It's crunch time here in handmade central, and perhaps in your neck of Santa's workshop as well. I'm making a final trip to the post office this morning with one package for family in the northwest (hope it makes it in time!) and one for The Boy. The mitts and hat will be going for a nice soak tonight. While they are drying I will be conducting questionable activities on my home computer. I drew ornaments on a bunch of paper cd cases, and I fully intend to burn mixes of children's music for our smallish friends. And I don't think anyone can convince me that this is wrong. Except maybe the police.
(Aside: The Violent Femmes said it best, "You were born too soon / I was born too late..." Well, something like that. I was definitely born at the wrong time. I was raised on homemade mix tapes and in college during the pre-Napster file sharing boom. My roommate had thousands of songs on her computer, downloaded for free. Now all the newer cds make it difficult to copy songs to your iPod and impossible to copy to a cd. My magic 8 ball says that next they will make it illegal to sell a used cd when you are tired of it--you will have to return it to the artist. Somebody get Vanilla Ice on the phone because I would like to deliver that one personally.)
The choir had their Christmas party on Monday night at the Dune's Manor Hotel, and I crashed it. I sang with them for two years and miss it very much. Coincidentally, I quit at the same time Aunt Julie retired as music director at the church. Chet had some big shoes to fill. He's done a great job, though, and I hurried to Ocean Pines on Sunday morning to hear the cantata. I was more than a little jealous. So Joyce snuck me into the Christmas party. They always have a gift exchange that spirals into lawlessness. Everyone's total lack of regard for the rules makes it so fun. Unfortunately, I was laughing so hard, I only remembered to take a couple pictures. This photo of Alan made him laugh.
Somehow I got Larry and Alan telling stories about growing up in DC. Warning: if you are over age 65, prolonged exposure to Barb may result in you divulging stories of your wicked youth and childhood that you never intended to tell. It loves to happen. I'm not sure why I have this effect on folks, but I enjoy it tremendously. Jessie's grandma told me where she went "parking" with Jessie's grandpa when they were dating. He bought a yellow car because it was her favorite color. But it was too conspicuous on lover's lane--so she made him sell it. A couple summers ago, Larry told me stories all day at Arts Alive. He was starting in on another, "Back when I was in the Army, we all took showers together....," when he trailed off and looked straight at me. Suddenly remembering his audience. "Why am I telling you this story?" And it was over. I guess that one was a little too racy.
Back to the choir party, the gift exchange was in full swing. You never know what the hot item will be from year to year. One time several ministers kept stealing a bottle of wine from each other. But this year the gifts to covet were the tins of gourmet popcorn, the assorted summer sausages, the boxes of chocolate, and two identical stuffed Santa's. These went round and round many times, until it was hard to remember who had what.
And of course there is always a dud floating through the crowd. One year it was a single jingle bell on a cord. This year someone brought an electronic pill reminder and organizer to the exchange, and Jack unfortunately chose that package. His dinner companions teased that it was for birth control--which he declared was 30 years too late. Someone else suggested it was for online pharmacy.
I drew 53, pretty high in the food chain. When my turn came, I strolled around the ballroom twiddling my fingers like a villain. I walked dangerously close to the popcorn, the stuffed Santa, the sausages...then suddenly dove and stole the pill box from Jack. He cheered! People at my table looked at me like I was crazy, so I said, "Birth control plus Cialis sounded like a fun weekend." And they roared. Apparently, I'm the class clown for life. All I could think about, though, was that it would suck for my friend who lost his wife 2 years ago to have to take home a pill organizer for Christmas. So I was really happy when Jack chose another gift, and it was chocolate truffles.
Anyone need an electronic pill box?
