Honesty Can be Harmful to One's Psyche, Possibly!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:             Honesty Can be Harmful to One's Psyche, Possibly *!

Children, as most of us who have progressed beyond a certain age know, can be brutally honest.  True, the utter candor of the very young can be amusing, even refreshing at times. Grandchildren, for example, have a way of expressing whatever's in their sweet little heads that can seem a bit offensive, particularly to geezers who may not always value or appreciate total

Papa receives a mighty blow from Grandson
Seany during a slow-motion, mock fist fight!
(Full video available upon request!)

candor.  
Recently, my grandson, Seany, labeled me the "Great, Grey-Haired Sloth."  The reference was not intended to comment on or make an allegation of slovenliness (a sometimes side-car attached to the definition of "slothfulness"), but rather to the relative speed with which I tend to accomplish tasks or offer an explanation or commentary, when asked!  I am often accused by various family members of being rather slow, of having a deficiency in the alacrity department. I repudiate such unwarranted accusations.  I am merely deliberate!  Seany also does an imitation of what he perceives as my "old man walk," in which I'm bent nearly in half and shuffle at the speed of a mile every two or three days or so.  

Our youngest grandchild, a granddaughter, Phi Phi -- she's six years old -- sometimes calls me "a very old man."  (The modifier "very" is really quite unnecessary!)  I suppose that at my current age, the suggestion is not merely a "suggestion" but an accurate statement. It depends on one's definition of "old" in the context of the current average life expectancy of the human species.   

I looked it up.  One of the sites lists average age expectancy by state.  In ours it's 77.8.  By that standard, I'm really quite a youngster, and still have good years ahead if indeed I make it to 77.8.  I wonder, though, if the average male is expected to drop off the "mortal coil" at precisely that age??!!  This is disturbing!  We'd better make plans!! **   ...But I digress...

In the splendid "Age of Geezerhood," I note that grandchildren have a special manner of reminding one that one is considered a creature of another era, such as the Pleistocene Age, or maybe Paleolithic.  Grandson, Coen, in his sweet way once told me that I look or could be maybe 20 years or so younger than I actually am.  Granddaughter, Lucy, feels she can still jump into my arms without causing me back spasms or broken skeletal parts.  Maybe they're just being polite.  All the grandkids might be more inclined to ask, "Hey Papa, did you ever ride a bucking triceratops?...  Rope a troodon?...

I forget!  When did you last skin a mastodon?..."      

Society, given today's apparent attitudes and preoccupation with the young, reflect the ideas about age that little children seem to prefer:  "Old goat," "ancient baboon," "fossil breath," "mollusk mug," "prune face" and other offensive terms the elderly tend not to embrace willingly.  Persons of high school and post-high-school age seem also to harbor a peculiar notion of older adults.  According to many of our younger citizens, an "elder" is practically deceased or nearly there when no longer in the "20-something" category.  But, one must also bear in mind that, prior to age 30 or 35 or so, the two hemispheres of the brain have not yet collided to form a cohesive unit!!

We've numbered the states in the order
in which we'll move there to prolong
our life expectancy!  Thank you!

** Returning, for a moment, to the "...plans" allusion in paragraph four of this fascinating treatise on...  well whatever the hell it's about...  if we move to Vermont we don't have to drop dead until we're 80.5.  We could stay there a few years until the big gong of time sends us packing once again, and then we can move to Hawaii where we won't drop dead until we're 81.3.  This is exciting!  We may have a real plan, here!!    

It has been said, or possibly written somewhere, that interaction with grandchildren and house pets can prolong our lives.  We have both, sort of, a daughter and friends with doggies we can borrow, and grandkids too.  But what about when the grandchildren grow up and maybe move to New York or Philadelphia and begin selling subordinated debentures?!!  Some other lucrative obnoxious career path, possibly??!!  What then? Will we become former human beings right away, deceased creatures, before they even reach Ohio?

The Grandchildren:  Seany, Phia,
Coen, Lucy (fm. l. to r., of course)!

Well, I guess it's better to live for the moment, enjoy the time we have, allow the young to berate and belittle us as we wrinkle and stoop.  Let them have their little jokes at our expense. We should place pictures of goats and wrinkly elephants on our ice boxes...  embrace the "Era of Geezerhood" with joy and pride in our aging hearts!  We're the survivors, after all.  We are the Solomon's, the towering intellects who have attained the wisdom of the ages, repositories of knowledge through longevity and eye bags!!  ...jowls and veiny noses, maybe, too!... 

But on the other hand...  "Sweetheart!  Call the real estate people!  Pack stuff!  We're moving to Hawaii before it's too late!!..."  (What'd I do with that straw suitcase again?...) 

Special Note of Gratitude and Attribution:    The perpetrator dedicates this posting to his beautiful and incomparable grandchildren -- Coen and Lucy, Seany and Phia.  I thank them profusely for keeping us "young" and balanced and focused on the present!  I must also thank our beautiful and incomparable daughters who did their share in providing such superior grandchildren.  And to Sweetheart, who suggested the topic, my continuing gratitude for that and so much more! Finally, I thank Vermont and Hawaii for making it possible for geezers to live longer!  That's all.  

*  A subtle homage to The Lady in the Van! 

      Humbly Submitted 03-16-16 -- Joel K.                              

  



  

  

  

Great Adventures in Literature -- Writing, Publishing and Promoting a Book!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:        What an Adventure!  Writing, Publishing...  
                                A Long, Rutted Road, an Exciting Journey into Literature!

I believe it began in 2008...  or thereabouts!  (When does Geezerhood actually begin?  Does *AAARPFGP make the rule, set the standard?)  In any case, I was certainly in the grasp when it began. The process of writing a book-length work of non-fiction has been and continues to be a great adventure, a humbling and, at times, arduous task.  Maybe even a kind of love affair, or perhaps merely an obsession! 
  
The photo at left is a kind
of professorial pose struck
by an author who is also
the Perpetrator of this Blog!

My wife, Sweetheart, and I, together with my wonderful and generous sister, Karen -- she who took the lead role, and who sadly died just this past year -- accepted the duty of providing hospice care for my aging father -- he who was suffering from two forms of cancer, and rampant dementia, a condition that heightens the challenge considerably.  As with other caregiving activities before and after my father's, it was extraordinary, intimate and a bit daunting as well.

Somehow, I knew I had to write about the experience.  My father's hospice period lasted a remarkable 19 months, so lengthy a time we had to have him re-certified for hospice care not once but twice!  It often seemed he simply refused to exit!  Cancer of the liver finally claimed his life in February of 1996 (twenty years ago this month!).  We had other challenges to face -- additional caregiving, my own personal demons and the necessity to earn a living intervened -- until finally I was able to begin the writing process, whenever time and discipline allowed.  

The result:   And Good Night to All the Beautiful Young Women:  A Tale of "Episodic Dementia" -- The Parent Becomes the Child...  It's not a bad book, my dears, or so I've been told!  In fact -- false modesty aside -- we're reliably told it's quite good!  And funny too, owing in large measure to my father's comedic personality!   

Since its publication, Sweetheart and I have engaged in what our literary advisors urged, 

encouraged and term, "shameless self-promotion."  I / we have used facebook, word of mouth, Email, press releases, a television appearance on WTMJ-TV's The Morning Blend, an "Author Event" (presentation of the "backstory," chapter descriptions, a reading, Q&A session and book signing!), consignment sales and other methods and media.  It has truly been a grand adventure...    so far...

We anticipated some 32 bodies at the "Author Event" held at Boswell Books on Downer Avenue in Milwaukee.  More than 70 actually attended!  We deemed it highly successful and

The anticipated "throng" of 32 or so
eventually turned into more than 70
attendees at the "Author Event"!

gratifying, especially given the time and effort devoted to the entire process of writing, editing, deciding on the publication method and subsequent promotion.  At this juncture, I must pay tribute and extend enormous gratitude to two phenomenal editors, Kurt C. and Sweetheart too, of course, both of whom kept things heading in the right direction!... Wonderful, thoughtful and endlessly bright and patient editors!  Giant thanks to my good friend, Larry L., as well, who has been a source of great inspiration, at times lending his literary brilliance to the project.

I also extend thanks to all of those wonderful people who wrote and posted reviews on Amazon

and Barnes & Noble, the two commercial "bookseller" web sites on which the book is available for purchase.  In particular, I thank Donna P. and Peg R., both of whom offered great support and encouragement and marvelous reviews, not to mention the dual gems of their love and friendship.  The list should also include brother, Kris, as well, for his most welcome support and encouragement.  He is one of my favorite people, favorite brother, too!  And Jaynie, of course.  I thank her most sincerely for her love and constant support.  And, oh yes, my beautiful cousins whose places of residence include nearly every region of the country.  They really are beautiful cousins, smart and talented too!

Finally (in the spirit of the Academy Awards) I wish to thank my publicist, producers, hair stylist, costume designer and everyone in Boise, Idaho.  Oh yeah!  My agent...  I love ya, Baby! 
   
So now what?  We've been talking about "book tours," and agonizing a bit, well, quite a lot to be truthful, over the probable or improbable efficacy of such an undertaking.  We've tentatively targeted Dallas, New Orleans, Los Angeles, New York -- or somewhere on the East Coast -- or possibly Florida, other key markets.  I don't know??!!  Affordability is a major factor... We'll give it more thought, lots more thought!  

And what about foreign markets?  I mean, Chinese people have aging parents, don't they?!...  or are aging parents!  Russians, Europeans, South Americans, Australians??  Or is all of this merely colossal, self-delusional presumption??!!!  But what the hell, one can't be blamed for dreaming, even fantasizing!

Perhaps we need a gimmick!  A pet goat!  A dancing wallaby!  Or a monkey, maybe!  We could all wear little red fez's, or brown felt fedoras like G-men wear.  (My father was a G-man, you know, an FBI guy!)  
"Step right up, people!  Watch the monkey play the bassoon and ride a goat...  and then buy a book..  or two, even!  Mustn't dawdle, only a few copies left...!"  (I'll have to work on my "sidewalk pitch" routine!!)

Another brilliant thought!  Maybe it's the second book that sells the first!  I just gotta keep

working on that mystery novel.  In the meantime, suggestions are most welcome.  Sweetheart

and I will continue to consider ideas, no matter how ridiculous.  (Hey!...  Can writers attract "Angels"? You know, like Bialystock and Bloom?...)  Stay tuned!  This adventure is far from over!! 

* American Association of Almost Retired or Possibly Fired 
   Geezer Persons!  

Humbly Submitted 02-29-16 (Leap Day!) -- Joel K.

[Special Note:  The perpetrator of this blog posting offers special notes of gratitude to several remarkably fine and talented co-conspirators...  maybe collaborators is a better choice of words... whose names are listed in the body of the above writing.  So, for those of you mentioned, you'll simply have to suffer through the entire passage to find your specific note of gratitude.  Thank You, and Good Night to All You Beautiful Young (and Older) Women, and Men!]             

       

Reflections on Doggies.... And Some Resolutions...!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:      Reflections on Our Love for Doggies...  and Some New Year 
                                                   Revulsions...    That is, Resolutions!


Sometimes you just have to forgive someone who has reached Geezer Age for absurd mixtures of themes, metaphors and cupcake batter.  I’d like to share some thoughts about our love affair with dogs, or doggies as I prefer (I have grandchildren!).  And I have a few resolutions I’d like to make public, or semi-private if you’ve already stopped reading this nonsense.
  
To begin...
1.)  I will not bludgeon random individuals during nocturnal wanderings!
2.)  I will treat doggies with reverence and respect...  I love doggies!

Don't know what she had against mail
and delivery trucks.  We quite enjoy
receiving packages, and mail too...
or some of it!

During my robust middle age, not quite a geezer but moving in that direction, we inherited a

Nicky was a "CockaPoo."  I often told
people she was a "CockaPeekaYorkie-
BullaSheetzuPoo.  She wasn't, but I
knew one!  (Didn't I??)

dog named Snickers.  We always called her “Nicky.” (I think that’s how we spelled it...  a female spelling should be Nickie, I suppose...  she was a female doggie.)  A wondrous creature, she bit our lawyer (never a recommendable thing!), me (when I was jogging dressed in outrageously silly winter weather attire -- striped leg warmers, welder’s goggles, a Russian hat with ear flaps, Packer-monogrammed mittens...), a member of the clergy, tires, trees, infrastructure...  She barked at everything, including insects, large dogs, the UPS man, rodents -- both of the arboreal and sewer-dwelling variety -- inanimate things, reptiles, flying objects...  

Frequently, especially in advanced age, she’d hear noises, real and imaginary (a doorbell?), race

My editors told me to
place an image of a plum
tree here...  for reference!

madly down the staircase, tumble and slide most of the way, and then bark truculently at a closet door upon reaching the landing. Magnificent animal.  We loved her.  In her final years, she erupted frequently from both major orifices.  We were certain she’d give us one final and massive explosion of emesis and fecal matter.  She didn’t.  Nicky lived 15 years.  She’s buried in Rob and Sue’s orchard, near or under a plum tree.  There’s no marker, but we know where...

3.)  I shall not eat pizza pie more than once each year!  (To be honest, I only eat pizza on December 24th.  It’s a tradition.  So this isn’t really much of a hardship!)
4.)  I resolve to tell my wife, "I Love You!" with greater frequency and sincerity!...  Children and grandchildren too!   
5.)  I shall be kind to all living creatures...  most of the time (excepting rude people and those who mistreat animals, human and otherwise)!

That's our daughter, Alie, with Kody,
and that's also Kody in the inset,
upper left (in front of our house)!

Dakota was next, a large greyhound.  (I was at the time much closer to actual geezerhood...  or there, maybe?!!)  Our daughter, Bethie, decided we needed another canine companion (Alie was away at school, I believe!).  We motored off to the nearby Humane Animal Welfare Society location. We interviewed a number of doggies.  A mostly white creature -- with one enormous and several other black spots -- snuggled in next to Bethie as we three were seated in the interview room.  That was that.  “I’ll take great care of her,” said Bethie.  “I’ll walk and feed her faithfully.”  A week later she was enrolled at UW-M and living in a lower flat on Milwaukee’s east side.  

We took Dakota -- now re-dubbed “Kody” for evermore -- to a doggie training class.  I was trained.  She was not.  The dog had some fine qualities.  She had a way of telegraphing her more elaborate call of nature.  Because of that, we had the time to roll up a plastic, eared shopping sack and place it under her rear quarters, into which and without apparent objection she would deposit her (uh...  How shall I put it?...) deposit!

On one occasion in which we were engaged as described above, a troop of “Itty Bitty” soccer

Seany's looking a bit underwhelmed.
He was much younger then; so is
Kody.  They got along great!  They
were waiting on the porch for mail
and doggie treats respectively, I think!

players and their coach were marching along smartly, sort of parallel to our location.  The coach stopped her tiny team, pointed and announced in gleeful surprise, “Look, girls, that doggie is going potty directly into a sack.  Isn’t that marvelous?!  Isn’t that doggie beautifully trained?!...”  I wanted to say, but didn’t, “See here, you silly soccer-coaching bubblehead, the dog isn’t trained, I’m trained!!”  (But wait! Who was really being a bubblehead...?)

Kody outlived all expectations for greyhound longevity, and died at age 13.  Well before that sad time, however, she had one extravagant adventure up her doggie sweater sleeve.   We were having our sinking front porch re-built with proper concrete footings, etc.  The temporary door was a make-shift affair.  My wife, Sweetheart, and I were embarking upon a walkies (again, grandchildren!) with our niece and her family.  Kody wanted to come along.  She clawed at the door furiously until it opened, raced after us, got to the middle of a busy adjacent street and was hit broadside by a four-door pickup truck.  The driver was in tears as he, and we, gazed upon the panting, badly injured doggie, her stomach area filling with blood and fluid.  A trip to doggie emergency, several "panicked" phone calls from said doggie emergency hospital staff proclaiming Kody

Sweetheart walking Kody.  And that's
grandson, Coen, in the wagon being
pulled or pushed by a relative.
(Everyone seems to be walking
off the page!)

a “former doggie” if we didn’t agree to more and more curative measures.  Lots of anxiety and $3000.00 later, she came home.  Sweetheart hand-fed her, Kody, that is, cottage cheese and scrambled eggs until she, Kody, was fully recovered and could nibble her kibbles on her own from a standing position! 

The dog was voracious.  She ate or chewed everything, including tin cans, windowsills, our dinner, sidewalk refuse, fax paper...  I had to contact suppliers and clients to ask them to re-transmit.  "Why?" they’d ask.  I couldn’t bring myself to give them the real answer.  I felt silly, like a kid conjuring a ridiculous scenario to a teacher.  You know...  that classic if inane excuse?!!  A vet suggested, "Try tabasco sauce."  May as well have been honey on toast; she loved fax'es with tabasco!  Kody once ate an entire cheese cake, forcing poor Sweetheart to

Kody actually preferred her Fax
paper with Tabasco!  (Sigh!)

have to bake another, promised for a potluck affair.

6.)  I shall not strangle doggies who eat my favorite dessert!
7.)  I'm not giving up volleyball...  I don't care what anyone says!  Even though my knees and shoulders sound like a chuck-a-luck game! 
8.) I shall resolve to chew my food at least 25 times like my mother said...  or like someone’s mother said!(?) 
9.)  I’m giving up gum, and will encourage my nearest and dearest to do likewise!  [To be truthful, I don’t chew gum.  I dislike gum, and the slurpy, popping noises it makes in my sensitive little ears when others are chewing crazily within just a few inches of my precious earsies!  (Grandchildren, again!) ]  
10.)  I will stop loitering in the incontinence products aisle at Walgreens...  People are beginning to flirt shamelessly...  making lurid remarks!  
11.)  And see here, I'm not giving up coffee!  Tobacco?  Alright...  no more tobacco!!...  or gin! 
12.)  I refuse to give up blogging...  I feel I must, from time to time, record silly, ridiculous thoughts for posterity, and my own amusement, if for no one else's! 
13.  I'll see if Leonard will give me permission to use his name in the mystery story I'm writing...  also the part about being pelted with lemons...!!  

Ruby about to attack her "Kong,"
once it stopped rolling away from her.
The Kong contains peanut butter.
Ruby loves peanut butter!

We no longer have doggies of our own, but we do doggie sit for our daughter’s “Bodie” and for our friends‘ “Ruby” and, previously, for our niece’s “Bella” who, sadly, is no longer with us.

Ruby is a coon hound with a commanding voice, a sort of howling that likely carries to the next county.  On one occasion, we took her walkies in the neighborhood.  Upon hearing a scratching noise emanating from a green refuse container, we reconnoitered and found a raccoon trapped inside the deep, plastic and slippery bin.  We tipped the container to enable the raccoon to escape.  As said bandit-eyed critter ambled across the road, Ruby spied and howled menacingly at squirrels, rabbits, passers-by, an owl, other dogs, shrubbery, cars, a plumber in a truck...  Either she never noticed the raccoon, or perhaps she forgot her specific nomenclature!  (I sometimes forget things, too, of course, and I’m allegedly a sentient being!)

Well, I suppose there’s a point to all this...  isn’t there?  I mean, doggies are extraordinary creatures.  Best friends for life, unconditional love, delightful companions.  We loved and miss our own Nicky and Kody, but we’re privileged to have others in our lives, occasional visitors and house guests, including -- lest we forget to acknowledge him! -- Geo, a gorgeous Bernese Mountain dog who lives with Jeff, and occasionally visits his “grandmom” and our dear friend who lives upstairs, at which time we’re pleased to welcome Geo into our home.  With that, one more...

14.)  Be it resolved that, at our ages and based on past experiences and loss, we likely won’t adopt another doggie for permanent residency, but we’ll always stop to greet those we meet on the street, and we’ll welcome visiting DOGnitaries into our home and into our lives, with great and genuine pleasure! 

(Special Note of Gratitude and Attribution:  The perpetrator of this posting offers special thanks to our children, Alie and Bethie, and dear friends -- the latter including, of course, Rob and Sue, Susie and others -- who have encouraged our knowledge and love of doggies, the canine creatures kingdom in general.  Our lives are enriched as a result of the dogs we've lived with and known.  Thank You!)

Humbly Submitted, 01-26-16 -- Joel K.       

I don't know... Should Christmas Maybe be Optional...!!??

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:      I don't know...   Should Christmas Maybe be Optional...!!??

Many years ago -- before becoming a curmudgeonly skinflint and a Geezer -- my dear mother asked me to go out and purchase a Christmas tree for her, then repair to her home and erect said holiday shrubbery, complete with stand and appropriate adornments.  (My father would have nothing to do with menial tasks or stoop labor!!)  Being a dutiful son and something of an imbecile, I agreed to the task.

The Infamous Quixotic
Quest:  "Demon Windmill"
of the "Tree Agonies"!...
"Sancho!  My Armor!!" 

After scouting various tree lots containing candidates considered too expensive -- guided by my mother's legendary frugality and explicitly-crafted instructions -- I finally acquired a traditional Blue Spruce that most would have passed by as misshapen, ziggedy-zag angular and somewhat "dented."  I felt the thing deserved either a good home or a decent burial, and thus I effected the purchase.

I lashed it atop my vehicle, ferried it to my mother's home and then -- discovering that the trunk was as large as a full grown pachyderm's leg -- I shaved the lower portion and then created a homemade base upon which it could stand in all of its repulsiveness.  I turned it completely around several times in a vain effort to find it's most pleasing "face" and then began the process of hooking precious heirloom ornaments and collectible gewgaws to its reedy boughs.  I refused to apply the tinsel that mother had saved year after year packed and pressed in old newsprint.  I opted instead for red and green garland, salvaged from needle-less trees discarded curbside in previous years by "extravagantly wasteful and foolish neighbors."  (Dear Ma-Ma' knew how to save a buck, like no one I've ever known!!) 

Now Don't Forget the Elephant
Referred to in Paragraph 3,
Best Beloved!  Uh!...
Why is He Laughing at Us??!!

 

Mother arrived home with a beam of pure delight upon her tired countenance, until she looked down upon the base.  "How is it supposed to get water?" she wisely asked.  

"Wonderful," I said in reply, the word dripping with sarcasm and boiling anger.  "I'm a much bigger idiot that I ever thought possible."     

"It'll be nude in a week," opined Mother...  needlessly adding, "without any water!"  

"I'll fix it," I replied, the phrase drenched in artificial optimism.  I found a bucket, the only vessel that would work.  "I'll have to trim the base," I said.  "I'll conceal the bucket under a shroud or a serape or something.  Just go and relax.  Watch some television. I'll have it right

"Oh Sonny-Boy-Genius, isn't that the
tree you salvaged last year from the
neighbor's curb?...  Oh my!...  Um,
how will the thing get water?"

as rain in a jiffy!"  I found the power saw and began the remedy.  I had no intention, of course, of un-decorating the tree.  No need!  Far too much effort.  (I did have to get on with my own terribly important business, after all!)  The vibration of the power saw caused several ornaments to fall and crash.  At one point, while kneeling and cleaning the carpet of the shattered shards of precious adornments, I accidentally kicked on the saw and watched helplessly as it tore through a portion of fine carpeting before digging a nice hole in the baseboard that had recently been stripped of several coats of hideous paint.

Mother was displeased.  Father suggested I had been sent by a communist cell to bankrupt and possibly assassinate senior members of the family.  It was at that point I began to realize Christmas and I were destined NOT to be jolly good chums over the long haul.  

That episode now just a "pleasant memory," my wife, Sweetheart, and I have been "scripting" an annual holiday battle.  It's become so routine that we are now able to recite our parts without printed copy or cue cards.  

This Guy?  Known throughout the
Land as "Papa Christmas"(?!)

Me:  "I'm embracing my Jewish half this year.  I can no longer stand the orgy of spending that Xmas has become.  I loathe and despise the whole damn business.  Where's my yarmulke?"

Sweetheart:  "You're going to celebrate Christmas and behave yourself.  You have children and grandchildren who love Christmas, and I want them to enjoy the season and our traditions, including Santa Claus, Muppet music, cookie baking, wrapped presents...!"

Me:  "I'm not putting up a tree.  Why can't you use the Sunday Comics to wrap stuff?  I'll have to work endlessly like a pyramid-builder to replace the money we're devouring.  Why can't the children each get a couple of bucks and some fruit for Christmas?!  They like fruit!"  

Sweetheart:  "Just be quiet.  Don't act like such a cheapskate.  You know how much you eventually love this time of year!  And the kids love it...  that's the important thing.  Where are the credit cards?"

And so it continues, year after year, season after season.  I'm thinking maybe we could ignore Christmas, maybe just every other year or something, like it really isn't on the calendar this time!  "They probly just forgot!!"  I'm not really the cheap piker some people think I am.  It's just that it makes me nervous.  Maybe we're overindulging the children.  What ever happened to nice cheap underwear and socks?  A dandy handkerchief?  A bow-tie that lights when you squeeze a rubber plunger in your pocket!!??

Today it's enormous buildings and space vessels made of little plastic bricks...  thousands of them!  Dolls that walk and drool and excrete and speak in complex sentences with a vocabulary as large as mine.  (And for a supercilious humbug I know lots of words!)

I got one of these back in '53 from
my dear old Grandmama...  Can't
see why anyone wouldn't want one!!
Happy Christmas, Everyone!!!

Well, alright, alright...   to keep peace in the family and on earth in general I'll succumb to the Xmas spirit.  I'll open my wallet and become as a sprinkling system showering coinage and currency and credit like water, feeding and nourishing the Macy's and the Gimbel Brothers and the Marshall Fields and the Goldmanns of Mitchell Street and hosts of other needy retailers desperate for cash and pleading righteously, of course, for their massive share of the nation's wealth. 

But next year, my dears, a new paradigm may present itself like a blazing star newly landed atop an Xmas conifer, and everyone gets a recycled rag doll or an old plastic toy truck and a small bag of salted peanuts...   Maybe a kumquat!

And just wait'll next year!  The rabbi will appear on my front porch with Hanukkah candles, matzo or other seasonal gifts, and then and we'll just see who's celebrating what!!...

...but, Hmmm...   maybe I've just been too far down a certain road...  Sleigh bells, drunken-red-

nosed Rangifer Tarandus, shrieking children peeking up the chimney looking for a corpulent, sooty, red-suited, unshaven, Ho-Ho-Ho'ing, bankrupting lunatic carrying a sack full of stuff and we all know who actually paid for it!  Ah, the joys of the Season!  I love it so!  (Or am I thinking of someone else??!)  I can hardly wait!  I'm fond of eggnog, even.  And there's a certain tentative cheerfulness that pervades the human psyche...  "Sweetheart!  Where did we put my Santa suit??!!"    

Humbly Submitted, 12-07-15 -- Joel K.