WHEREAS Anita Marie spent 2007 writing about how much fun you can have in a graveyard, revenge, corruption of the human spirit, monsters, demons and ghosts
WHEREAS Anita Marie spent her free time in 2007 talking to two Mummies at Curio Shop in Seattle
WHEREAS Anita Marie is planning to put together her own Fiji Mermaid when she should be planning things like how to deal with things like oncoming traffic
WHEREAS Anita Marie spends way to much time mapping out a ski route through two local cemeteries and curses the Universe and whoever is in charge of it every-time the snow reports turn out to be bogus
WHEREAS the first vacation Anita Marie has taken in over 10 years is to a UFO festival in New Mexico in order to carry out a brilliant plan
THEREFORE Be it Resolved: Anita needs to have a little less fun in 2008
“I’m sure you’ve been a good girl, what would you like for
Christmas
Anita Marie?”
I said:
“I’d like to go to Roswell for
The 2008 UFO Festival.”
” That would involve you leaving the state for a few week, wouldn’t it?” Santa says too me.
” Indeed” I say to Santa.
” Talk about killing two birds with one stone ” Santa DOES NOT exactly say under his breath.
” Huh? ” I ask.
” Sure Anita, call my elves down there in Roswell and book a room
because I’M GETTING YOU THE HECK OUT OF SEATTLE… I mean no, wait….
you’re going to Roswell for the 2008 UFO Festival….enjoy!”
“I will Santa, I will…” I say with heartfelt Christmas Joy- I’m talking the real thing…not that fake Hallmark Joy.
…and if you’d like to read about my Journey to Roswell don’t forget to come back to my Irregular Bones- I’m going to do my own count down to the big day and beyond….
because this is a big deal…
look at the
great time I get to have
OVER THE FOURTH OF JULY HOLIDAY!!!
Hop on board the UFO ( well click the UFO Roswell Logo ) and see what kind of fun they had down there last year
Hey! Merry Christmas and don’t forget to have a Happy New Year too!
On the twelfth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Twelve drummers drumming,
Eleven pipers piping,
Ten lords a-leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree!
For serveral years I believed my family Christmas Gatherings on the whole were trauma and drama free- or so I thought until I decided to write my own version of ” The Twelve Days of Christmas”.
And then I started to remember things like the time I went on a bike ride in the snow covered with Chicken Pox. And how on another Christmas I convinced my little Sister ( let’s see she was about five at the time) we found her floating in Greenlake in a basket just like Baby Moses and how if Santa found out he was probably going to take her presents to her real house so she shouldn’t count on getting anything at MY family’s house that Christmas.
Oh and there that Christmas Eve I hid all of my brother’s socks and underwear- we were older at the time – like 19 and 18 or something. But watching him toss a hissy fit over a bunch of lost underwear was worth all the threats of bodily harm my Mom was threatening to do to me if I didn’t give his stuff back right now That Christmas Eve is one of my most precious memories.
No it did not send him into counseling- at least I don’t think so.
And of course there was that time when I was about 13 when my dog Sham -who was this giant Malamute snatched the turkey off the counter where it was cooling and after I got it back from him me and my brother and sister had to put it back together because we tore it almost in half when we pulled it out of Sham’s jaws.
Talk about team work- not only did get that thing put back together we did it without our parents knowing- which of course probably isn’t the case at all but what the hey- it was probably the quietest the three of us had been since our Christmas Vacation from school had started a week before.
My parents were into ‘be grateful for small blessings’ mindset.
Let’s see- oh sure, there was that other time I took all of the chocolate covered cherries and drained the juice out of them- and for the rest of the night everyone complained about ‘that box of defective Cherry Cordials’ and how only OUR family could be unlucky enough to get it.
That box of candy still represents our family as the Underdog Champs of the world.
And then there was that year me and my brothers and sister and cousins performed a concert for our families.
We stood on the stairs just like the kids in the Brady Bunch and song meaningful heartfelt songs like Working On A Chain Gang, Teen Angel and my own personal favorite Goodnight Irene.
That ‘ concert and the songs were my idea- and if there was ever a Kodak moment in the history of photography the look on all of those faces as they watched us sing by the glow of the Christmas Tree was one of them.
So honest- there wasn’t a lot of trauma or drama and looking back on it you could have done worse then us – given how many of us there were and how all of us were so different from each other ( okay and the rest of the human race ) all of these things could have been the stuff of holiday disasters.
But they weren’t.
We always had a good time and I’ll bet that after reading this a few people will be awfully glad they’ve got the families they have.
On the eleventh day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Eleven pipers piping,
Ten lords a-leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.
My favorite part of Christmas wasn’t the presents or the food or even the free Sideshow that my family and friends provided that I in turn have shamelessy used in my writing years later
My family and friends are in ALL of my stories.
Anyway.
The best part was when we’d turn off most of the house lights, light some candles sit around the lit Christmas Tree and do the only thing you could do after a hard day of eating and drinking and making Merry.
We’d tell stories.
Everyone had a chance to tell a story- no matter how old or young – you got a chance to have the floor and tell stories like that one about that time when….
My Grandfather Saw The Ghost Lady
One of my Grandfathers was a dark haired Englishman and the other was a dark haired Filipino man and they both shared a similar experience.
They both saw the same woman at the same time- and they were living on opposite sides of the world.
So, in your minds eye picture my English Grandfather driving his 1940 Ford Coupe- his dark hair slicked back and wearing a snazzy suit- down the unlit rural streets of a town just outside of Seattle.
It’s a cold night because it’s Christmas Eve and it had started to snow a little that afternoon and the roads were icy and dangerous but that was fine with the dashing handsome man with my laugh that would one day become my Grandfather because he’s a good driver and he has no intention of not showing up at his family’s house in time for Christmas Dinner.
And somewhere in the Canefields on the big Island of Hawaii my other Grandfather- a dark handsome man with jet black hair and my eyes- is driving something called a Willy’s Jeep- through the dark fields towards his home along the bluff of the Waipio Valley where his family is waiting for him to bring home the treats for their Christmas Party.
And as they almost reach their homes they each see standing on the side of the road- a woman.
Her hair is white and her eyes are green .
She’s wearing a black dress and her hair is pulled back and she’s wearing rings on all of her fingers.
Each of them pulls up to the side of the road and asks the woman if she needs help.
” No” she tells them. ” I just need a ride.”
” To where ” they ask.
She leans in and whispers, ” Why, I want to go to wherever it is you’re going.”
Both of them don’t like her- they don’t like the way her hand rests on the hoods of their car, they don’t like the way she sounds, they don’t like the way she seems very sure she’s going to get what she wants.
” You can’t come with me. ” they tell her.
The Woman slams her palm down and the Car and the Jeep tilt a little to the left and she says, ” I go where I want- do you hear me? And what I want is for you to let me in!”
Both of my Grandfathers start to pull away and that’s when they look down and see that the hem of the woman’s dress is floating a little above the ground- where her feet should be.
But weren’t.
When they looked backup into her face she was smiling.
” I travel these roads but I don’t walk them.”
Did she tell you how she traveled them? I asked over 30 years later.
Neither man answered me.
Their story always ended with them driving off and the Ghost Lady being pulled back into the trees at the side of the road or the canfields by the shadows.
I think she did answer and in the end when they died I think they won- whatever that Ghost Lady said, whatever curse or threat she made- got left on those roads years ago.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if they had let her in, would I be here to tell you this story?
I could answer it if you like…or you could leave it here on the side of the road.
On the ninth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.
When I was 9 and my Sister was 6 my ‘job’ was to walk up to the Recreation Pavilion and bring her home from Ballet Class.
Sometimes I’d get their early and I’d sit in the back of the room with an ice cream cone and a black eye or an Eskimo Pie and bruised shins or a Nestle Crunch Ice Cream bar and a sprained ankle and wait for class to be over.
Most of the time I was wearing my soccer Uniform- complete with muddy cleats.
My Sister’s Dance lessons my practice day never took place on the same day- I just liked that look the Dance Teacher had on her face when I walked in.
I know what you’re thinking- but I didn’t mind watching the kids dance because they were tiny and funny looking – what I really hated was the Dance Teacher.
When she talked she’d lift her chin up so you could practically see straight up into her nostrils and for some reason wherever I was standing or whatever I was doing she’d be right there digging her little fingers into my shoulders and asking me to move.
Well one day I show up and all the little Ballet Kids are out of their minds with excitement because they’re going to be in a recital and they get to wear costumes-
I asked my Sister what they were going to do and she said something about Lakes and Butterflies.
” You know butterflies die during the winter. ” I told my sister.
It was December, so I figured my point was valid.
” Not at Swan Lake ” she says.
” Even there.”
My sister’s teacher comes by and hands me a list of materials that my Mom needs to get for my Sister’s costume and she tells me to make sure my Mom gets this list…. my Sister needs to be ready blah, blah, blah and when she’s done talking I ask what they’re going to be dancing and sure enough it’s Swan Lake.
Swan Lake with butterflies.
I asked, wouldn’t it be more fun if the little kids got to be ducks instead? You know, fluffy yellow chubby little baby ducks.
At least Ducks sounded like they belonged in a Dance about Swans I pointed out
” I want to be a Butterfly! ” my Sister says and a few other very concerned butterflies start to drift in our direction.
” There aren’t any butterflies at Swan Lake “
” There are now.” my Sister says- and she actually stamped her foot.
Right on top of mine.
I looked up at her Teacher and thought- you’re going to pay for that.
A few weeks later I go to get my Sister and I went early because it was their first dress rehearsal.
There were a lot of excited Parents- their daughters were about to become Ballerinas.
Oh boy.
And then they started the Dance.
I started laughing- I couldn’t help it because it was mostly the teacher and some of the older kids who got to dance.
All the kids in my sisters class sort of come out of nowhere in their little butterfly costumes and followed the big kids around in this rainbow conga line and then they danced off stage.
My sister was thrilled.
I was not thrilled.
My sister practiced those steps over and over- in the line at the supermarket, during recess at school (where she not only insisted I watch her, but all of my friends too) in front of the TV when I trying to watch it and everytime I put on a record she’d start her butterfly dance and you know- by then- this entire butterfly things was making me a little crazy.
She was only six and practicing her little legs off and that was it?
All that work so she could follow some junior high girls around and then sit for the next million hours watching them?
I had even heard that these girls were expecting to get flowers and their pictures taken- and what about the little butterflies? Especially the one I was living with?
Nothing.
Zilch.
What a rip off I thought to myself…what a cheat.
My sister says, ” You’re going to go, right? “
Like I had a choice.
” You’re going to stay and watch the whole thing, right? “
Oh brother.
And then she finished off with, ” don’t you think it’s great?”
” No. You know what would make it great?” I shout.
” No.” My Sister says- and by no she’s not asking the question she’s really telling me to shut up.
” Belly Dancers. ” I said at the tops of my lungs. ” Just like the ones in ‘ I Dream of Jeannie’
A few of the Dads nodded at each other and there were a few winks being dropped here an there so I saddled up and went to town.
Right there in front of a bunch of butterflies I start to Dance just like ” Jeannie” in the opening credits of my friend Janet’s favorite TV show. Me and Janet practiced those little moves everytime we watched the show and they rolled the opening credits.
We even ended the dance with this big eye blinking thing that ” Jeannie ” did after she popped back into her bottle
I was pretty good, if I don’t say so myself.
My Sister sort of shrugs and starts dancing around with me and then we start singing the theme song and when the other little butterflies and even some of the big girls joined in the Teacher smacks her hands together and makes them stop.
And then she looks straight at me and then points to the door.
So with my hands above my head I shimmy to the door and out to the hallway.
The teacher followed me and she nearly cut me in half when she slammed the door shut behind me.
But before she did I heard a little chorus of butterflies ask hopefully, ” Teacher, were there Belly Dancers at Swan Lake?”
On the eighth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.
The one thing my family loves to do at Christmas is tell stories.
We can make our trip through the check out line at the Supermarket with a frozen turkey and a can of yams sound like a Cecil B. DeMille movie complete with Pirates, Spaceships and the Crusader Knights.
Our stories are pretty colorful and they seem to take on a life of their own and for some reason they’ll stick with people for years and years and years.
Like the one about
The Lady in The Wheel Chair.
I heard the story about the Lady In The Wheel Chair ( actually my dad and his cousin didn’t tell me the story…they sort of planted it in my brain like one of those bugs that crawls into your ear and makes it way to your brain and lays eggs and then….) during a trip we took to Mount Baker.
It was during the first week of September.
Looking back at it I can remember the way they were leaning against the observation deck railing…and had I been a little older I’d have seen that they weren’t enjoying nature.
These were suburban boys and they were bored.
So with no wildlife to tease with peanuts or firecrackers to drop down into the valley below I was the next best thing at hand.
At of nowhere my Dad’s Cousin says, ” Hey look they fixed the railing- do you think you can still see where she went in?”
My Dad looks over the railing and below us is this little paved trail. ” Nope, can’t see a thing.”
” See what?”
” Well, they had to fix this railing here because this Lady In A Wheel Chair rolled down the trail from the parking lot-” my Dad pointed to the parking and picnic area above us ” and she went over the side here.”
” Did she die? ” I asked as I leaned over the railing and nearly did a header myself to the road below.
My Dad pulls me back up and he says ” well, she wouldn’t have but see they’d just paved that road and they had to use a lot of concrete so when she hit the wet cement she got sucked in and…well, she drowned in cement. There was no way to get her out.”
My Dad and his Cousin looked at me and then they both looked at each other and then all of the sudden they both got very interested in the view again and they turned away from me and I couldn’t see their faces.
” That’s better then a Doctor Phibes story…oh boy!” And then I start calling for my Mom and at this point my Dad and his cousin are laughing and then I start calling my Dad’s Cousin’s Mom too and now they both are about to pass out in hysterics and then I turn around and say ” Wait till my class comes up here next week for our field trip!”
” What? ” my Dad asked- actually he sort of cried and screamed that word all at once.
” My class is coming up here for a field trip….boy I can’t wait to tell them about the Wheel Chair Lady Who Drowned In Cement!
” Hey Anita…” they both chased me back up to the picnic tables and tried to tell me that the whole story was a joke and not to tell it to my class.
I turned around on the trail, put my hands behind my back and smiled straight up towards heaven and said, ” Do you think when the cement sucked her in she made that popping sound like when you have to use the plunger in the toilet?”
My Dad winced and started to rub his forehead.
His Cousin looked straight at me and said, ” Yes.”
So two weeks later my class goes on the Field Trip, I tell the story and after a bunch of phone calls from, ” concerned parents ” I get hauled into the Principals Office.
I was told that we were going to discuss my attitude- and my lack of empathy for human suffering. ” It’s the way you talked about that poor lady and the callous way you described her death… the sound a toilet makes when you use a plunger to unblock it. That’s just not right.”
I sat there with my mouth wide open…I couldn’t believe it, my Principal thought….
” You really do need to show a little sympathy for other people Anita.”
I promised I would and when I left I kept looking over my shoulder at the Office Door and when rounded the corner instead of going back to class I ran home.
At the time it seemed like a very good idea.
Well, years later I’m at this Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony that my hometown holds every year and who should I run into but one of my classmates and he starts telling his wife and his kids about the ” Whopper Anita told on one of our class field trips.”
My husband sort of whispers in my ear, ” you certainly did out-do yourself there.”
” No I didn’t.” I said back.
I look at my former Classmate and then I sort of take a deep breath and say, ” you know, I may have had the facts a little wrong- but the story- that was true.”
At this stage in my life I was working in a Mortuary and I’d really developed that that calm and quiet and dignified demeanor that you need to be a Funeral Director.
” That poor woman,” I said slowly and quietly ” you’d think they’d at least name the lookout point after her or something.”
And then sure as clockwork this guy goes on to other ‘ nature mishap’ stories and I turn and whisper in my husband’s ear
On the seventh day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.
When I was about 10 I asked my Mom if she thought it would be a good idea if I gave her a Christmas list- Why not she said- so I pulled my list from behind my back and handed it to her.
Under the heading ” Anita’s Christmas List ” was one line:
” I don’t want Barbie dolls, I hate Barbie Dolls please don’t give me Barbie Dolls”
Anita
My Mom was used to my weirdness, I think she just put herself in a happy place and for as far as her mind’s eye could see I was but a dot on the horizon…. a dot that was too far away to actually be heard and if I by some weird twist of fate she could hear me- in that happy place in her head I was someone else’s kid.
” That’s not helpful…. what do you want for Christmas?”
” Anything? ” I asked.
The look on her face answered my question, so I took the list back turned it over and wrote two things:
Please give me a tape recorder and a hat.
Anita
She glanced down at the list and looked at me and said…” what kind of hat?”
Oh. I want a hat like Karl Kolchakhas, and I need a tape recorder so I can interview people about-“
” Monsters.” we said at the same time.
I was smiling my Mother was not.
” How’s about I get the hat then? Mom, I really need these things. They’re important. I’m going to write about monsters when I grow up- really! So please, please get me this stuff.”
My Mom lit up a cigarette and took a long hard drag on it-, which was never a good sign so I said, ” Okay fine, I want a bike. A stupid bike. Just like the kind Bonnie…”
My Mom started to walk away and I followed her saying, ” and Shelly and Janet and Darryl and Kimberly and Lita (at this point I just started to make up names) are getting.”
She never turned around, she just walked into her bedroom with me following her barking out these names and then she shut the door on my face.
Wow, I remember thinking, I may have gone to far this time.
So I was not a happy kid leading up to Christmas.
One evening I saw my dad bring in those long boxes that bikes come in and I heard him putting it together.
At this point I knew I was being a brat and believe it or not I was starting to feel really bad- bad enough that my stomach hurt.
To make it worse something with the bike assembly wasn’t going well, my dad was getting discouraged so his cousin came over and they put together my bike and my brother’s bike.
After awhile they started to laugh and it sounded like they were having a good time.
The lucky dogs.
I sat in my room drawing smiley faces with vampire fangs on the wall inside of my closet with my new box of neon crayons and listened to one comment after another about what a weird kid I was…” What is it with her and those monsters?” someone said.
Well, I wished I knew- instead I just sat there with my neon Smiley Face Vampires and cried.
That night we watched those Christmas cartoons and my parents wrapped some stuff to take to our Grandparent’s house and as I walked back to bed someone said “Merry Christmas. “
I think it was my Dad.
I didn’t answer.
So the next morning my brother and sister try to get me out of bed and I just didn’t want to open my eyes.
I felt awful.
My efforts to become a reporter in search of monster stories had been thwarted- instead of getting the tape recorder and hat I was going to get a bike and I was willing to bet my life I’d get a Barbie Doll too.
So I walk out into the living room and there’s my new bike, there are the three skinny boxes that only Barbies come in and lots of other nifty things that would probably appeal to me later and in one box were three yo-yos.
Score.
They were Purple, Orange and Green.
The Orange one had a Sun decal on it
Promising I told myself.
Not that I was going to let on that I was actually pretty thrilled.
So as my brother and sister settled down to play with their loot I stayed on the couch with my yo-yos and mindlessly ate Christmas Candy from my stocking and looked at my new bike.
It wasn’t bad looking as far as bikes went.
It was lime green, it had a gearshift and handbrakes and along the frame were tiny white daisies.
I reached out and poked at it with the big toe on my right foot.
It tipped over.
Whoops.
I got up and when I lifted it off the ground it hit me…this was my bike. I could go anywhere on it- I could ride to the woods (where my friends and I were building a fort) I could ride to Darryl’s house and we could ride over to the cemetery in the next town and look for the Witch’s Grave.
YES!
I had a bike.
So I go into my room dive into some clothes and put on my black rain boots and head out the front door- and just as I hit the street it started to snow.
Oh boy.
I hopped on and I was gone for almost two hours.
When I got home I had a bruised knee a huge bump on the back of my head and I’d sprained my ankle because at the age of 10 I had not yet mastered the art of riding a bike on ice and snow.
I was also covered from head to toe in Chicken Pox.
Oh.
In case you’re curious.
It was a great New Years too.
The Nightstalker
Kolchak: The Night Stalker was a television series that aired on ABC in 1974 about a newspaper reporter—Carl Kolchak, played by Darren McGavin—who investigates crimes with mysterious and unlikely causes that the proper authorities won’t accept or pursue.
On the sixth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.
When we were kids my little brother nicknamed me Cheeto La Frito .
It was a burden and everyone called me by that stupid name for years- family members, friends, the mailman and even a few teachers. My brother had convinced so many people I liked that name that it would have taken me fifty years to convince them it wasn’t true.
So I didn’t even try- I just lived with that stupid name.
But that’s okay because since my Christening at age 6 of my trademark infringing nick name my little brother’s hairline has receded and he drives a fuel efficient car ( I drive a Boss Jeep ) so revenge may have been slow but at least my hands are clean.
I mean, by nature I’m just not into the vengeance thing.
But I do have a taste for it and it’s true- revenge is sweet and I know that for a fact because I got my first taste on the Christmas just after I turned 11.
Most of the kids I grew up with participated in the ‘let’s peek at our Christmas Present Olympics’.
Leave a package on the car seat, an unwrapped gift peeking out from under a bed and the little Commandos I grew up with would be in and out of the Christmas present hiding place with stealth and efficiency that would have any branch of any armed forces anywhere in the world on their knees in fear and envy.
My little brother however had them all beat.
One Christmas my Parents restorted to putting a padlock on their bedroom door- and they also put a lock on the closet door AND they double wrapped the presents too- first in brown paper and then with Christmas paper.
Ha.
My brother not only figured out where they hid the keys he came out of that room with a list- you read that right- a complete list of Christmas presents and who they were intended for.
He waited until they went out on Christmas Eve and then he pulled out the list and proceeded to destroy me and our little Sister’s Christmas.
He did that every darned year.
So on that Christmas Morning ( as with the many before ) we opened our presents and gave our Oscar Winning ” gee what a neat surprise ” Christmas Performances and then I proceeded to pinch my little brother every single chance I got for the rest of Christmas Vacation.
The next year I was ready- I plotted and planned and I could hardly wait until our parents started their Christmas shopping.
I was walking around the house with little bells on my shoelaces and singing Christmas carols and I even helped my Dad put tinsel on the tree which was something I refused to do because my Dad believed that tinsel had to be hung on the tree one freaking strand at a time.
I used to hide in my tree house- sometimes in the snow- in order to escape the dreaded tree trimming.
But not this year.
I’d already figure the keys to the locks never left the house- and I’d figured they were near their bedroom because he and Mom would head down the hall, I’d hear them stop for a minute and then their door would open.
So one day I go take a look and on top of a bookshelf under a ceramic Santa-
were the keys.
That’s when my Merry Christmas began.
I spent the rest of the week I’m taking my Brother’s presents out of the closet after our Parents wrapped them and I start stashing them in my own closet.
My Mom caught me at it and when she asked what I was doing I looked up at her and said…
” nothing.”
She looked at the packages, saw who they were for and told me they had better be back in her room on Christmas Eve them and she walked away.
Just like that.
I gave up a couple of Christmas parties and a sleepover at my friend’s house just so I could hang around the hall that led into my parents bedroom waiting for the day my Brother would sneak down the hall and reach up towards that ceramic Santa…
And one day it paid off.
My brother sneaks down the hall and into our Parent’s room and then he comes out and leaves the door open and drops the keys on the floor and as he walks by I say, ‘what’d you get?”
” Drop dead Cheeto.”
Now, it’s not like he could go and ask our Parents why he wasn’t getting any presents- so it must have been a LOOONNNGGG three days till Christmas.
Well of course he had presents on Christmas morning and me and my Sister were really surprised and that night when my brother busted the eggs in my shoes and decapitated my Barbie Dolls ( I hated those things anyway ) I didn’t get angry- I didn’t yell or pinch or tie him to a tree.
I was just feeling to good to be mad -I was feeling happy and satisfied and the sweetness swam around on my tongue like sugar from a Pixie Stick
Years later I can put a name on the taste that I would one day know as the sweet taste of revenge.
LD 90/05 – indicates a 90% lethality within 05days.
On the fifth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.
My Great Aunt was my Grandfather’s younger sister and she had some serious class.
She always wore simple elegant black dresses and a strand of white pearls and she loved to drive those classic Cadillac Town Cars with Mozart blasting out of the speakers with enough force to rattle the windows of passing cars and scare the birds out of the trees.
Her house was also great and she had nifty antiques and a wine cellar.
Yes indeed, a big old wine cellar that the entire family would disappear into for at least two hours when she had her holiday parties.
When they were done ‘visiting’ down there they’d come back up and sort of pour themselves into the living room chairs and couches and they were pretty useless until dinnertime.
At least they told some good stories ( complete with side jokes) about other Christmases and the entire time they were talking they kept their watery unfocused eyes glued to the little table by the fireplace.
My Great Aunt had this Victorian marble top table that later in the evening would set a single giant silver serving tray on.
That tray and a pile of little round cookies dusted with powdered sugar were the only things on the table.
Oh wait, there was usually something from the wine cellar on the table.
Anyway.
All the adults would sort of hang out at this table and pop those little cookies into their mouths one after another and the more they ate the redder their faces got.
I thought it was from all the laughing they did.
Anyway, one year ( I had just turned nine years old ) I’m back in the kitchen listening to Mozart and my Aunt is making the Bourbon Balls and she’s talking to me about refining my ‘ manners’ which as far as she was concerned were very good (and let me tell you, etiquette was everything to that lady ) but that I had remember NOT to tell my chicken story when she brought the turkey out.
Wow.
Tell one story when you’re five years old ( just before everyone digs into their Christmas Turkey Dinner) about your friend’s Grandma who broke her leg chasing a headless chicken (that she just ‘hacked’) around a yard as it sprayed blood on the flowers and family cat and you pay for it for the rest of you life.
I promised and then she mixed the ingredients for her bourbon balls and then the phone rang and she told me to not eat the cookie mix from that bowl.
Oh okay- there were lots of other bowls on the counter so I scooted up her step stool and helped myself to a little this (hey, peppermint frosting) and some of that (yum, seafood) and I was about to help myself to the peanut butter cookie mix that was waiting for a turn at the old cookie sheet bound for the oven when her son (my Dad’s Cousin) walks in.He looks at the bowls and then down into the Bourbon Ball mix and I say, ” I’m not supposed to eat that “
” No ” he says as he picks up the bottle next to the bowl and splashes some of it into the cookie mix ” no you’re not.”
I remember he was whistling ‘ Silver Bells ‘ when he walked out of the kitchen.
I think it was the only Christmas song he knew.
A few minutes later my Dad and his sister ( my Aunt Sharon ) walk into the kitchen with their cousin ( who is still humming Silver Bells ) and my Aunt Sharon picks up the bottle and my Dad nods and she splashes some more of whatever was in the bottle into the bowl.
” What makes you think she won’t notice? ” my Dad asks.
My Aunt says, ” she’s in the Wine Cellar with Mother.”
Just then my Great Aunt’s other son walks in, they talk and chuckle and then my Dad points to the cookie mix and my Aunt Sharon hands their cousin the bottle.
” Those are going to be great cookies.” my Aunt laughed and then the four of them walk out and I’m standing there on my aunt’s foot stool-
looking down into the cookie bowl that I wasn’t supposed to get into to.
But hey, she didn’t say I couldn’t put anything into it so I picked up the bottle and added my own little touch to the cookie mixture.
And then my Great Aunt walks in and sees me.
She’s not upset and she says I can hardly ruin something like that because, ” all they want to do is suck the juice out of it anyway.”
So she takes the bottle from my hand and empties it out into the bowl and then she tosses in some more cookies and nuts and she starts to roll the mix into little balls and she tells me to scoot along.
So that night, after dinner and before presents my Aunt brings out the silver tray and sets it on the marble top table and the adults sort of stand around it and each one nudges the other and then they each take a cookie.
And then at the count of three they each pop a cookie take a bite and the next thing I know this tapestry my Great Aunt had (it had dogs and horses and women playing harps all over it) was covered with cookie crumbs, spit and booze.
And at that exact moment I had a new story to tell every single time anyone of them reached for a cookie-
Irregular Bones 