when it finally healed, caused the ear to flop.

I met with Sara and Max that evening, took him for a walk to see how he would do with me (just fine) and took him home that night. I know it's kind of cheesy, but I added the second x to his name since I already had a Max before and didn't want to rename this one.

It wasn't the easiest of relationships in the beginning. Maxx and I had our times with deciding who was going to be the alpha in the house. I don't know if it was him thinking I would be a pushover, but every chance he got, he would try to steal pizza from me when he thought I wasn't paying attention. I'd be sitting at the coffee table watching tv, eating pizza, and Maxx would try to help himself. After a few times of me pushing him away, him snapping at my hand, me thwacking a finger across his nose, Maxx finally got the idea that I was in charge... or so I thought.

Robbie and Maxx didn't get along very well in the beginning. I had only just started dating Robbie the previous month and it was like both of them were competing for my attention whenever Robbie was over at my house. When you're fresh in a new relationship a needy dog can be irritating to the new boyfriend who also wants all of your attention. Maxx would literally get between us on the couch and growl slightly if he thought Robbie was getting a little too close to me. Any other time, Maxx would have been more aloof. He needed to be in the same room with me, sometimes just laying at my feet, but he was never the affectionate lap dog type.

Over the next few months, we three settled into an understanding. Maxx reluctantly let Robbie into his life, Robbie would bring him treats, and I watched in amusement as we slowly became a family. Our first Christmas together, Robbie even bought Maxx a dog toy which he promptly ignored... until he thought we weren't watching.

Spring came, Robbie moved into his new house and Maxx became more intertwined in our lives. Maxx's first visit to the new house was not his best moment. He sniffed out each room very carefully on the first floor, and then promptly peed on the back of the sofa in the family room. To be fair to him, the sofa was passed on to us from friends who had dogs. Maxx must have smelled the ghosts of the others before him and decided he needed to make it his own. And Robbie? Let's just say that the man who didn't want to hang pictures because it would have put holes in the new plaster, wasn't too happy to have his boyfriend's dog use the sofa and new carpet as his personal indoor toilet.

But we finally settled into a nice little family unit. Fall came and with it cooler temperatures, but Maxx and I never moved out of Robbie's house. We started taking Maxx with us when we went to visit Robbie's parents. I think his dad enjoyed those visits more when we had Maxx with us so we never left him with someone again. It was on one of those trips back to Michigan when Maxx got sick. It was Thanksgiving and we were on a five day visit instead of the usual two day mad dash that began after work on Fridays.

The evening of Thanksgiving we returned to Robbie's parents place where we had left Maxx for the day and discovered that he had developed, well there's no polite way of saying it, uncontrollable diarrhea. Luckily we had left him closed up in the kitchen dining room and was able to clean up the mess fairly easily. What worried us though was that there seemed to be some blood in it. We cleaned Maxx up and tried to get him to eat. He wouldn't touch his food.

The next day we called our veterinarian back in Indianapolis to see what we should do. The vet recommended trying to get him to eat some boiled chicken breast and white rice. He said we could also give him a small dosage of Imodium to try and stop the diarrhea. He did eat a little of the chicken and the Imodium seemed to do the trick. That night though, at around 3 am, Robbie woke me up and said we needed to get Maxx home. During the night he had gotten worse. While driving home I was able to call the veterinarian's office and they said to bring him in as soon as we hit town.

The vet's office ran tests to see what was going on with him and called us later that day to come in and discuss what they had found. It wasn't good. The doctor said they had a difficult time finding a blood cell count of either red or white blood cells. He also said that Maxx's system was simply just shutting down. He told us that we could give him daily shots and that would probably prolong his life for a little longer. We told him we'd take Maxx home and think about it.

Once we got home though, there wasn't much thinking to be done. He was an old dog. He had a good life with us. But it was time to let him go. Any other decision would have been selfish and the wrong one. We called the doctor back and told him that we had decided that the best thing to do was just to let him go. He said that he thought that was the best decision but was afraid to suggest it to us knowing how attached we had become to Maxx.

We made arrangements for the doctor to come to our home that Monday to euthanize Maxx. We couldn't stand the thought of his last moments not being at home. When the veterinarian came to our home to put him to sleep, he told us that the assistants were fighting over who would come to be with us that day. While I was holding him, the doctor gave Maxx the shot that would literally put him to sleep and stop his heart. He died in my arms looking at Robbie. It was one of the most difficult things We've ever had to do. It was the right thing to do. Days later, we dropped a thank you note and picture of Maxx off at the vet's office and one of the women working there just burst into tears when she saw us.

Today marks six years since we had to have Maxx put to sleep. And I had to give Maxx his due. He was a very old dog when he came to us and we had him in our lives for a little over two years. I think we made his last few years the best.