the mall... stopping a herd of stampeding reindeer in order to save a sleigh full of Christmas toys for the orphanage... something dramatic. What I don’t want is to be found dangling from the downspout with a noose of burned-out Christmas lights around my neck.
I can hear the kid next door now:
“Mom! Some big, fat Santa in a dirty sweat suit just hung himself.”
Fortunately, his mother will be there to comfort him: “That’s not Santa, stupid. That’s Mr. O’Mary. Now get back in here and practice your Nintendo.”
This year, I have a new problem: something has been eating the lights I put around the bushes. My daughter thinks it’s a rabid raccoon. The neighbor kid thinks it’s an alien that eats electricity. I think it’s the new guy who lives in the condo down the street. He used to work as a geek in the carnival. When the carnival came to our town last summer, he said, “This is it. I’m home!” Ever since then, decorative lights have been disappearing.
Tonight, I’m going to stand guard, and it occurs to me that this may be how I go out: defending the Christmas decorations from a light bulb-eating carnival freak. But more likely, you’ll be able hear the neighbor kid yelling, “Mom, some big, fat Santa in camouflage pants is being eaten by a rabid raccoon!”
And his mom will say, “That’s not Santa. That’s Mr. O’Mary—and my, doesn’t his house look festive!”
John’s Thanksgiving
My best friend, John, will probably be mad at me for telling this story. But it’s such a great Thanksgiving story, I can’t resist. Forgive me, John.
This happened many years ago, during John’s first year of college. He had gone East from Idaho in order to attend a prestigious university. And now that his first school vacation—the Thanksgiving holiday—was at hand, he had decided to remain out East rather than travel back to Idaho to be with his family. He had some friends at school, but most of them had gone home for the holidays.
So come Thanksgiving Day, John woke up in a deserted dormitory building. That in itself would be enough to depress many people. Waking up alone on Thanksgiving Day. But he got up, got dressed, and was doing fine. Until he called home to talk to his family members, all of whom were congregated at his parents’ home for a big turkey feast.
One by one, John talked to everybody at his parents’ house.
“They were all having a great time,” said John. “I could imagine them sitting in the house warmed by the wood stove... the Salmon River and the Sawtooth Mountains off in the distance... the perfect Thanksgiving Day setting. And there I was, talking on a pay phone in an empty dormitory 2,000 miles away.”
I envisioned John talking to his mother who, of course, missed him terribly and wished he had come home for Thanksgiving. John’s older brother, often the aloof intellectual, had come home for Thanksgiving, and he, too, said that he would miss John at the dinner table. Then John talked to a steady procession of aunts, uncles, and family friends. All were having a good time—and all told John he should have come home.
All the while, John could hear the sounds of the holidays in the background. The nonstop hubbub of multiple conversations taking place simultaneously. The excited rise in pitch whenever another guest or relative arrived. The collective exclamation when the turkey was removed from the oven.
Finally, John talked to his father who had just returned from the traditional Thanksgiving Day pheasant hunt. His father probably said something to him like, “Missed you on the shoot, boy.”
John got through the phone conversation, got himself dressed in jacket and tie, and bravely went out for his turkey dinner at a nice restaurant near the university. But between the phone call and sitting alone at the restaurant, he found himself getting very depressed.
Fortunately, just a couple of tables away, there was an elderly couple. They were also having
I can hear the kid next door now:
“Mom! Some big, fat Santa in a dirty sweat suit just hung himself.”
Fortunately, his mother will be there to comfort him: “That’s not Santa, stupid. That’s Mr. O’Mary. Now get back in here and practice your Nintendo.”
This year, I have a new problem: something has been eating the lights I put around the bushes. My daughter thinks it’s a rabid raccoon. The neighbor kid thinks it’s an alien that eats electricity. I think it’s the new guy who lives in the condo down the street. He used to work as a geek in the carnival. When the carnival came to our town last summer, he said, “This is it. I’m home!” Ever since then, decorative lights have been disappearing.
Tonight, I’m going to stand guard, and it occurs to me that this may be how I go out: defending the Christmas decorations from a light bulb-eating carnival freak. But more likely, you’ll be able hear the neighbor kid yelling, “Mom, some big, fat Santa in camouflage pants is being eaten by a rabid raccoon!”
And his mom will say, “That’s not Santa. That’s Mr. O’Mary—and my, doesn’t his house look festive!”
John’s Thanksgiving
My best friend, John, will probably be mad at me for telling this story. But it’s such a great Thanksgiving story, I can’t resist. Forgive me, John.
This happened many years ago, during John’s first year of college. He had gone East from Idaho in order to attend a prestigious university. And now that his first school vacation—the Thanksgiving holiday—was at hand, he had decided to remain out East rather than travel back to Idaho to be with his family. He had some friends at school, but most of them had gone home for the holidays.
So come Thanksgiving Day, John woke up in a deserted dormitory building. That in itself would be enough to depress many people. Waking up alone on Thanksgiving Day. But he got up, got dressed, and was doing fine. Until he called home to talk to his family members, all of whom were congregated at his parents’ home for a big turkey feast.
One by one, John talked to everybody at his parents’ house.
“They were all having a great time,” said John. “I could imagine them sitting in the house warmed by the wood stove... the Salmon River and the Sawtooth Mountains off in the distance... the perfect Thanksgiving Day setting. And there I was, talking on a pay phone in an empty dormitory 2,000 miles away.”
I envisioned John talking to his mother who, of course, missed him terribly and wished he had come home for Thanksgiving. John’s older brother, often the aloof intellectual, had come home for Thanksgiving, and he, too, said that he would miss John at the dinner table. Then John talked to a steady procession of aunts, uncles, and family friends. All were having a good time—and all told John he should have come home.
All the while, John could hear the sounds of the holidays in the background. The nonstop hubbub of multiple conversations taking place simultaneously. The excited rise in pitch whenever another guest or relative arrived. The collective exclamation when the turkey was removed from the oven.
Finally, John talked to his father who had just returned from the traditional Thanksgiving Day pheasant hunt. His father probably said something to him like, “Missed you on the shoot, boy.”
John got through the phone conversation, got himself dressed in jacket and tie, and bravely went out for his turkey dinner at a nice restaurant near the university. But between the phone call and sitting alone at the restaurant, he found himself getting very depressed.
Fortunately, just a couple of tables away, there was an elderly couple. They were also having
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