Richard’s got the kitchen table jacked up like a redneck’s truck. He put it up on cinder blocks so we now look like true trailer trash. I know it’s to save his back from all that bending, but honestly, what will that man do next?
There’s a blizzard of Christmas paper all over the floor. What started out as forty pounds of candy in various bowls and boxes is now down to maybe twenty-five. Roughly half of what was one thousand sheets of tissue paper have been lovingly folded around individual gifts and candies, and carefully stuffed into crannies for cushioning. No box is complete without Jelly Bellies and at least one jar of jam, and everyone on our list expects some Cajun roasted pecans. Richard’s version of the stimulus package is gold-wrapped chocolate money for all.
Santa’s sleigh will soon be pulled up to the back door for loading, beginning with the twenty-five boxes that will go with us on our trip. None of them will get their complementary ribbons until we reach our destination, so our ten rolls of ribbon also have to fit in the van. We must take an ice chest for the frozen bounty from last summer’s garden that will be served at Scott and Buffy’s Thanksgiving in Mississippi. Somewhere, I’ll make room for our clothes.
In case Richard refused to take the trip down south with me, I had an offer to ride down to Mississippi with Rachel, Larry, Rebecca, Sarah, and Cinnamon in their Ford Escape. But their provision was that I couldn’t take an ice chest. When I got to discussing loading our freezer onto Richard’s trailer and towing it behind Larry’s van, Richard reconsidered. He’s coming along for the ride, sharing the driving of Santa’s sleigh with me.
When we arrive back in Tennessee, there’s a surprise birthday party to participate in before we begin decorating our house for the Holidays in the Holler. There will also be more macaroons to bake and barrels of bourbon balls to prepare for the remaining loved ones on our list. Approximately twelve more packages will be created, and prepared for mailing to those we won’t see during the Christmas season. This is in addition to the gifts that we’ll give to relatives and friends coming to see us before the end of the year. At some point, I’ll get around to cleaning our kitchen before heading to Atlanta to assist Rachel with cooking for her Christmas open house.
I’m not sure how to end the growth of our Christmas list. What started out as surprise boxes for immediate family members and their living-in-the-same-house children has grown to include the new households of married members of our ever-increasing family. We may set a personal record this year, topping the list at fifty boxes wrapped by Richard. And then there’s the “little somethings” that we’ll want to give our neighbors and new friends. But Richard won’t have to wrap these; I’ll just stuff them into stockings for personal presentation.
And to think, I once wanted to buy a Miata. What would we do without Santa’s sleigh?
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Bitten by the Book Bug
My dancing days may be over, not that I ever really knew how to dance. Every bone in my body aches. I’d give anything to be able to read and write all day until my achey-breaky body is better, but Santa’s sleigh is pulling out in two days, and I have to help load it. While batches of macaroons bake, I take aching bones breaks. This is when I make phone calls arranging visits with Louisiana friends and check emails.
My first friend call was to Karen and Mickey. Mickey was one of Richard’s partners, and we’ve so enjoyed their family’s reaction to our Christmas boxes over the years that we’ve continued the tradition of “the box” for over a decade. Two of their children are now adults, but we hope they’ll never outgrow the wonder of Dr. Dick’s Christmas gift.
Karen had me screaming with laughter, as usual, over the trials of motherhood when your husband works seventy hours a week and you have four kids. The latest is that Karen is undergoing rehabilitation therapy post-surgery for a shoulder injury. She recently found out that her ten-year-old daughter’s school has been learning about drug abuse, and that they’re now all praying for Madeline’s mother Karen, who is in “rehab.”
We try to see Louie and Janie when we go to Louisiana. Louie, with Elaine’s help, literally saved Richard’s life when Richard had the “big one.” And Janie brought me deodorant and a hairbrush at the hospital. Could you have a deeper bond than that? Even though Louie is Jewish, we began giving him Christmas macaroons years ago. To say that Louie loves our macaroons is quite the understatement. When I called with the news that the macaroons are on their way to town, Janie jumped at our offer to take them to dinner in New Orleans.
All of this is good news, but the most excitement I felt was about my niece Nikki. We’ve been in an informal book “group” for years, trading books back and forth. Nikki devours books and teachers English to eighth graders. She knows I’ve started publishing a blog and that I published Jack’s book. She’s now planning to start a group writing project with her class. This should reap some publishable stuff. But, even more exciting, Nikki has started writing her own book. As soon as the holidays are over, I know how I’ll be spending my time.
Jack already has enough material for another book. My friend Susan has promised to pick up where she left off on the book she started when we both lived in Louisiana, if I continue the book I started back then. Kathleen is blogging, as is her mother Gayle; I hope these blogs will become books. Sherry has been blogging about her Down’s Syndrome son – a book in the making that I hope to help publish. And now, Nikki is providing me with her prose.
I may never have to look out of the window when the weather gets really dreary. I’ll be too busy staring at my computer screen.
My first friend call was to Karen and Mickey. Mickey was one of Richard’s partners, and we’ve so enjoyed their family’s reaction to our Christmas boxes over the years that we’ve continued the tradition of “the box” for over a decade. Two of their children are now adults, but we hope they’ll never outgrow the wonder of Dr. Dick’s Christmas gift.
Karen had me screaming with laughter, as usual, over the trials of motherhood when your husband works seventy hours a week and you have four kids. The latest is that Karen is undergoing rehabilitation therapy post-surgery for a shoulder injury. She recently found out that her ten-year-old daughter’s school has been learning about drug abuse, and that they’re now all praying for Madeline’s mother Karen, who is in “rehab.”
We try to see Louie and Janie when we go to Louisiana. Louie, with Elaine’s help, literally saved Richard’s life when Richard had the “big one.” And Janie brought me deodorant and a hairbrush at the hospital. Could you have a deeper bond than that? Even though Louie is Jewish, we began giving him Christmas macaroons years ago. To say that Louie loves our macaroons is quite the understatement. When I called with the news that the macaroons are on their way to town, Janie jumped at our offer to take them to dinner in New Orleans.
All of this is good news, but the most excitement I felt was about my niece Nikki. We’ve been in an informal book “group” for years, trading books back and forth. Nikki devours books and teachers English to eighth graders. She knows I’ve started publishing a blog and that I published Jack’s book. She’s now planning to start a group writing project with her class. This should reap some publishable stuff. But, even more exciting, Nikki has started writing her own book. As soon as the holidays are over, I know how I’ll be spending my time.
Jack already has enough material for another book. My friend Susan has promised to pick up where she left off on the book she started when we both lived in Louisiana, if I continue the book I started back then. Kathleen is blogging, as is her mother Gayle; I hope these blogs will become books. Sherry has been blogging about her Down’s Syndrome son – a book in the making that I hope to help publish. And now, Nikki is providing me with her prose.
I may never have to look out of the window when the weather gets really dreary. I’ll be too busy staring at my computer screen.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Richard's Wrapping Routine
I had planned on having some of our Christmas boxes ready to go when we went to the wedding. But, I still hadn’t made the bourbon balls and Richard hadn’t purchased his Jelly Bellies or chocolate coins. On the way home from the wedding, we completed Richard’s candy collection. Now, I must get back into the Christmas kitchen and complete my cooking.
All the way to back to Tennessee, I had envisioned spending our first day home creating tasty treats as visions of family fun danced in my head. But, first, we had to unearth the packing supplies which we store in an outbuilding several hundred feet from the house. The storage bins are too many and too clumsy to carry, so I wanted Richard to transport them in the van. And this couldn’t be done until everything we took to the wedding was removed from the van.
Everything we took out of the van needed further disposition to make space for spreading out “Santa’s Wrapping Room.” Suitcases were unpacked -- which led to laundry to wash, fold, and hang. Mail needed sorting -- which created a desk full of filing to be finished. The filing was important because we need every flat surface in our house for spreading out our array of gifts purchased throughout the year. I know you might think that I could just put the files in what Terry Sue refers to as a “Houdini” box until Christmas is over. I did that one year, and only found out that I had inadvertently stowed our unpaid electric bill when Richard came home from work to a house without electricity.
We’ve spent a whole day back and have not one bourbon ball or gift box to show for it. This is what Richard refers to as the “infinite regression of steps.”
After the coconut macaroons come out of the oven and the bourbon balls are counted into cans; once the gifts are laid out for choosing; the tissue paper is stacked within reach; the candy and coins are sorted into categories; and the various tapes are laid out -- It’s showtime!
Those who have never received one of Richard’s surprise boxes may think all this preparation is a bit excessive, but it takes a lot of coordination to get somewhere between thirty and fifty boxes created, wrapped, and shipped in time for Christmas – especially the way Richard does it. Each family gets a carefully selected assortment of goodies and gifts. Each small gift is wrapped by Richard in colorful tissue paper, as is each candy and coin. All these small packages are then strategically placed in the proper size box -- and the detail work really begins.
Each box is sealed with packing tape into which Richard incorporates a “pull tab” for ease of access. He then chooses the right wrapping paper for each recipient’s tastes and for how the pattern will line up on the box. Using his right angle measuring tool, he measures the box and pattern before making the first cut on the paper. When he’s satisfied that the alignment is good to go, he begins taping – making military perfect creases in each corner and end. The boxes are then given to me to receive a color-coordinated bow and name tag. The box is actually one of the most delightful parts of the wrapped-by-Richard gift experience.
He calls himself the best “white wrapper “ that he knows.
All the way to back to Tennessee, I had envisioned spending our first day home creating tasty treats as visions of family fun danced in my head. But, first, we had to unearth the packing supplies which we store in an outbuilding several hundred feet from the house. The storage bins are too many and too clumsy to carry, so I wanted Richard to transport them in the van. And this couldn’t be done until everything we took to the wedding was removed from the van.
Everything we took out of the van needed further disposition to make space for spreading out “Santa’s Wrapping Room.” Suitcases were unpacked -- which led to laundry to wash, fold, and hang. Mail needed sorting -- which created a desk full of filing to be finished. The filing was important because we need every flat surface in our house for spreading out our array of gifts purchased throughout the year. I know you might think that I could just put the files in what Terry Sue refers to as a “Houdini” box until Christmas is over. I did that one year, and only found out that I had inadvertently stowed our unpaid electric bill when Richard came home from work to a house without electricity.
We’ve spent a whole day back and have not one bourbon ball or gift box to show for it. This is what Richard refers to as the “infinite regression of steps.”
After the coconut macaroons come out of the oven and the bourbon balls are counted into cans; once the gifts are laid out for choosing; the tissue paper is stacked within reach; the candy and coins are sorted into categories; and the various tapes are laid out -- It’s showtime!
Those who have never received one of Richard’s surprise boxes may think all this preparation is a bit excessive, but it takes a lot of coordination to get somewhere between thirty and fifty boxes created, wrapped, and shipped in time for Christmas – especially the way Richard does it. Each family gets a carefully selected assortment of goodies and gifts. Each small gift is wrapped by Richard in colorful tissue paper, as is each candy and coin. All these small packages are then strategically placed in the proper size box -- and the detail work really begins.
Each box is sealed with packing tape into which Richard incorporates a “pull tab” for ease of access. He then chooses the right wrapping paper for each recipient’s tastes and for how the pattern will line up on the box. Using his right angle measuring tool, he measures the box and pattern before making the first cut on the paper. When he’s satisfied that the alignment is good to go, he begins taping – making military perfect creases in each corner and end. The boxes are then given to me to receive a color-coordinated bow and name tag. The box is actually one of the most delightful parts of the wrapped-by-Richard gift experience.
He calls himself the best “white wrapper “ that he knows.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Processing the Passion
Whew! I think I have a hangover – and I don’t mean of the alcohol withdrawal kind. All that emotion in such a short time is enough to make my head and heart explode. One of the best things about retirement is that it gives me the gift of time. Even though Richard didn’t retire until he had his near-death heart attack, I was able to retire as soon as Richard “adopted” me. I stayed busy with volunteer work with family and the community, but I was able to pull back and process whenever I felt the need.
For a while after Hurricane Katrina, I forgot about that need for processing time. After this past year of emotional roller coaster rides, I finally put my passions on hold for a two-week period last summer while I floated on a sea of pure pain. For me, even the pleasures of life can be so intense that they explode my over-full heart. Richard has a friend who used to tell me that she had to take breaks from conversations with me because she would become “over-stimulated.” Elaine has told me that I make people tired. Well, imagine if I make other people emotionally exhausted how I make myself feel.
Elaine and I relaxed together for a couple of days before everyone else descended on her. Richard and I were on call for the next couple of days, in case Elaine needed a back-up band of buddies for her pageant production. She really had everything under control, so we took a break the morning of the wedding to take a trip with Scott and Buffy. Nicholas was playing in the last game of his pee-wee league football season. We jumped at the chance to see him and his sister Miya, with the fairy princess hair. , That night, Rachel’s family joined us on the dance floor, where Sarah twirled in her sparkly party dress, and all the young marrieds did some version of mildly dirty dancing. Elaine, Rosita and I have known each other since we were fourteen. At receptions end, we three couples who call ourselves “los tres amigos y amigas ” toasted the end of the party in Elaine’s room -- as we began planning for Rosita and Eddie’s daughter’s wedding in less than a year.
I had planned to stay in family visit mode for two and a half weeks, which would include a visit to my Aunt Mabel on the bayou to wish her a happy eightieth birthday. Lucky for me, Richard insisted on us taking a mental health break between the big, fat Italian wedding and the big, fat family feast for Thanksgiving at Scott’s house in Mississippi.
All the way home, I let the shimmering bubbles of memories of the five-day trip float across my consciousness and pop into magical memories lodged in my brain. It was a nine-hour trip, but I know I’ll be floating for days. Thank goodness, all I have to do this next five days is prepare Christmas packages for family that we’ll see during Thanksgiving week.
For a while after Hurricane Katrina, I forgot about that need for processing time. After this past year of emotional roller coaster rides, I finally put my passions on hold for a two-week period last summer while I floated on a sea of pure pain. For me, even the pleasures of life can be so intense that they explode my over-full heart. Richard has a friend who used to tell me that she had to take breaks from conversations with me because she would become “over-stimulated.” Elaine has told me that I make people tired. Well, imagine if I make other people emotionally exhausted how I make myself feel.
Elaine and I relaxed together for a couple of days before everyone else descended on her. Richard and I were on call for the next couple of days, in case Elaine needed a back-up band of buddies for her pageant production. She really had everything under control, so we took a break the morning of the wedding to take a trip with Scott and Buffy. Nicholas was playing in the last game of his pee-wee league football season. We jumped at the chance to see him and his sister Miya, with the fairy princess hair. , That night, Rachel’s family joined us on the dance floor, where Sarah twirled in her sparkly party dress, and all the young marrieds did some version of mildly dirty dancing. Elaine, Rosita and I have known each other since we were fourteen. At receptions end, we three couples who call ourselves “los tres amigos y amigas ” toasted the end of the party in Elaine’s room -- as we began planning for Rosita and Eddie’s daughter’s wedding in less than a year.
I had planned to stay in family visit mode for two and a half weeks, which would include a visit to my Aunt Mabel on the bayou to wish her a happy eightieth birthday. Lucky for me, Richard insisted on us taking a mental health break between the big, fat Italian wedding and the big, fat family feast for Thanksgiving at Scott’s house in Mississippi.
All the way home, I let the shimmering bubbles of memories of the five-day trip float across my consciousness and pop into magical memories lodged in my brain. It was a nine-hour trip, but I know I’ll be floating for days. Thank goodness, all I have to do this next five days is prepare Christmas packages for family that we’ll see during Thanksgiving week.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
One Wild Wedding
Elaine kept calling it “A Big Fat Italian Wedding.” Whatever anybody wants to call it, it was fabulously fun. There’s really no similarity between WASP wedding and the South Louisiana version of letting the good times roll. All major events in New Orleans are celebrated with song, dance, food, and laughter – lots of laughter. And we pray – lots of praying. The Saints are losing – Don’t worry about it; have a laugh, and say a prayer. The Saints are winning – Let’s laugh, and say a prayer. You’re sick? – I’ll tell you a funny story to cheer you up, after I pray for you. You’re dead? – I’ll tell everybody something funny about you to cheer them up, and I’ll pray for you and your family.
Elaine refuses to face life any other way. In her professional life, she’s a very serious doctor making life and death decisions every day. She works very hard, and plays even harder. Any event Elaine touches has a special sparkle – some of it from the fresh flower arrangements and flickering candlelight, but most from the imprint of her passion for life, love, and family. And now that Elaine’s children are old enough to help plan the pageants, we’re in for a really wild ride.
No New Orleans party takes food lightly. You don’t go to a tailgate party with just a bunch of chips and dips. Every event calls for a fabulous feast – for all the senses. You must wear your team colors; you must bring your team spirit; and you must bring good food – lots of good food. For Mardi Gras, families cordon off picnic spots days before the parades and station a family member to guard their territory until parade time – many complete with living room sofas. All day people are barbequing to go with the gourmet fare they bring from home.
Wedding receptions are smaller versions of Mardi Gras. Everybody gets in on the act. My Godchild Gary coordinated the music with the DJ to optimize the potential for dancing, and dance we did. Everybody who can walk is expected to dance. Who knew that Elaine’s older brother Tony, a very dour doctor, could line dance?
And the food at both the rehearsal dinner and wedding reception was fit for kings (and queens). In the span of two nights, we feasted on velvety oyster soup, lobster ravioli in seafood Alfredo, lamb chops, and crab cakes followed by cannolis and amaretto panna cotta. The reception food was no less divine. I’ve never been to a wedding buffet with prime filets of beef, béarnaise sauce, and mushroom wine sauce – as much as you wanted to eat. And the wedding cake was not standard almond flavored white – it was carrot cake! This was accompanied by a groom’s cake of half lemon doberge and half chocolate doberge lovingly carried from New Orleans Gambino’s Bakery by some of Elaine’s best friends, Rosita and Eddie, built a special wallboard platform to cradle it on its journey. Did I tell you the food is important?
The wedding was as perfect as a wedding could ever be. The bride was a movie star straight out of the forties movies. The groom was the perfect leading man of dark Italian good looks. The attendants were glowing in their wine-colored strapless gowns. The sunset ceremony under a centuries-old oak tree at water’s edge was personalized, solemn, and meaningful. Then, we moved in for the reception.
We get together and blow off steam, and make marvelous memories that will tide us over through life’s hard work and sorrows. Then we pack away our party clothes and head back to our realities, carrying the glow of fun, food, laughter and longing that has to last us until next time.
I do know what it means to miss New Orleans. We’ll be back for Thanksgiving.
Elaine refuses to face life any other way. In her professional life, she’s a very serious doctor making life and death decisions every day. She works very hard, and plays even harder. Any event Elaine touches has a special sparkle – some of it from the fresh flower arrangements and flickering candlelight, but most from the imprint of her passion for life, love, and family. And now that Elaine’s children are old enough to help plan the pageants, we’re in for a really wild ride.
No New Orleans party takes food lightly. You don’t go to a tailgate party with just a bunch of chips and dips. Every event calls for a fabulous feast – for all the senses. You must wear your team colors; you must bring your team spirit; and you must bring good food – lots of good food. For Mardi Gras, families cordon off picnic spots days before the parades and station a family member to guard their territory until parade time – many complete with living room sofas. All day people are barbequing to go with the gourmet fare they bring from home.
Wedding receptions are smaller versions of Mardi Gras. Everybody gets in on the act. My Godchild Gary coordinated the music with the DJ to optimize the potential for dancing, and dance we did. Everybody who can walk is expected to dance. Who knew that Elaine’s older brother Tony, a very dour doctor, could line dance?
And the food at both the rehearsal dinner and wedding reception was fit for kings (and queens). In the span of two nights, we feasted on velvety oyster soup, lobster ravioli in seafood Alfredo, lamb chops, and crab cakes followed by cannolis and amaretto panna cotta. The reception food was no less divine. I’ve never been to a wedding buffet with prime filets of beef, béarnaise sauce, and mushroom wine sauce – as much as you wanted to eat. And the wedding cake was not standard almond flavored white – it was carrot cake! This was accompanied by a groom’s cake of half lemon doberge and half chocolate doberge lovingly carried from New Orleans Gambino’s Bakery by some of Elaine’s best friends, Rosita and Eddie, built a special wallboard platform to cradle it on its journey. Did I tell you the food is important?
The wedding was as perfect as a wedding could ever be. The bride was a movie star straight out of the forties movies. The groom was the perfect leading man of dark Italian good looks. The attendants were glowing in their wine-colored strapless gowns. The sunset ceremony under a centuries-old oak tree at water’s edge was personalized, solemn, and meaningful. Then, we moved in for the reception.
We get together and blow off steam, and make marvelous memories that will tide us over through life’s hard work and sorrows. Then we pack away our party clothes and head back to our realities, carrying the glow of fun, food, laughter and longing that has to last us until next time.
I do know what it means to miss New Orleans. We’ll be back for Thanksgiving.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Modern Marriage
I remember when we used to all assume that marriage meant the same things to everyone, and everyone struggled to play the roles assigned to them in the play. Then, Women’s Lib came along and we admitted that not all men can overhaul a carburetor, and not all women are natural nurturers. We now have women going off to war, and men who are quite comfortable with being “Mr. Mom.”
We discovered something remarkable along the way. Men and women can actually stand toe-to-toe as friends. There are lots of jobs to be done in maintaining a family, and someone has to do each job. It may not work in society at large, but in families, the Marxist doctrine of “from each according to their abilities; to each according to their needs” may be better than pretending that the magic of love solves all problems -- and cleans the bathrooms, to boot.
Life is an adventure, and family life is even more so. We need to hold tight to a buddy’s hand as we go into each dark cave of the unknown. Briton and Jeanne have worked as a couple for years now. They know each others abilities and disabilities. They’ve held each others hands and laughed and cried as they fell down, got back up, dusted each other off, and tried again.
I wish we could help them write a contract addressing everything they will face as a couple, but none of us ever know what life will throw our way. What I do know is that we need to continue being there for them as they progress through life as a family. We need to let them know that we still “have their backs.” And they need to continue to be the best of friends.
I know a lot of people think that the golden rule is a great way to run a relationship. I disagree, especially since some of my friends are as thick as bricks about what I want and need. If we do unto others as we would have them do unto us, I may be getting tickets to the Saints game when I’d really rather a day strolling along the lake.
I don’t expect my server in restaurant to guess what I’m in the mood to eat; why would I expect my friends to do so? Richard is fond of saying, “I’ll give you whatever you want; just tell me what you want.” This goes both ways. In everything we undertake as a team, we assign officer and enlisted status, based on whose project we’re doing. Then the officer has to define very clearly how to achieve the desired goal. Makes me think twice before beginning a project…
The standard marriage vows admonishing women to obey their husbands may need a complete overhaul. How about replacing them with the Albert Camus quote, “Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Just walk beside me, and be my friend.”
We discovered something remarkable along the way. Men and women can actually stand toe-to-toe as friends. There are lots of jobs to be done in maintaining a family, and someone has to do each job. It may not work in society at large, but in families, the Marxist doctrine of “from each according to their abilities; to each according to their needs” may be better than pretending that the magic of love solves all problems -- and cleans the bathrooms, to boot.
Life is an adventure, and family life is even more so. We need to hold tight to a buddy’s hand as we go into each dark cave of the unknown. Briton and Jeanne have worked as a couple for years now. They know each others abilities and disabilities. They’ve held each others hands and laughed and cried as they fell down, got back up, dusted each other off, and tried again.
I wish we could help them write a contract addressing everything they will face as a couple, but none of us ever know what life will throw our way. What I do know is that we need to continue being there for them as they progress through life as a family. We need to let them know that we still “have their backs.” And they need to continue to be the best of friends.
I know a lot of people think that the golden rule is a great way to run a relationship. I disagree, especially since some of my friends are as thick as bricks about what I want and need. If we do unto others as we would have them do unto us, I may be getting tickets to the Saints game when I’d really rather a day strolling along the lake.
I don’t expect my server in restaurant to guess what I’m in the mood to eat; why would I expect my friends to do so? Richard is fond of saying, “I’ll give you whatever you want; just tell me what you want.” This goes both ways. In everything we undertake as a team, we assign officer and enlisted status, based on whose project we’re doing. Then the officer has to define very clearly how to achieve the desired goal. Makes me think twice before beginning a project…
The standard marriage vows admonishing women to obey their husbands may need a complete overhaul. How about replacing them with the Albert Camus quote, “Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Just walk beside me, and be my friend.”
Friday, November 13, 2009
Gift Giving
The bride and groom arrived and Richard and I took the opportunity to present them with their present in private. Briton was going to marry his long-time girlfriend Jeanne, and I wanted to give them a special gift – something with deep meaning. We gathered on the balcony of Briton’s room for the giving of the gifts. Jeanne did seem a bit puzzled went she unwrapped a roll of duct tape, followed by a fifteen-foot length of rope. After the following explanation, she seemed happy to find that there was also wedding money in the bottom of the bag.
Before Elaine married Bubby, I spent a fair amount of time at her house with her four children. One day, while visiting their home, I observed Briton tormenting his toddler brother Gary by putting a strip of duct tape in the baby’s hair. Gary is my godchild, so I’m rather protective of him. I let Briton know that whatever he did to Gary, I’d do to him.
Shortly after this, I agreed to a week-end trip to the beach with Elaine and her kids. First, I was facing an hour in the car with someone else’s kids. Second, I was staying for two days in a cottage with the same four children. The closer the time of departure got, the more jangled my nerves got. The date arrived, and I had found a cure for my case of nerves.
I picked Elaine’s family up in my van, informing the kids that it was my van, so it was my rules. I expected them to behave. I also let them know that I was armed – with rope and duct tape. We proceeded to the beach without incident.
The following morning began with Gary’s blood-curdling scream coming from the children’s room. Peeking into the room, I found Briton on top of his brother. Without any warning, I flew across the room, tied Briton up with my handy rope, and put him in the cottage closet. Elaine and I took the other kids out of the room, leaving Briton alone in the closet. Upon our return, Briton was out of the closet, beaming. “Aunt Yvette,” he said, “That was fun. Do it again.”
It then dawned on me that we were dropping Briton off at school at the end of the week-end. I could just hear him when asked how he spent his week-end. “Well, my aunt took me to a hotel and tied me up.” I’m sure that people have been arrested for less.
Briton is extremely passionate about life, and may sometimes need to be gentled. We hope Jeanne never has to use it, but it’s good for a new bride to have some hope of keeping her husband in line.
Before Elaine married Bubby, I spent a fair amount of time at her house with her four children. One day, while visiting their home, I observed Briton tormenting his toddler brother Gary by putting a strip of duct tape in the baby’s hair. Gary is my godchild, so I’m rather protective of him. I let Briton know that whatever he did to Gary, I’d do to him.
Shortly after this, I agreed to a week-end trip to the beach with Elaine and her kids. First, I was facing an hour in the car with someone else’s kids. Second, I was staying for two days in a cottage with the same four children. The closer the time of departure got, the more jangled my nerves got. The date arrived, and I had found a cure for my case of nerves.
I picked Elaine’s family up in my van, informing the kids that it was my van, so it was my rules. I expected them to behave. I also let them know that I was armed – with rope and duct tape. We proceeded to the beach without incident.
The following morning began with Gary’s blood-curdling scream coming from the children’s room. Peeking into the room, I found Briton on top of his brother. Without any warning, I flew across the room, tied Briton up with my handy rope, and put him in the cottage closet. Elaine and I took the other kids out of the room, leaving Briton alone in the closet. Upon our return, Briton was out of the closet, beaming. “Aunt Yvette,” he said, “That was fun. Do it again.”
It then dawned on me that we were dropping Briton off at school at the end of the week-end. I could just hear him when asked how he spent his week-end. “Well, my aunt took me to a hotel and tied me up.” I’m sure that people have been arrested for less.
Briton is extremely passionate about life, and may sometimes need to be gentled. We hope Jeanne never has to use it, but it’s good for a new bride to have some hope of keeping her husband in line.
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