It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

Well, I grew up with monthly sing-a-longs at my father’s parents. He had nine siblings who were super-musical, and we even had songbooks for our events. Everyone sang – regardless of ability. Most played piano or guitar, but all self-taught. Nine siblings equals at least 40 people once-a-month. Lots of love!

So…that is why you, my friends, are subjected to the annual Christmas “music party.” As creative as I could be, I have no better name for it. But it’s personal. I need to share music and have others appreciate music for the FUN of it! It’s just music which flows and flows whether you sing or listen! It doesn’t matter! I am happy for everyone who joins in and raucously adds their voices to the high points on “The First Noel,” “Do You Hear What I Hear,” and of course, “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” And I love everyone who tolerates five verses of “Good King Wenceslaus.” I have no good explanation for why I love that one.

And, this is why we have cowbells – for fun. I am also equally grateful for those who hang out and renew friendships and have cheerful banter in the kitchen. I love both aspects and wish I could do both. Thus, I am looking for a new accompanist. (Well, I’ll keep playing, but I’d much rather sing. Applicants need only send an email.)

I love this evening. Everyone who attends just brings my childhood and family back to me. I can only hope you take something home, too.

My story starts with me figuring out the whole Santa joy – but my parents delighting in deception anyway! To their credit, they had three below me who needed to be kept in Santa mode, and they needed me to keep my trap shut. (Bribery apparently wasn’t an option then.)

I was pretty prepared to blow it when we went to look at Christmas lights one Christmas Eve. As we were pulling out of the driveway, my mom had to quickly run to the restroom. We all waited in the car for her and when she returned, we proceeded to look at lights.

Of course, upon returning home, Santa had arrived! How in the world did that happen? Santa never came until the morning – ever!? This was not the norm! How did he know we would be gone? Pretty clever on the mom/pop scale.

I kept my mouth shut – I think. However, it’s possible my brother has a story to go with this one and I may be “mis-remembering” my stoic silence. Either way, this will be a good topic for your Christmas dinner conversation!

If you are under the age of eight, do not read this.

Approximately 21 years ago, I was coming home from singing with the choir at Midnight Mass. This puts me in the house around 2:30 am, where I am charged with delivering Santa’s presents. This wouldn’t have been too difficult, except my husband had instituted the “Let’s-sleep-by-the-fireplace-and-catch-Santa” scheme. So he and the kids were right in front of the delivery chamber, and I was dragging gifts wrapped in crinkly paper to place ever-so-quietly around them.

Up pops my daughter, age seven. “Mom! Mom! Is that you?” Caught. “Mom, is that you? Are you Santa Claus?”

“Shhhh. We’ll talk in the morning. Go to sleep.”

Of course she remembers the highly anticipated revelation the next day and confronts me. “Mom, I saw you. Mom, are you Santa Claus?” Well, I’m not too good at lying when I don’t have a really good back-up story! I said I was, and her next question, “Does that mean you are the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, too?” Geez!

I turned and said, “Yes, but now you know what that means? It means YOU get to be the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy for your brother!” One problem solved and received with great joy. But how to be quiet from here on out?

I ran a noisy fan by the fireplace the following year so no one could hear me. S-u-c-c-e-s-s!

The party must not be one she wants to attend?

Really? Who wouldn’t be happy wearing pink/purple eye shadow in season? FYI – this was today’s photo from the insert in my over-priced “Denver Post” subscription. And yes, the title was “Party Eyes.”

Now, I am all about glitter year-round, although I do try to limit my obsession to the holidays. I even have glittery pink eye shadow which I donned today. (And other colors which are not “in” for this year.) However, in no way, shape or form does this model look party-ready. (Forgive me if you’re related to her, but she probably isn’t happy with the photo either.) At first glance, she looks zombie-ish. I wasn’t sure why “Party Eyes” applies because the “pout” is so obvious? Maybe I should have read the article further to clarify the type of party she will be attending. I could be judging based on a dearth of evidence. But, geez. I’m always happy when I’m wearing glitter, not pouty! Maybe I need to learn ”‘pouty” to make it in the modeling world? Thank goodness that career is out, because this will never work. I have a well-known “smirk.”

Oh, it’s quite possible that others have been looking at my eyes and wondering what the heck I’m about, too. I just like the glitter in case I happen to get invited to a party that day! It’s good to be prepared.

I saw this beautiful photo of a buffalo and it reminded me of one of my favorite quotes from Wilma Mankiller. She was the first female chief of the Cherokee nation. I’ve shared it with others before.

“Cows run away from the storm while the buffalo charges toward it – and gets through it quicker. Whenever I’m confronted with a tough challenge, I do not prolong the torment, I become the buffalo.”

It’d be great if I remembered this all the time! Don’t be a cow – be a buffalo! Hopefully the challenges and obstacles melt away as we continue on in this season of hope.

December has an entirely new meaning now that we have to choose our healthcare each year as we celebrate the holidays. And if we have maxed out our deductible during the prior eleven months, we try to squeeze in all the procedures possible which insurance will pay for. It just doesn’t seem right – making health decisions based on the end-of-the-year or what you can get “for free” since you got a new hip. However, that is what December brings for our household.

It also seems to be the month for arguing the price increases in the cable, newspaper, Sirius radio and cell phones. It’s a good thing my spouse retired so that he can hone his investigative research skills, as well as work out his ire on unsuspecting customer service personnel. He is a formidable opponent against anyone in sales or marketing.

Just spreading the joy and love this month!

Well, they are the ones to lift you up and bring you down!

Today was “Christmas Bridge” and a fine event it was! We make a wonderful conglomerate of newbies and “semi-oldies” in our efforts to designate a “high” and “low” in the game. The critical influence is that we laughed a lot! It really doesn’t matter who won, although we tried to keep score in a fair mode?

At the grand finale, my Pinterest friend, ”Pistina,” took home the trophy!!!! The trophy was a gift I “absconded” from my mother. She earned it years earlier beating out at least 20 other men in a pinochle tournament. (I have no idea how many men were involved, all I know is that they were formidable opponents )

I took the trophy from Mom, repurposed it, and one of us is proudly displaying our card savvy for all to see. Unfortunately, no one wants to host “Christmas Bridge” after today. Fear reigns.

Every Good Boy Does Fine. All Cows Eat Grass. Who wouldn’t want to wake up to mnemonics running through one’s head? And why was music theory (learning the notes on the staff with these sentences) occurring simultaneously with Alanis Morrisette’s, “Hand in my Pocket” inside my head at 6:23 am? And while we’re on it, what was “Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country?”

Well, the answer to the last question is the old-termed “typing class,” not keyboarding 101. Remember that one? I will proclaim that it was the singularly most useful class I ever had. I took It with the people NOT in the business classes, so we had about ten kids in there. My goal was to be tops in typing the fastest! I made 65 words per minute with three errors. And with only nine other competitors, I think I made the bulletin-board-of-fame one month. (The “Now is the time…” sentence was used – thank you Google – because it exactly fit the 70-space line we had to type. Valuable information.)

The longer lasting achievement is that occasionally I still type conversations in my head, or homilies, or television show dialogue, all with barely perceptible movement of my nimble fingers. Often I type the news seeing if I can keep up with the broadcaster. You probably do this, too, don’t you?

Thankfully, I was only practicing music this morning and I did not wake up typing anything. If only I could get my exercise in my dreams!

Don’t worry – it’s not a grammar lesson.

You all have them – painful presents of the past. Either you gave them or received them. Our breakfast table memories were around the ones we gave as parents. This was all prompted by the surfeit of circulars in our only choice for newsprint, “The Denver Post.”

The ad for “Big 5” brought back paintball guns and those colored bbs which we still find embedded in the ground and the expansion joints in the concrete. Supposedly they were biodegradable. After a million years, I suppose most everything is.

We recalled the only Black Friday mission my husband went on years ago in order to claim two Razor scooters for our children. That venture resulted in a broken wrist for my non-Pinterest Pal, “Pom.”

There was “Life Size Barbie,” who now resides in our basement scaring youngsters and my son. “Thomas the Train,” who currently lives in the attic of the garage. When toys have human names you feel kind of bad getting rid of them, even though banishing them to the outer reaches is apparently acceptable. As a matter of fact, my old “Charmin’ Chatty” doll (no, not “Chatty Kathy” – that’s another train of thought) keeps Barbie company in the basement. She still has a record inside her that plays a scratchy form of communication when you pull the string. She was on the “perfect past presents list,” of course, which is how she’s survived all these years.

One day we’ll recall the good gifts, but today, we focused on the head-shaking things we acquired as parents hoping to bring the miracle of Christmas through to our children. Nothing celebrates the birth of Christ like a Red Ryder BB gun!

The last day of paid employment for 2019 – and what a day for me! Since the advance of credit card payments rather than cash in our lives, children do not understand how money works, what “tax” means, nor do they know how to count money. It’s really quite astounding every time I run into this. And it can be amusing.

One young man came in this morning to give me the “tax” he thought he owed me for a book he couldn’t even purchase yesterday. It took me awhile to sort out his thinking and explain it to him. I’d like to say he was in first grade, but he was fourth. We eventually made a successful sale, but it took divine intervention.

I’ve gotten used to the student dumping a bunch of change out and trying to help them either learn or remember how to count money. Teaching 8% tax on every dollar is another multiplication hurdle which follows the “rounding up” lesson. Sometimes I think I do not sell books, but rather teach economics via math tutoring.

Where is this going? We charge everything. We order online. Kids do not see money exchanged. It’s becoming obsolete, save for the Scholastic Book Fairs! And so we continue on our mission of helping kids read while teaching them the value of a dollar.