A few ruminations on Christmas

Another Christmas has passed, and what a wonderful and festive holiday it was, filled with merriment and cheer, and enough family to drive a 20-million-year-old boulder crazy.

So, it’s time to pause and take a moment to remember this Christmas with a little rumination about what it all meant:
• Glitter should be banned by the Geneva Convention. Some will criticize me and say there are bigger problems in the world, but I would argue they haven’t seen my sofa after a couple rounds of opening Christmas presents in the living room. Every time I get up, my hindquarters sparkle so much they can be viewed from low-level orbit. My wife read an article that said our fascination with glitter harks back to our love of the open water and its glimmering surface. Hey, if I need a glimpse of that, I’ll go to the kitchen tap and pour myself a glass.

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How to juggle family and friends during the holidays

Very often the biggest downside of the holidays is trying to seamlessly fit together countless visits with family and friends so everyone goes away happy. It takes a master planner, a lot of patience, a quantum computer with next-generation calendar software and praying to multiple deities. Even then, your sanity will need to be sacrificed for it to work. Over the years I’ve become something of a pro at it, and I thought I would share my 10-step process for making your holiday season juggling merry:

1. Know that no matter how dire and impossible it might seem, in the end it will all work out and everyone will be happy. Keeping a positive attitude at all times is incredibly important. So is having a well-stocked bar.

2. When family and friends call to tell you their plans, it is wise to actually pay attention. Maybe even take notes. Because just like school, there will be a quiz later. And unlike school, your wife or significant other will not give you partial credit for answers like, “Uh … I think they’ll be here probably sometime this month … or possibly next … but definitely not February.”

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When Christmas decorating gets dangerous

It was NOT one of those moments when your life flashes before your eyes. Those cinematic moments when all images and memories dramatically play out in your mind in a fraction of a second. No, there wasn’t time for that. Rather, this was one of those near-death experiences when all you recognize is the sound of your own cursing, the feeling of weightlessness as you desperately try to regain your balance and the knowledge that you will definitely make national news if you expire while carrying a box of Christmas decorations down the stairs. When did decorating for Christmas become so dangerous?!? “I told you to be careful because there was stuff at the bottom of the stairs,” my wife told me, after remarking at how masterfully I saved myself (even if I did wet my pants.) “Yeah, but I thought that meant don’t crush the baby Jesus in the manger or step on some glass ornaments. Next time try, ‘There are lots of boxes and you probably will die if you trip on them.’”

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Is there anything more exciting, or terrifying, than a new computer?

There are few things more exciting, or more terrifying, than a new computer. Exciting because, think of the possibilities! The old one used to creak along. Just opening a simple document or a Web page could be a long, arduous task. My geriatric machine would emit a loud groan and mutter under its breath, “Seriously! Didn’t we just do that two weeks ago?!?” Documented fact: Today’s cutting-edge computers become slow, antiquated dinosaurs by the time you get them out of the box, and scientists measure computer speed using a highly technical measurement system known as STFPSLUM. It stands for, “Slower Than Frozen Poop Sliding Up a Mountain.” My old machine was pretty high up on the STFPSLUM scale. In fact, it had stopped registering on it. Scientists would actually classify my computer as … a rock. But with no functioning calendar. So, it was time for an upgrade. That was pretty exciting. And when it arrived and I took it out of the box and plugged it in, it was like a breath of fresh air (mixed with some kind of weird, metallic smell that surely took three years off my life, but think of the speed!)

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Giving thanks … for the little things

Thanksgiving. Little known fact: Some historians have argued the holiday was started when the Pilgrims got together to give thanks for their turkey defrosting in time. Their microwave was on the fritz, and there was great concern they wouldn’t be able to pry loose the little bag of frozen giblets. (Boy, do I know that feeling!) But too often we forget it’s not just the big things (health, frozen giblets, employment, Powerball, that our children haven’t been incarcerated for Bitcoin scams) that we need to give thanks for. No, sometimes it’s the seemingly inconsequential things that we often take for granted, and forget deserves our thanks, too. So, this week I’m taking a little time to give thanks for a few things that don’t always register on the big chart, but that I should show gratitude for all the same: • I’m thankful for my dog. And I have to remind myself of that sometimes. Because she sheds more hair than, frankly, she has on her body. Which could only mean that she is collecting other dogs’ hair, bringing it home and scattering it around the house in some kind of weird K-9 ritual. But my daughter has been playing videos of dog owners catching their animals doing pretty naughty things and videotaping it. (Real examples: “Lenny, did you eat the entire sofa down to the springs?” or “Petunia, did you poop in the refrigerator AGAIN?”) Yowza! My dog sniffs too much on walks and it makes me cranky. Whoop-de-doo! […]

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Finding contentment as the temperature takes a plunge

And then it turned cold. There are two kinds of cold. There is the kind that makes you think, “Shoot, I should have put on another layer of clothing.” And then there is, “Shoot, that extra layer of clothing has frozen to my flesh … and my toes have turned black … and I can’t feel my eyeballs … or see out of them …” And a few other choice details that make you realize bears have it right when they think, “Skip that! I’m going to sleep it off in a warm cave all winter.” But not us humans. And not us Floridians. See, some of us get it in our head that it would be great to escape the nagging Florida heat with a long weekend in the mountains of North Carolina to see some changing leaves and fall weather. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? That is, until a polar wave that turned the Midwest into a frozen ice rink raced across the area, bringing winds gusting to 50 mph and temperatures plunging to 18 degrees. The high didn’t even get above freezing one day. “There’s a big, burning ball of hydrogen right there,” I remember thinking. “How is this possible?!?”

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Searching for answers after the midterms

Farewell midterm elections. You were exciting, you got us all out to vote and you boosted our blood pressure, which truthfully, none of us can actually afford. But now you’re gone, and doesn’t matter who won or what side lost, we are all just so glad we can go back to our normal lives and be rid of you. But post-midterms, there are still a couple of issues I’m wrestling with like: • Can’t we make the ballot experience easier? I mean, I graduated from college for one simple reason: So I would never, EVER have to take stressful, pressure-cooker exams again. I hate cramming until midnight in preparation for tests. And what was I doing the night before the election? CRAMMING!!! And I wasn’t the only one. Figuring out the ballot was truly the one thing that brought us all together as Floridians. Didn’t matter which party or candidate you supported. Everyone gathered together begging for tips or hints. “How do I vote on Amendment 92 allowing everyone to call the International Space Station collect?” “Who is judge so-and-so and do you think he would let me off if I get a speeding ticket?” “Why are there so many extra candidates running for governor, and how do I get a gig like that?”

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The cathartic, liberating reality of mowing a field. Who knew?!?

“Anyone know how to drive a riding mower?” came the question. I looked around at the 30 college students gathered about. Oh, let the answer be, “no.” Let there be no one who knows how. Not because I was concerned about their safety. I should say this (for legal reasons): I WAS concerned about their safety. Because I was their “site leader.” I had led this group of students on a Flagler College community service day out here to Another Chance Ranch. We were supposed to clean pens for goats and horses and dogs and other cast-off critters that these incredibly compassionate and wonderful people at this non-profit had taken in. It all seemed like pretty harmless work. Throw some watermelon to the pigs. Play with a dog who needed constant attention. Walk the other dogs. Clean out some chicken coops. You know, farm stuff. And then the mowing question came up — “… know how to drive a riding mower …” Safety wasn’t on my mind as I hoped they wouldn’t go for it. Rather, it was a much more selfish reason: I WANTED TO DO IT! Mow a field?!? Are you kidding me! On a riding mower? That’s like the greatest thing ever. The tract of land stretched to the horizon. It must have been 1,000 acres. It would likely take a full week to do it, cover me head-to-toe in grass clippings and probably involve a cranky snake coiled up under the seat gnawing on my ankle. […]

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The rocket launch, in under 50 feet

“Bri-ANNE!!!” It should be known that the way my mother says my name sounds like she’s calling me a girl. And she starts out every phone call like this. “Bri-Anne!!! Are you coming over Sunday with Amelie to see the rocket launch? Your brother and Striker are coming over.” “Who is this?” I like to ask into the phone, just to rile her up. “Bri-ANNNNNE!!! Sheesh. Are you coming or not?” To the meat of it: My brother’s son just turned 5. His name is Striker. For his birthday, my mom got him a rocket. It was from the Smithsonian. It had to be a good one – and educational – because, well, “… it was from the Smithsonian!” My mother emphasized this about 95 times at his party. As if there is some genius museum developer actually IN the Smithsonian building all of these toy rockets that they sell to people like my mother.

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