Pieces of My Fourth... or Fireworks: Not as Entertaining as an Anatomically Augmented Car

I am woken early in the morning, as I still lie in bed recovering from last night's ill-advised drinking, by the shrill (it seems) tones of my mobile phone. It's my father. He is calling to say my grandmother died late last night (she has been ill, this was anticipated but also somehow sooner than I had expected). The funeral will be tomorrow night. Everyone is in town for the holiday but no one has anything to wear to a funeral. How long will it take me to get there and can I bring enough clothing to dress five of my closest female relatives for a formal Southern funeral?

I rush out to work to get a few things done in case I have to miss work Monday. Pulling my car out into the street, the sky is shockingly blue and my iPod shuffles on Josh Radin's "Brand New Day" and it occurs to me that I cannot remember looking up at the sky in months. Somehow on what I know will be a daunting day, I have a moment of feeling absolutely tremendously happy to be where I am and driving my car and breathing the air and just living in my skin.

My younger sister and brother-in-law arrive in town and we pile into my car and head out for the town where the funeral will be. After packing an entire suitcase full of appropriately somber clothing from my closet. And shoes for five women. Earrings for five women. Slips and cardigans and various sundry extra Anything They Could Possibly Need for five women. And clothing for myself. And my sister and brother-in-law's things as well. You get the idea. My car is overflowing with funereal clothing and looks like a goth gypsy caravan.

My younger sister introduces me to the wonders of The Lonely Island's SNL skit "I'm On A Boat." I mean, really? "If you're on the shore then you're sure not me, oh"? Wow. I am in awe. I'm so out of the loop. Note to self, must start watching television periodically. Apparently it has its moments.

We spend the last 20 minutes of our trip driving, overcome with fits of HYSTERICAL GLEE, behind a bright orange Cadillac with enormous truck tires and a huge pair of shiny metal ... well, what could only be intended to be a strikingly realistic representation of testicles swinging from the center of its rear bumper. We reach stop lights. We pull out camera phones. We try my camera phone. The resolution is too poor. We try my brother-in-law's camera phone. The people in the car next to us at the next stop light gesture wildly, making certain we are seeing what they are seeing. We ALL laugh hysterically together. Pointing. Incredulous. This goes on for miles. We have names for The Car. We start playing music we feel is appropriate for The Car to sing to if it were, in fact, able to sing along. We name the far less interesting and thus inferior cars that are driving next to The Car. The Car drives right up to and past the street we need to turn at to reach our destination. Pulling into the driveway, we cannot stop laughing.

As we were driving into town, fireworks began to go off in the distance. Blooms of red and white over the treetops. A single moment of the holiday surprising us in the midst of our crazy, difficult day. The bursts of light, silent from this distance, repeat and grow larger and change in color... Reflecting off the pendulous scrotum of the absurd car in front of us, making us all dissolve into new whoops of laughter.

We arrive. I am hugged by roughly a dozen people in rapid succession. We exclaim over how much weight people have lost and the pink streak in my adult niece's hair and my parents' dogs skitter around in excitement. My 8 year old niece who, as far as I can tell, only puts up with most people because they can reach things she can't and have mastered the ability to buy things (which she also cannot yet do), rushes me as I break from the cluster of people and grabs my lapels and pulls me down to close to her so she can kiss my face.

My baby brother's 4 month old daughter is curled up in a ball in the middle of a big old bed that has been slept on by members of my family during summer vacations for decades. She is a sweet, chubby pink ball of angelic sleeping baby and his expression softens and I say, "She's grown so big." He smiles and his normally dark face opens up and he just says, "yeah," softly.

We sit up late watching old home movies. My father keeps accidentally rewinding and replaying things because he's had too much wine. My sister-in-law (the glowing, miraculously good-natured and breathtakingly lovely mother of my new niece) sees many of us as children for the first time. She coos and is excited with each familiar face revealed in its childhood incarnation. We tell stories about foolish things we had forgotten. My father falls asleep on the couch and we listen to him laughing 20 years ago.

1am, the house is dark and everyone has found a bed or a couch or a recliner to sleep in. The house is silent except for my father's snoring and the whir of the old outdated fridge. One of my sisters tiptoes into the kitchen and whispers to me, "Is there anything to drink in here besides buttermilk and booze?"

Happy Fourth of July...

...now here's a dog staging his own personal reenactment for our viewing pleasure.



Nothing says independence like an explosive wielding dachshund.

It's That Time Again

“I don't understand why Cupid was chosen to represent Valentine's Day. When I think about romance, the last thing on my mind is a short, chubby toddler coming at me with a weapon.”

-Anon.

Sorry for the unexplained absence. Just having a bout of writer's block / being too busy to pee much less blog / being too sick to convince myself that the long walk to the computer from the couch is a worthwhile investment of time and energy.

BUT it's that day again! And since I know so many of my fellow females struggle with this day, I just want to do my annual thing and remind you:

Whether or not you have a romantic interest in your life says nothing about your value and nothing about whether or not you are loved.

If you're feeling sad about a lack of flowers and candy this year, make better use of the time you might spend bah-humbugging this day and get flowers or candy for one of YOUR friends who might also being having a tough day.

LOVE isn't just sexual desire and romance. Love is what you share with your friends, your child, your parents (well, okay. sometimes. Depending on the parent), your siblings (most of the time), and a wide variety of other people who enrich your life. Tell THEM that you love them today. You can even make a little list of the people you haven't said that to often enough and call them up and let them know. If nothing else, catching up with people wll certainly be a distraction.

OR you can do what I do: Buy a big bag of Hershey's Kisses and hand them out to everyone you encounter today. If you want to be really classy like me you can hack and cough a little while holding out the bag. People LOVE that.

Bacon Chocolate Chip Cookies

© Never Bashful with Butter - click the photo to visit her blog!

I'm not EVEN kidding. Since I have recently talked about finger foods and their importance to the holiday, I MUST share this link found via Dave Barry's blog (which tends to ROCK). Never Bashful With Butter created these wacky Bacon Chocolate chip cookies on sort of a dare from her husband and she swears that they are actually very good. So... who's brave enough to try it?

I bet my brother in law would LOVE these. He says bacon is "The King of Meats."

We Now Return You to Your Regularly Scheduled Holiday Cheer

“Once again we find ourselves enmeshed in the Holiday Season, that very special time of year when we join with our loved ones in sharing centuries-old traditions such as trying to find a parking space at the mall. We traditionally do this in my family by driving around the parking lot until we see a shopper emerge from the mall, then we follow her, in very much the same spirit as the Three Wise Men, who 2,000 years ago followed a star, week after week, until it led them to a parking space.”

- Dave Barry

I love Dave Barry. In fact, he's just about the only person whose quotes I use on here who isn't a woman. I like him THAT much. Like he's an honorary woman on here. In spite of being almost as much unlike a woman as it's possible to be.

Important Holiday Tradition: Finger Foods

Totally stole this photo from Kraft, but you know what? I use their cheese to make this recipe. ALWAYS. So I think we're even.

Why is it festive to eat food with your fingers? Because people do it at cocktail parties? Because nothing says wild and crazy fun like eschewing silverware? I don't know. But it's TRUE. Finger food = holiday fun

In my family, the particular favorite that just says Oodles of Holiday Joy to us are Sausage Cheese Balls. People have been making these since the invention of Bisquick (a.k.a. "all-purpose baking mix"). Perhaps even before then when housewives everywhere had to use - gasp! - ORDINARY FLOUR (and other stuff). Seriously. The Sausage Cheese ball recipe has been around a LONG time. These "easy party favorites" have been touted in Betty Crocker cookbooks and on the backs of baking mix boxes. Don't make them if you're trying to set up an impressive looking spread because they just aren't pretty. They are ugly, unsophisticated balls of cheesy, spicy joy. My family loves them.

Google Sausage Cheese Balls and you will see 100 variations on the same basic theme insofar as the recipe goes, the main argument being over ratio of cheese to sausage to baking mix.

My Family's Sausage Cheese Balls

are as follows:

1lb. sausage (one of those plastic wrapped logs o' meat)
16 oz. Kraft sharp cheddar cheese (if the recipe is too oily, try switching some of the cheese to the 2% lowfat variety)
2 cups Bisquick or your fave baking mix

(you rocket scientists out there will notice that this is essentially a 1-1-1 ratio. 1lb. = 16 oz. = 2 cups. Yay, MATH!)

Optional additions: chopped onions, French's crispy fried onion thingies or - what I use - a dash of cayenne pepper
If you do not eat pork, you can use Turkey sausage. This recipe is very forgiving in regards to subsitutions, just make sure you have enough whole fat cheese and meat for the recipe to work!

Traditionally recipes tell you to just mix it all together. Don't do that. Mix all the cheese and baking mix (along with any other additions) together as evenly as possible - you're going to need to use your hands, ladies - and THEN work in the sausage. Don't overwork it once the sausage is in, just knead it enough for the sausage fat to spread around a bit and help hold the mixture together. This way, some chunks of sausage stay intact, making the end result much tastier and the cheese and sausage flavors more distinguishable. Personally, I usually cut out a little of the baking mix. I put in 1.5 cups and then add a little of that last half cup later if it seems necessary.

Roll the dough into roughly 1" balls, place on a foil-lined cookie sheet and bake at 350º for about 20 minutes or until they are turning golden brown but not actually burning. You may want to let them sit on paper towels for a bit before serving, which is what I do.

For the uninitiated, this is going to sound WIERD. No liquids to make the baking mix stick together? NO. NO additional liquids. Trust me. Once the sausage and cheese begin to cook, they release a lot of oil which bonds the mixture together and provides the "liquid" component of this dough. Sounds awful, but tastes like ooey-gooey heaven.

They are good cold. They are good the next day. My family has always had them for breakast on Christmas day (and Thanksgiving day). My mother makes enough for an army (the recipe as listed above makes A LOT) and then we all snack on them non-stop for days.

Speaking of classic old-time holiday finger foods (drumroll please) this recipe for Holiday Bacon Appetizers appeared on The Pioneer Woman Cooks - source of brilliant artery cloggin' goodness - and I am making these bacon bites along with the sausage cheese balls for some guests this holiday season. They're all going to look at the spread and ask if I'm trying to kill them with premature heart attacks. Then they will eat every sausage and bacon laden bite... And swear undying fealty to me. Just you watch and see.

The Woman Behind the Man in the Red Suit

Mr. and Mrs. Claus, © 2005-2007 Susan Comish Gallery

I would first like to say, that in the course of trying to learn about the origins of Mrs. Claus, I have seen WAY TOO MANY "Deluxe ADULT Mrs. Claus" costumes. Is there an entire section of the population with some wierd fetish I don't know about? Is it really that sexy for a young woman to dress up as a naughty version of what is essentially an iconic, sweet-natured grandmother? Ladies, if you want to dress up all hardcore for the holidays, you don't have to spend $34.95 on a short red tutu and tiny white apron. Save some money. Buy a few yards of 3" thick ribbon at the craft store. Tie a bow around your ass. VOILA! A festive bedroom getup your man is perfectly happy with. Seriously. There's no need to go dragging Mrs. Claus into this.

There were differing reports as to the origins of Mrs. Claus. One account was called "I am Mrs. Claus hear me roar" written by Lisa Bondy for The McGill Tribune. Her assessment boiled down to: "The sad truth is she was created by Thomas Nash in the late 1860s, in a series of illustrations for Harper's magazine, and later embellished by Haddon Sundblom in his billboards for Coca-Cola." The Thomas Nash illustrations DO come up often when searching for Mrs. Claus, but another source was mentioned again and again.

"Mrs. Claus, Santa's wife, was first introduced to the world in 1889 in the book Goody Santa Claus On A Sleigh Ride by the poet Katherine Lee Bates. In this story, Mrs. Claus pleads with Santa to take her along on the annual Christmas Eve sleigh ride to deliver toys to all the good little boys and girls." This account was found at usefultrivia.com and is corroborated by myriad other online sources.

Bates is best known as the author of America the Beautiful and was apparently the first to feel it was important to put in print the idea of Santa having a wife. There was also a song released in 1956 by George Melachrino, "Mrs. Santa Claus," which helped establish Mrs. Claus and her role in the popular imagination. Today, I am pleased to say, we clearly have reached a point where Mrs. Claus is widely accepted. In spite of any fancy magical abilites he may have due to being the anthropomorphic embodiment of a major holiday, no one would begin to suggest the jolly fat man gets all that work done on his own.

The term goody, by the way, is an out of use "polite term of address for a woman of humble social standing." I looked up the poem and had to share it here. In this version of the story, Mrs. Claus is apparently responsible for tending trees that grow the toys and treats instead of them being built by elves. There are also references to turkeys for Thanksgiving and chickens that lay Easter eggs being her responsibility. So she's a very busy lady. All this makes her "acknowledgement" that stuffing stockings "takes brains" and that she's only fit to hold the reindeer pretty barbed and sarcastic. I'm kind of loving how saucy this version of Mrs. Claus is for a woman in 1889 (particularly considering the last line).

Goody Santa Claus on a Sleigh-Ride

By Katharine Lee Bates, Published in 1889

Santa, must I tease in vain, dear? Let me go and hold the reindeer,
While you clamber down the chimneys. Don’t give me that sour smirk!
Why should you have all the glory of the joyous Christmas story,
And poor little Goody Santa Claus have nothing but the work?

It would be so very cozy, you and I, all round and rosy,
Looking like two loving snowballs in our fuzzy Artic furs,
Tucked in warm and snug together, whisking through the winter weather
Where the tinkle of the sleigh-bells is the only sound that stirs.

You just sit here and grow chubby off the goodies in my cubby
From December to December, till your white beard sweeps your knees;
For you must allow, my Goodman, that you’re but a lazy woodman
And rely on me to foster all our fruitful Christmas trees.

While your Saintship waxes holy, year by year, and roly-poly,
Blessed by all the lads and lassies in the limits of the land.
While your toes at home you’re toasting, then poor Goody must go posting
Out to plant and prune and garner, where our fir-tree forests stand.

Oh! But when the toil is sorest how I love our fir-tree forest.
Heart of light and heart of beauty in the Northland cold and dim,
All with gifts and candles laden to delight a boy or maiden,
And its dark-green branches ever murmuring the Christmas hymn.

Yet ask young Jack Frost, our neighbor, who but Goody has the labor,
Feeding roots with milk and honey that the bonbons may be sweet!
Who but Goody knows the reason why the playthings bloom in season
And the ripened toys and trinkets rattle gaily to her feet!

From the time the dollies budded, wiry-boned and saw-dust blooded,
With their waxen eyelids winking when the wind the tree-tops plied,
Have I rested for a minute, until now your pack has in it
All the bright, abundant harvest of the merry Christmastide?

Santa, wouldn’t it be pleasant to surprise me with a present?
And this ride behind the reindeer is the boon your Goody begs;
Think how hard my extra work is, tending the Thanksgiving turkeys
And our flocks of rainbow chickens – those that lay the Easter eggs.

Jump in quick then? That’s my bonny. Hey down derry! Nonny nonny!
While I tie your fur cap closer, I will kiss your ruddy chin.
I’m so pleased I fall to singing, just as sleigh bells take to ringing!
Are the cloud-spun lap robes ready? Tirra-lira! Tuck me in

Off across the starlight Norland, where no plant adorns the moorland
Save the ruby-berried holly and the frolic mistletoe!
Oh, but this is Christmas revel! Off across the frosted level
Where the reindeers’ hoofs strike sparkles from the crispy, crackling snow!

Now we pass through dusky portals to the drowsy land of mortals;
Snow-enfolded, silent cities stretch about us dim and far.
Oh! How sound the world is sleeping, midnight watch no shepherd keeping,
Though an angel-face shines gladly down from every golden star.

Here’s a roof. I’ll hold the reindeer. I suppose this weathervane, Dear,
Some one set here just on purpose for our team to fasten to.
There’s its gilded cock, - the gaby! – wants to crow and tell the baby
We are come. Be careful, Santa! Don’t get smothered in the flue.

Back so soon? No chimney-swallow dives but where his mate can follow.
Bend your cold ear, Sweetheart Santa, down to catch my whisper faint:
Would it be so very shocking if your Goody filled a stocking
Just for once? Oh, dear! Forgive me. Frowns do not become a Saint.

I will peep in at the skylights, where the moon sheds tender twilights
Equally down silken chambers and down attics bare and bleak.
Let me shower with hailstone candies these two dreaming boys – the dandies
In their frilled and fluted nighties, rosy cheek to rosy cheek.

So our sprightly reindeer clamber, with their fairy sleigh of amber,
On from roof to roof, the woven shades of night about us drawn.
On from roof to roof we twinkle, all the silver bells a-tinkle,
Till blooms in yonder blessed East the rose of Christmas dawn.

Now the pack is fairly rifled, and poor Santa’s well nigh stifled;
Yet you would not let your Goody fill a single baby sock;
Yes, I know the task takes brains, Dear. I can only hold the reindeer
And to see me climb down chimney – it would give your nerves a shock.

Santa, don’t pass by that urchin! Shake the pack, and deeply search in
All your pockets. There is always one toy more. I told you so.
Up again? Why, what’s the trouble? On your eyelash winks the bubble
Mortals call a tear, I fancy. Holes in stocking, heel and toe?

Goodman, though your speech is crusty now and then, there’s nothing rusty
In your heart. A child’s least sorrow makes your wet eyes glisten, too;
But I’ll mend that sock so neatly it shall hold your gifts completely.
Take the reins and let me show you what a woman’s wit can do.

Puff! I’m up again, my Deary, flushed a bit and somewhat weary,
With my wedding snow-flake bonnet worse for many a sooty knock;
But be glad you let me wheedle, since, an icicle for needle,
Threaded with the last pale moonbeam, I have darned the laddie’s sock.

Then I tucked a paint-box in it (‘twas no easy task to win it
From the artist of the Autumn leaves) and frost-fruits white and sweet,
With toys your pocket misses – oh! And kisses upon kisses
To cherish safe from evil paths the motherless small feet.

Chirrup! Chirrup! There’s a patter of soft footsteps and a clatter
Of child voices. Speed it, reindeer, up the sparkling Artic Hill!
Merry Christmas, little people! Joy-bells ring in every steeple,
And Goody’s gladdest of the glad. I’ve had my own sweet will.

It's That Time Again

“In the old days, it was not called the Holiday Season; the Christians called it 'Christmas' and went to church; the Jews called it 'Hanukka' and went to synagogue; the atheists went to parties and drank. People passing each other on the street would say 'Merry Christmas!' or 'Happy Hanukka!' or (to the atheists) 'Look out for the wall!'”

- Dave Barry

The Holidays

Christmas has always been a complex holiday for my family.

Mine is a blended family so there are a lot of people involved. There's the tug of war over where and when celebrations will occur. So many people you are-and-aren't related to you who cannot decide if they should send you a present (I always loved how one of my sisters' Grandparents - who is only her Grandparent and in no way blood related to the rest of us - would send her a big gift and send the rest of us kids a tacky generic coloring book every year. Even as a child, I knew this was a wildly miscalculated gesture and VERY funny.) The various step and half kids all looking at each other's piles of gifts and wondering if discrepancies were signs of anything. The kids who had another parent of lesser means going through culture shock when comparing the familiar low-income Christmas to the bountiful middle-class Christmas (that would be me).

It was a wierd time for us. Always. Even on good years. Throw in a birthday right on the cusp of the holiday and, well, it made for a wacky mess of a holiday.

Then there was Thanksgiving.

A holiday I could understand. I mean, not the Pilgrims and Indians thing because A) I'm essentially first generation American and our attachment to that aspect of the holiday was tenuous and B) it always seemed to me like the Indians should have saved themselves a lot of trouble in the long run and let the pilgrims starve. Hindsight, I suppose. But aside from the actual history of the holiday, I understood what it meant to US, to MY family. When you have a large blended family, gathering together makes sense. Taking the time to be thankful for each other, for each and every one of us, makes sense.

We have a lot of cooks in our family. And a large number of people to be fed. Thankgiving, no matter what assortment of people were gathering, has always been a circus:

People laughing and chattering and arguing over the best way to make stuffing (it's an issue). The smell of things cooking in the oven and of hot casseroles being brought in the door and of fresh nutmeg and cinnamon being warred over as the pumpkin pie was being made. My mother making sausage cheese balls so we all have something to snack on through the morning as we prepared the meal and set the table... and the other table... and maybe another table (just in case). Cries of dismay when the hardcore home cookin' mom and my cousin the professional caterer both arrive with their "famous" sweet potato casseroles. The Annual Debate over the greatness of Turkey versus the joys of variety (in which the possibility of ham, chicken, duck, goose or oodles of little cornish game hens being prepared the following year is considered. Turkey always wins). My brother gets mad about something and pouts. My little sister eats all the rolls. My older sister and I fight with pickle spears as our swords (yes, even now). My grandmother spends a lot of time trying to identify which grandchild comes from who. My parents get confused and call the kids by the dogs' names and vice-versa. My Aunt gets tired of my Uncle's endless jokes and shrieks his name in that voice that tells you she's going to drag him out by his ear if he doesn't stop soon. The radio is switched back and forth between oldies and christmas songs. My mom wants to watch the National Dog Show and hollers constantly that we, "...have to see this one. It's! OH! Come look at this one! That looks like so-and-so's dog. HURRY! YOU'RE GOING TO MISS THE POMERANIAN. looklooklooklook!"

It's MADNESS. And this gathering is the epitome of what my family is. A crazy, loud, arguing, laughing, neurotic frenzy of people coming together to make something wonderful. We are all so different. We don't always get along. We don't always even like each other. But we all love each other. AND we love to cook and to eat.

On Thanksgiving, my family celebrates in a context I can understand and in a way that suits us. We come together and reaffirm that, although some of us share little or no blood connection, we are TRULY a family. Inextricably. In the most exasperating and wonderful of ways.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. The family, the food, the fact that it's all about gathering and has nothing to do with presents. To me, Thanksgiving is about coming home or creating home. It's about finding the family in your life, whether or not they are related to you, and celebrating that. It's about needing people and creating for people. For me, when Thankgiving is at it's best, it is the most joyous of all times.

In light of my affection, I think the Thanksgiving movie category is much underappreciated, whilst Hollywood churns out crappy Christmas flicks ad nauseum. So I have made a list of my Top Five Thanksgiving film recommendations. Led, of course, by a film I mention FAR too often:

1. Home for the Holidays, 1995

"On the fourth Thursday in November, 84 million American families will gather together... And wonder why."
Everything goes wrong in Claudia Larsen's life on the day she is boarding a plane to return to her childhood home for Thanksgiving. The next 36 hours are spent coping with craziness, trying to understand her family and reevaluating her life. Features: Holly Hunter, Anne Bancroft, Charles Durning, Gerldine Chaplain. Robert Downey Jr., Dylan McDermott, David Strathairn

Because her family is crazy. And wonderful. And totally familiar to everyone no matter how close or distant your own family is. It is to dysfunctional families what Big Fat Greek Wedding is to huge families. Probably not child appropriate. Very funny. Very life affirming. Very oh-my-god-someone-gets-what-it's-like-to-deal-with-my-family. One of my favorite films of all time.

"Nobody means what they say on Thanksgiving, Mom. You know that. That's what the day's supposed to be all about, right? Torture." - Claudia Larsen (played by Holly Hunter)

2. Pieces of April, 2003

"She's the one in every family."
21-year-old April Burns (Katie Holmes) who lives with her boyfriend Bobby (Derek Luke) in a dilapidated tenement on New York City's Lower East Side. April has never been on good terms with her mother, Joy (Patricia Clarkson), but Bobby convinces her to host her family for Thanksgiving. Features: Katie Holmes, Derek Luke, Oliver Platt, Patricia Clarkson, Alice Drummond, Lillias White, Isiah Whitock, Jr., Sean Hayes. Patricia Clarkson was nominated for an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress for her role as April's mother.

Because sometimes family sucks. Sometimes the people who come through for you are not who you would expect. And that's wonderful. And human. And SO what Thanksgiving is all about as far as I'm concerned. Not child appropriate. Ultimately very positive and life affirming, but takes it's time getting there.

April Burns: "I'm the first pancake."
Evette: "What do you mean?"
Eugene: "She's the one you're supposed to throw out."

"Once, there was this day... this one day when... everyone realized they needed each other." - April Burns (played by Katie Holmes)

3. The House of Yes, 1997

"Enter at your own risk."
The movie is based on the play of the same name, which is written by Wendy MacLeod. Set on Thanksgiving Day 1983, the film involves NYC student Marty Pascal (Josh Hamilton)'s return to his family's suburban Washington D.C. mansion to introduce his fiancée, Lesly (Tori Spelling), to the family—including his mother (Geneviève Bujold), brother Anthony (Freddie Prinze, Jr.), and twin sister Jacqueline (Parker Posey), who prefers to be known as "Jackie-O", due to her obsession with the former first lady. The holiday begins a rapid downward spiral from the moment Jackie-O learns her brother is engaged.

Because nothing says "neurotic holiday" like Parker Posey doing the slo-mo beauty queen Jackie-O wave to an imaginary crowd from her living room couch. Not for the faint of heart. Not appropriate for kids... or most grandparents... or, well, A LOT of people. Not a happy movie, but brilliantly, bitingly funny.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go baste the turkey and hide the kitchen knives." - Mrs. Pascal (played by Geneviève Bujold)

4. Addams Family Values, 1993

A comic Gothic horror-type family tries to rescue their beloved uncle from his gold-digging new love. Featuring: Anjelica Huston, Raul Julia, Christopher Lloyd, Joan Cusack, Christina Ricci, Carol Kane, Peter MacNicol, Christine Baranski, Nathan Lane, and (everyone's favorite bubble-brain vampire in a far more wholesome role) Mercedes McNab

Because my all-time favorite on film Thanksgiving moment is Wednesday Addams chastising the yuppies for the plight of the Native Americans. Not a Thanksgiving film but has that great Thanksgiving scene. Essentially positive... appropriate for children old enough not to misinterpret the humor.

"We cannot break bread with you. You have taken the land which is rightfully ours. Years from now my people will be forced to live in mobile homes on reservations. Your people will wear cardigans, and drink highballs." - Wednesday Addams (Christina Ricci, in the role she was born to play)

5. A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, 1973

Peppermint Patty invites herself and her friends over to Charlie Brown's for Thanksgiving, and with Linus, Snoopy, and Woodstock, he attempts to throw together a Thanksgiving dinner.

Because it's the classic I've watched since I was a child. Perfect for all ages!

Charlie Brown: "I can't cook a Thanksgiving dinner. All I can make is cold cereal and maybe toast."
Linus van Pelt: "That's right. I've seen you make toast."


What other holiday presents you with such an array of wacky options?

On the Big Day, my sister and I are also going to watch Clue. 'Cause it is also about people who are connected to each other coming together for a big meal... just under slightly different circumstances. And, anyway, Tim Curry rocks. And so does Madeline Kahn.

I LOVE Thanksgiving.

Irish

"May those that love us, love us.
And those that don't love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn't turn their hearts,
May He turn their ankles
So we will know them by their limping."

- Irish blessing

When I was younger, my father had a National Geographic magazine he had held onto because it contained a large article about Ireland. In that article there was a picture of three young women dancing at some sort of festival - with russet hair, pale skin and flushed pink cheeks. One of them looked like my doppelgänger.

My mother and paternal grandmother are both Australian (my paternal grandfather was from Italy) but a great deal of our Australian ancestry traces back to the Irish convicts that settled Australia. My grandmother was very interested in our Irish heritage and had traced our family tree to Ireland, visited places where her great-great whomever had lived in Ireland, etc. I think her active interest in our heritage is a big part of why I feel such tangible ties to my family history.

I stand out like a beacon on St. Patrick's Day. Not only my bright red hair and ghostly white skin with (perpetually) ruddy cheeks but also my facial features seem to belie my heritage. I look very Irish. Of course the only real impact that has on me every March 17th is that for one night everyone wants to buy me a drink.

Not exactly winning the genetic lottery, but not a bad as perks go.

What You Love

”But you are what you love and not what loves you back.”

- Rilo Kiley

As you know, it is the infamous commercial holiday / mating ritual known as Valentine’s Day. Whether you are spending a romantic day with your sweetheart or on a roof with a sniper rifle waiting to pick pick off unsuspecting love birds, I really think we need to try to maintain perspective.

It’s just another day. Just like any other day. And it cannot make you feel awful or make-or-break your new relationship or fill your world with warm fuzzies on it’s own. It’s all about how you choose to see it. I think it’s good to have a reason (not that you need one) to remind people in your life that you care about them. And in spite of my current single status, I can enjoy some of the cheezy goodness of the holiday. I think it’s sweet to see couples who look all moony over each other. I mean, naturally - I’m also secretly laughing at them. Laughing in a maniacal, cackling way which clearly implies that I can envision the impending doom of their love. But still - I think they’re cute.

So the important question today is NOT “Who loves you?” The question to be answered is, “Who do you love?”

I love my mom who has gotten some kind of Valentine candy for her kids every year of our lives (even though we’re all adults now) to make sure we get a Valentine from someone. I love my insane older sister who can’t go like ten minutes without some sexual innuendo or dirty joke coming out of her mouth. I love my baby sister who gives the best gifts ever and made me this decoupage box for Christmas that reminded me of the handmade gifts I used to make for her back when I was cool. I love my friends. I love this guy (friend) who came over and complimented me out of the blue last night because he could see that I had just been upset by something and he was determined to make it ok. I love people who pay attention like that. I love my brilliant friend who sent me the perfectly timed book (see previous post “How to Save a Life”). I love my girlfriends who call me at 3am when they are freaking out and need someone to talk to because it's so good to know they trust that you will be there. I love my gay boyfriend who has mailed me a Valentine gift that "you don't want to open at work" - leaving me in high anticipation of a blow up doll in a brown paper package on my doorstep tonight. I love Sheila O’Malley and Farmgirl and Petite Anglaise and the Neighbor of the Hoors and all the bloggers that brighten my day by being clever and warm and funny and whacked out and everything else I need to get through the day.

I love plenty. And I’ll try to tell them all. For me, that's what this holiday (and interesting cultural ritual) is about.

Happy VD my friends.

Your Handy Dandy Party Guidelines

I wrote this list years ago for the Art Conspiracy, when I was contributing a daily rant for their homepage. The following is an updated version.

Everyone will be out partying tonight, thinking deep thoughts about the nature of time, reevaluating the past year, or celebrating the turning of the year in their own unique way. One should follow certain guidelines when making choices about their New Year's Eve activity. I would suggest the following:

New Year's Eve is popularly accepted as a good time for self-examination. It is not, however, recommended that you consume excessive amounts of alcohol before any in-depth navel gazing. You might injure yourself. Sometimes taking stock of your life isn't the best way to spend New Year's. As Minnie Driver's character in Gross Pointe Blank says, "Leave your livestock alone."

The lampshade does not actually look good on your head.

If you go out in public or attend a gathering, there will very likely be poeple with cameras. If you don't want something caught on film, you might want to think twice about doing it at all. There is a particularly incriminating play-by-play series of five photographs circulating amongst my friends from a New Year's several years ago. I am dressed to the nines in a slinky full length black gown and stilettos and the pictures capture me: A) laughing while sitting in one of those odd circular "papasan" chairs, B) falling backwards in the aforementioned chair, feet sticking in the air - clever me, still holding drink aloft, C) tipping the chair forward so as to escape, D) crawling out of the bowl of the chair onto the floor (drink still aloft) and finally, D) on the floor, wagging a finger at the photographer as I declare, "I am not drunk." ...Don't let this happen to you.

Try to avoid illegal activity. It's bad karma to start the year that way and, anyhow, if you can't have fun doing something legal then you aren't very creative.

Despite what you may tell yourself at 2 a.m. - everyone WILL remember that you danced animatedly to YMCA, that you finally told whatsername what you really think of her and that you kissed the guy from accounting. It all seems harmless at the time but - trust me - you had better be prepared to hear about it all next year. Especially if you kiss someone or a lot of someones whom who would not normally be kissing. No one will let you forget that.

Don't flash people unless you are very attractive. It's not nice to ruin someone else's holiday.

Don't take a date whom you are not particularly attached to or haven't been seeing for a long time. You will get stuck with major-holiday-date-syndrome. You have to kiss them at midnight. You are uncomfortably aware that you may not be kissing them on a regular basis for much longer or - worse - you may end up wishing you weren't kissing them at all. Later that year you will have a vague memory of some strange person you may not even say hello to when passing in public. and First dates are right out! This is not the time to find out someone is a boring conversationalist or a bad kisser!

Don't drink and drive. Again, this is a not-ruining-someone-else's-holiday issue.

If you're looking for something different to do I suggest painting REPENT, THE END IS NEAR on both sides of a sandwich board sign and hanging it over your neck. Wear this to the party or event you were planning to attend or - even better - wander aimlessly along the streets downtown amidst the crowds. People love this. For higher impact, wear just the sandwich board.

Do remember to call loved ones. You never know who might be feeling forgottten around the time the ball drops. Have your cell phone handy and fully charged and spread a little love around. Christmas may be the traditional time to tell people you care, but New Year's eve is also an excellent time to tell people that they are special and that they are remembered.

Having the cell-phone on hand, however, is not an option for those who are prone to the drunk dial. If you are a drunk dialer - and you know who you are - leave the cell phone at home or hand it to a trusted friend before you are too fully sloshed to make reasonable choices anout just who needs to hear your mellifluous voice at midnight.

Have fun. Be Safe. Best Wishes for a very happy coming year for everyone!

New Year

The end of the year is particularly a new beginning for me because it is not only the start of a new calendar year, but also because my birthday is at the end of the year. Inconveniently surrounded by holiday festivities, it does nonetheless accentuate the sense of a new beginning.

I have mentioned the big life lists? I am working on my list for this year.

1. Visit three foreign countries. (Scotland in the spring will be the first one.)

2. Take a pottery class, begin sculpting again.

3. Fit into some unrealistically smaller size of clothing. You know, the sort of size that leaves people saying, "Oh, dear. Where did she go?" when one turns sideways.

4. Write a book. Not a published work. Just something that long. Why do I blog? Because my average writing endeavor is the length of a blog. It's an attention span thing.

5. Simplify my life. i.e. less stuff. Fewer bills/debts. Fewer worries. Fewer irritating people. The people will, no doubt, be the trickiest to dispose of. Does anyone know the trick with acid and a bathtub? I've heard it's effective.

6. Finish reading everything on my "Seriously if you're going to keep thinking you are an intelligent, evolved individual then you must read these books" book list. This would be easier if I stopped adding to the list. At least long enough to allow myself to catch up a bit.

7. Take yoga or learn to meditate or some such thing and become a more centered individual. I'm very scattered. If my thoughts had physical manifestation they would appear as odd little orbs buzzing to and fro about my head and periodically zipping off into oblivion. Makes it very tricky to get anything done.

8. Write a will (I've been meaning to do this for YEARS) and get life insurance. It's very irresponsible to die and leave everyone else to clean up your mess. Not that I intend to die, but from what I remember of my biology classes, it appears to be inevitable that it will happen at some point. That being the case, I'd like to plan the party.

9. Take more risks (...preferably after writing the will and getting life insurance.)

10. Complete a sufficient number of paintings to constitute a reasonable body of work to show in a gallery. And then attempt to do just that.

So there's my list. I'll keep updating it as the year goes on and hopefully cross lots of things off. Except the disposing of irritating people part. Because that would be considered evidence.

The Morning After

”No one loves a Christmas tree on Jan. 1. The wonderful soft branches that the family couldn't wait to get inside to smell have turned into rapiers that jab you. The wonderful blinking lights that Daddy arranged by branch and color have knotted themselves hopelessly around crumbling brownery and have to be severed with a bread knife. The stockings that hung by the chimney with care are hanging out of sofa cushions, and they smell like clam dip.

And the angel that everyone fought to put on top of the tree can only be removed with an extension ladder that is in the garage, and no one can remember how to fit it through the door.

Next to the presidency, detrimming a tree has to be the loneliest job in the world. It has fallen to women for centuries and is considered a skill only they can do, like replacing the roll on the toilet tissue spindle, painting baseboards, holding a wet washcloth for a child who is throwing up or taking out a splinter with a needle.”

- Erma Bombeck, from a column published From a column first published January 1, 1987

It's bot as bad as all that, is it? I usually spend the day after Christmas in a kind of warm glow. I can be happy about the season but I can also stop worrying about presents and wrapping and mailing things and whatnot. Plus my house always looks cleaner because all the gifts I purchased and all the wrapping acoutrements and such have left the building.

This year I (gasp!) didn't put up a tree, so I'm not having that ceeping edginess about the tree - you know, where you look at it's lovely glow and sparkly baubles and instead of looking pretty it starts to look like work? Yeah, I skipped that this year. My mother has gotten one of those white wire monstrosoties that is covered in white lights and looks like a shiny tree skeleton - it just folds right up after the holiday. At first this seemed creepy but the day after - when other people are chucking dead trees into their front lawns - it actually starts to seem pretty sensible. And no trees had to die in order to entertain my family this year.

A State of Mind

”Christmas, children, is not a date. It is a state of mind.”

- Mary Ellen Chase

”I am not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all. And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the word seemingly most indifferent.”

- Taylor Caldwell

Tinsel

”Tinsel is really snakes' mirrors.”

- Stephen Wright

Today the dame, clearly having taken leave of her senses, ventures forth into the mad sea of commerce and hair pulling in order to secure last minute gifts.

If I do not blog tomorrow, you will know that I was trampled to death by a vast army of irritable shoppers.

The Parties

”Christmas is a time when everybody wants his past forgotten and his present remembered. What I don't like about office Christmas parties is looking for a job the next day.”

- Phyllis Diller

Give Books

”Do give books - religious or otherwise - for Christmas. They're never fattening, seldom sinful, and permanently personal.”

- Lenore Hershey

I know I don’t write about them often, but I’m a little obsessed with books. AND they make excellent gifts. My grandmother used to order Folio Society books for me every Christmas. They are beautifully bound volumes. Sometimes she sent classics but also a lot of odd interesting selections - my favorite being a reproduction of a Medieval Bestiary with gorgeous illustrations and bizarre descriptions of animals (including a unicorn and manticore - those monks had some wacky ideas).

The gift of a particularly fine book stays with me longer than any other gift. My parents... or, ahem, Santa - gave me an intricately bound collection of Jane Austen’s work a while back, a favorite gem in my personal library. Years ago, I was thrilled when a boyfriend gave me a copy of the enormous Harlan Ellison 50 year retrospective collection (the fact that he remembered my favorite author was reason for much rejoicing on my part). An old roommate and close friend (the Will to my Grace) gave me a lush 4 inch thick art history tome packed with full color reproductions that will always hold a prized place of my shelf. I think of him every time I pick it up. Most recent is a clever book on knitting ("Domiknitrix: Whip Your Knitting into Shape" - haha!) I just received yesterday in the mail from one of my oldest and dearest friends. Books are absolutely the perfect gift, gifts I keep forever.

I have started collecting late 19th and early 20th century books, particularly anything written by women or for the female reader. I love buying old books - The attention given to the binding, the old illustrated volumes (in which the illustrations have sometimes actually been pasted onto the page by hand), the notes made by some past owner in the margins, the little pieces of paper one finds slipped in between the pages. Each one is a treasure both because affordable old books are usually obscure, out of print works that you might never have otherwise seen and because they each have little bits of their history attached to them, unique unto that particular book.

I sometimes go online and browse the rare book supplier websites. Illustrated first editions for thousands of dollars - things I will never own but can certainly dream of. There are companies that do nothing but compile impressive libraries for those who can afford it - or who are contracted to locate particularly rare or unusual volumes. I find that fascinating.

Not everyone enjoys a good read, but almost everyone who doesn’t will still appreciate a book of humor, a how-to book that relates to some particular interest or a picture book of a favorite destination or subject. And generally people keep books, assuring you that your gift will stay a part of their home for many years to come. A well-chosen book often won’t cost any more than a bottle of cologne or one of those pre-made baskets of scented lotions and whatnot. Pre-packaged toiletry gifts say, “I know you are male or female.” Seriously. That’s about it.

A book can say, “I know and appreciate who you are.”