Weekend 3-Way: Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas Everybody!

From Beth and her family:

2007

And Jacquie and her family:

2004



 And me and my long-ago family:

1965

(That's me in the lumpy diaper)

Have a lovely, restful, peaceful, joyous,
fun-filled weekend.

Ho Ho Ho.

Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore...

Pinapple express

I'd never heard of it. The pineapple express?

It sounds nice, doesn't it? I mean I love pineapple, and I'd rather take the "express" in most instances. Who doesn't like efficiency, right? The name conjures up images of flights to Hawaii, intra-island transportation, tropical drinks.

But it turns out the pineapple express is nothing but a whole shitload of rain, all at once. Poor San Diego is a mess.

I know, I know, we should be glad it's not snow. And the pineapple express did not bring cold temperatures, coming as it did, from the Pacific Islands. But let me assure you it did bring precipitation. To the extreme.

I happen to work in the Mission Valley area of San Diego. Aptly named because it is a river valley where the very first California Mission was built back in 1769. In fact, I work on San Diego Mission Road, the mission itself sits majestically two blocks away.

But accessing the Mission de Alcala, or most anything else in Mission Valley, including my office, was a hell of a hard thing to pull of fthese last two days.

Here's what I encountered on my way into work on Monday morning.

(Although I was attempting to access it from the other side, over where the grass can be seen.) I found another way into work and vowed to take an alternate route on Tuesday morning.

And I did. But my plan B sucked

Okay, so my photo sucks too. But you can see that poor deserted car up ahead in a small lake that was Qualcomm Way just the day before.

It was this yahoo who stranded her there about an hour earlier and made the news paper.

How embarrassed is he?

Here's another Mission Valley view.

Note where the water is in relation to those traffic lights!

The pineapple express was so powerful it made both San Diegans and San Diego institutions do things they very rarely, if ever, do.

Unfortunaly my day yesterday entailed a lot of driving, Pineapple Express notwithstanding. First, it entailed finding a non-flooded road to access my office, then leaving early to pick my kids up in Balboa Park, which is downtown, next dropping one off in Pacific Beach, so to the north on the coast, then heading up to Mira Mesa for an appointment for the other, which is more to the north, and to the east. Not the day you want to be hanging out on the So Cal highways.

But, as always in life, there was a silver lining.

Please note the double rainbow

Welcome back, sunshine.

The Days of the Long Nights

The sun sets at 4:23 in New London today. Which is actually one whole minute -- and one whole hell of a lot better -- than last night, when the sun set on the shortest day of the year at 4:22.

My Mom loves the Winter Solstice because it's the beginning of the days getting longer, which makes Mom anticipate Spring. And yes she prefers to ignore that it's the first day of Winter.

The other great thing about this time of year is the sunset is smack in the middle of the afternoon, so there are plenty of opportunities to photograph it:

December 20, 3:59 p.m.

My friend Renee loves these long nights. It reminds her of hanging out with her friends in their 20-something days. They loved to get dressed up and hit the town but they found it depressing to be all dolled up when there were still hours of daylight left. But when it was 5 and already dark? Oh yeah....

I just took a very informal poll. A one-man poll. A one-Mistah poll. He is, after all, the only person in my living room. "Mistah, is there anything positive you can say about these long nights and short days?" "You don't get sunburn."

You see that? Another positive.

So yes, these are the Days of the Long Winter Nights, which is great, apparently, if you're a photographer, a party girl, a Spring-anticipator, or a skin-protector.

Or a vampire.

Of course I'm a dressed-down, summer-loving, camera-less, sun-worshiper

And now if you'll excuse me I've got to go sauté some garlic.

checking it twice

I've been sitting here for a good 10 minutes trying to think of a clever way to introduce my kids' Christmas lists. I don't think they made lists last year, we were much too focused on packing for Hawaii. It was last year when we first started dropping hints that Santa often went light for kids who had great travel plans. Don't ask me to explain, it's magic! The year before that, though, in 2008, my boy presented an epic list that made blog history.

Go ahead, take a little remember, I'll wait:

My boy's 2008 Christmas list

Priceless!

This year, we've once again been quietly promoting a less is more attitude. Christmas is different this year. They feel it, too. We'll also be away from home on the day itself, which presents the perfect opportunity to create new traditions that overshadow the logistical challenges facing poor Santa. Don't even start with me about Santa. I will hold my ground as long as there is breath in my body.

Despite the understanding that we're keeping it modest, I encouraged my kids to make their lists as usual, ignoring their attempts at conspiratorial winks and knowing glances. "Ask Santa for whatever you want," I insist, "just don't expect to get it."            

New traditions, perhaps... right alongside the legacy of awesomeness:

Bag lady

Jacquie and I finally went out in celebration of her birthday, which was last month. Which is ridiculous. But we're both busy, especially in December, so whatchagonnado?

It was a lovely evening full of beer and delicious sushi (except for that lukewarm eel. Ick.), and we did make our way back up the stairway to heaven for a tasty microbrew (did you think we wouldn't?).

All was right with the world.

And I mean that.

For I noticed a troubling pattern earlier in the day. For the second time in less than 2 months, I left my purse in the empty shopping cart of a store parking lot and drove away.  Both times sushi with Jacquie was on the nightly agenda.

Weird, isn't it?

Troubling is more like it.

What is my problem? Early dementia? An abundance of blond highlights? A subconscious need for complications? Some sort of sushi anticipatory memory loss?

It's such a hair-brained maneuver. But I've been incredibly lucky both times. Full recovery of purse, with nary a thing missing.

And let me tell you, there is plenty to go missing:

Two tissue packets, 1 credit card wallet, 1 overflowing regular wallet, 1 snack bag of slightly crushed Cheddar bunnies, 1 empty pill bottle, 1 pair sun glasses in hard case, 1 holiday dance performance schedule, 1 emergency tampon case, 1 mini Old Spice deodorant, 1 camera in case, 1 reusable bag, 1 half-stocked mini first aid kit, 1 iphone charger, 1 pen, 1 hairbrush, 1 pretty bag containing all matter of stuff (tape measure, toothbrush, mascara, Tide to-go stick, sunscreen packets, hand wipe, and moisturizer), 4 Emergen-C fizzy drink mix packets, 1 sticky pad, 1 comb, and some dual head something that plugs into something.

All of this could have been someone else's.....

Yeah, I agree, it's no wonder no one took the purse.

Weekend 3-way

So there you have it......Grinch love, Santa fear

Ducks In A Row

When we were kids, every year on Thanksgiving Mom and Dad lined up their 6 girls like little ducks in a row for the annual Christmas card photo.

In the beginning, it was easy . . .

Ann, me, MB, back in the good ol' days of '63.

We were happy to oblige for the good of the cause . . .

Me, MB, Ann, 1964.

. . . and frankly, in the early days, we didn't have much of a clue about what was going on . . .

. . . until the fateful year Mom and Dad woke me up from a nap for the Christmas-photo-taking-session. I was not pleased:


This is my favorite photo -- bar none -- ever taken of me.

This one's pretty great, too, with our matching red footie pjs, and my big lumpy diaper.

Anyway, things got a little more complicated when Julie joined the group shot . . .


1966

Please notice Ann wearing the dress MB wore the year before. We all wore that dress, and then my nieces wore it too.

. . . and then Jane joined the show . . .

1967

. . . and then Jacquie came along . . .

1968

(There's a really great Christmas card photo of all of us in Korea just a few weeks after Jacquie was born. It's the only photo -- out of all the thousands and thousands of them -- where Dad actually looks overwhelmed. It's hanging on the wall in Mom's bedroom and I don't have a copy of it. That, however, will soon change.)

And then, well, the years went on.

We had the Year of All The Hair . . .

. . . and the Year of the Groovy Collar . . .

. . . and the Year of the Short, Short, Short Dress . . .

. . . and then we had quite a few Year of the Dork. Well, except for Jane who had apparently just graduated from flight school.

I can't even make fun of this one. It's just so cuuute.

Oh yes, the Dork Brigade back in action.

This isn't a Christmas card, but it is Christmas, and Dad looks just so entirely content. This one is for all those silly people who say, "Six daughters? Oh, your poor Dad."

Yeah, poor Dad.

Finally in 1990 we got smart and left all that Northeast nonsense behind and spent Christmas on St. John. That was a shining moment in this family. And we were all completely smitten with our first niece. Quito Girl!

We also got smart in 2001 and all went to San Diego for Christmas.

Oh, we were very smart in 2001.

The sisters were all together . . .

. . . and for the first time in our history we made a pyramid. Why did it take us 30 years to figure out we have the perfect number of sisters for a pyramid??

Oh, of course the boys got into the fun too.

But the best thing about 2001 was all the wee nieces and nephews were together for the first time in their wee little lives. Which they are going to do again next weekend.

Dad would love it.

oh, Christmas tree

So, I  whined about mentioned what a difficult time I am having trying to scrounge up the holiday spirit this year.  Have I mentioned that my husband is part elf? I really think that a large part of my problem is the fact that he inundates the world with Christmas music for all of December, which is fine, except that when it comes to merry tunage he is not nearly as concerned with quality as he is with quantity.  Bad Christmas music brings out the bah-humbug in me. Bill. 

I have, however, felt the spirit in fits and jolts. How can one not get up and dance when the Disco Wonderland float passes by during the OB Christmas parade?

And on the day we tried to take Christmas card photos, we stumbled upon the most adorable holiday craft fair that I’ve ever seen. I bought a few things, and saw a flier advertising a locally owned tree lot just up the street. 

We hadn’t quite decided yet what we would do about a tree this year. We’re going to be away on the holiday proper (note to prospective thieves:  the house will be protected by neighbors, ninjas and our beast and her keeper so don’t go getting any ideas), so it seemed kind of silly to go through the whole nine yards and then leave it to rot while Santa found us elsewhere.  We decided to get a small tree, maybe a table top number, and to put out the just the most special household crap sacred and tasteful Christmas décor. 

So when I saw that flier, I thought it would be a perfect time to embrace the spirit of the moment and go grab a tree. The kids and I were traveling Westy-style that day, so it would be a breeze to pop a little tree in the back and surprise Daddy when we all got home.  

We headed over to the little lot, where we found a great heap of nothing. The trees were so lame, and the one that I liked already had a stand on it so they wanted to charge me an additional fee, even though we have a stand in our garage. Puh-leeeeze. We headed home, but at the last minute I pulled a rock star mommy move and veered into the parking lot of a big home improvement store.

Now this is interesting because I am notorious for being uninvolved in the picking out of Christmas trees. Even in the merriest of years, I prefer that my relationship with the tree begin after it has been erected in my house and the lights have been strung. 

So in I walk with the kids in tow, just to see what they’ve got. Naturally, there was a special sale going on right then and there because they were overselling the smaller trees. So the big trees were cheaper. 

I resigned myself to the fact that we had to get one, and did what I always make my husband do when we want to see how a tree looks standing up: I grabbed one by the trunk up toward the top half and pulled it out of its little cubby space until it stood proud and tall….and then tried to keep a hold of it as it went barreling down toward my unsuspecting children’s heads.  (You know how people are always exaggerating about stories like this? I’m not).  I dropped the tree and almost took them both out. Then I summoned a guy, who stood in for my husband and held up several trees for us to praise or reject until we had found the one that would be ours.

Remember, we were in the Westy, so it was no big deal to pop a little tree in the back and bring it on home.

I think we’re going to need a slightly bigger table.