Newscoma

Hoots threw it down last night as I caroused about the community watching and listening. People in Christmas sweaters reveled about, one woman had some moonshine (I do not lie. And I don’t know her name. I avoided the white lightning as I’m wont to do) and Outlaw Christmas songs played on various jukeboxes.

CNN, Always Creating Lovely Christmas Memories

I talked to an old acquaintance about my new job. In Hoots, people talk about politics more than you would think and it’s usually pretty astute. We talked about my boss which I’ve done pretty much nonstop in Hoots Proper for the past month which should escalate quite a bit in the coming month, about economic development and health reform interspersed with hugs, Christmas wishes and Tom Jones songs because nothing says Christmas like “What’s Up, Pussycat.”

Christmas is lean this year for many Hootsvillians including yours truly, but I decided a few days ago to get the hell over it. It’s not about how many gifts you can buy, but what you can give year round.  I cooked Vibinc’s famous stuffin’ muffins which came out pretty good although the next time I make them, I will make them more bite-sized. The dressing muffins were moist and tasty although they definitely needed more sage. And they were the size of Toledo, OH.  Dressing gut bombs but astonishingly good.

I shopped prior to the revelry and noticed most stores were not nearly as crowded as I thought they might be. Of course, everyone I know is as broke as a cabbage. I didn’t go to Wal Mart because of fear of having my picture taken and because I genuinely don’t like shopping at Wally World.

Squirrel Queen is a wrapping ninja. I tend to be like my dad, who would wait until the last minute to put his gifts to the family in bags that were left over that my mother didn’t need. Wrapping Fail is my middle name during the Christmas holidays.

OH in Hoots last night:

• “I only get to go to juke joints during Christmas. I might need to change this and do it all year round. This is fun!” ~ from a lovely woman in a Frosty the Snowman sweater.
• PLAY ROBERT EARL KEEN’S “MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM THE FAMILY!!!!” before I even joined in with “… a box of tampons and some Marlboooooro Lights!!” We sang loud and proud, campers.
• “I don’t want to talk about politics anymore. I want to talk about my favorite cheese.” ~ from an older man who had apparently imbibed in the contraband white lightening.
• “Charles Dickens’ and all of his ghost talk makes me want to go watch Elf. Screw the Ghost of Christmas’ past. If I wanted to go back into therapy, I would. “
• “What the hell, we never had Egg Nog at Christmas, we just had milk and cookies. Dad never wanted to drive to Fulton for the Nog part.” ~ Subtext: Hoots is a dry county. You have to give your tax money to Kentucky if you want any hooch.
• “My daughter is very worried about Santa Claus breaking into the house. And she made me get rid of the Elf on the Shelf. She’s concerned about our safety and elves and old fat dudes are not her cup of tea.”

Hoots, of course, is a state of mind, but it’s not a bad one. You guys should come here sometimes and just drench yourself in it. You might just like it.

I really don’t have much to say today. A friend is graduating from UT Martin with her Masters. My niece, off her fabulous win at a talent show is at this very moment competing at a Hoop Shoot competition where the results are unknown at this point and I’m hungry.

Whoa. The excitement builds.

I did see this photo this morning. I don’t know where it came from, but it pretty much epitomizes Christmas for me perfectly.

That’s my kind of kid and describes how I feel about the holidays perfectly. Could I just get two more weeks please before the big guy in red shows up.

Please.

And his take on the 12 days of Christmas.

In the world of retail, we are just food.

credit

And you will die of cute if you love dogs.

Two girls listen to a local woman read Twas the Night Before ChristmasThis picture, for whatever reason, makes me extremely happy on this cold and icy day. The girl in the purple put her arm around the girl in the pink and they sat quietly.

Listening.

What if Black Sabbath did a Christmas song?

It might be a lot like this:

And then there is this:

In an odd and weird way, I kinda dig the obscurity of it all.

Things that have made me smile this morning:

• Jon Hickman giving Frank Strovel computer tips at Left of the Dial. I really love the blogosphere.
• Wrassling cats. 
• News of happiness 
• People who make me laugh 
• An unexpected thing during a rough time
• Out of this world pictures that are just amazing.
• I miss Monstervision as well.
• Merry Christmas to you as well, as you play Homer’s favorite Christmas song.
• For the love of Sugarface, who is a fine woman indeed and is loved by a fine man
• I love it when Left Wing Cracker calls me beloved, ’cause I’m quite smitten with him as well.

Random, I know.

It’s usually happens to me about three days before Christmas every year. I become a bit emotional.

I don’t know why, or maybe I do and then I just ignore it, I then forget about it and then it comes as an annual event and there I am again. Damn cycle of holiday emotions.

I think some of my perceptions of this holiday goes back over three decades when I would spend the Brady Bunch Christmas at my grandmother’s house. We called her Nanny and she was a jovial woman who smoked Salem cigarettes, laughed this deep hearty laugh and could outcook anyone in three states. She read her bible, she went to church but she loved a good Tom Collins and was unapologetic about it. She taught me a lot and I miss her. She was a paradox and a wonderful role model who taught me that kindness was important and to treat people the way I wanted to be treated. She also didn’t believe you had to be one thing.

You just needed to be yourself.

When my grandfather died, she slowly withered away. She is the only person I know, although it was diagnosed as breast cancer, that passed away with a broken heart. There isn’t any way you could convince me otherwise.

We tried to recreate the joyful Christmases we had with her. The truly awful Christmas tree that had wire stuck with some sort of flammable branches on it, the presents that would fill a room, the amazing feast she would cook in her small kitchen that met us each year as we anxiously anticipated Christmas Eve. We tried to find that in which she created.

And each year, we failed.

Because it just wasn’t the same. As I grew older, I have found myself looking for that feeling I had when she was alive. Big Daddy is unabashedly not a fan of the holiday, though he tries (Nanny was my mother’s mom) and Homer gets it closer to my grandmother than anyone. I loved my own mother dearly, but when her mother passed away, she sort of abandoned Christmas. Not the actions of the holiday, but the feelings in her heart.

So, each year I seek those joyous feelings of Nanny’s small house. And each year, I find a few days before Christmas not being able to find it. And I’m disappointed. And it comes out in anger then an emotionally full moment where I realize that some things in our lives we cannot replace.

Now, this is whiny. I get that. And to be honest, this year I’ve had more fun than I’ve had in years. But that feeling struck me yesterday. The longing, that desire to feel.

That need for my childhood passion in which my grandmother was the real Santa Claus.

I am blessed. I have a wonderful life. This upcoming year is the one that will make or break me professionally. I’ve been aggressive in changing some of the things in my life that I want to alter and I’m pleased that I can take one thing at a time now instead of getting overwhelmed by the many distractions that are life. There are so many people in this world that have less than I do. I’m pleased I have love. I may not have a new car or the job I’ve been seeking, but I have family whom I adore and friends who would do anything for me as I would for them.

And yet, I miss that laugh and the twinkling of her eyes that was more about Christmas than any present.

Now back to your regular scheduled programming at Newscoma.

Photo from here.

Oh, dearest Raincoaster, how you make my day. Shamelessly, I steal from you again. I beg forgiveness ahead of time.

Christopher Walken’s “mother” has a Christmas message for you guys. If you don’t like spicy language, go here.

Otherwise, prepare to laugh with glee:

[youtube=[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9pzB30dsxsQ&rel=0&border=1]