Happy New Storm!

We are getting a little snow here in Boston. Again.



Here's the view of Boston, from the middle of the Mass. Ave. bridge around noon o'clock.



This is the view of Cambridge from the same vantage point.

It looks like we are in for it again, though at least this time it is all suppose to be fluffy and the temperature is suppose to drop like a rock, so it will stay this way for a while instead of turning into ankle deep slush and ice water.

At least here, 2008 is going out with a bang.

Boxing Day

I had a very nice time yesterday afternoon at Chez Wahz. Old friends, good food and champagne. Funny cards were exchanged as well as funny stories.

This morning, against all expectations I actually got up early and went to the gym. I am beginning to think my pal Monkey is right and I am possessed. However, it got the blood circulating and by the time I had showered, I had come to my senses and I am having a rather leisurely day around the house. I will toss some laundry in the machine and later I will probably head out to pick up a few groceries.

I am trying to make the most of the fact that I have all this free time this weekend. If anyone sees me hurrying to do anything, please give me a clip in the ear and a talking to. I don't have plans and I really need to keep it that way.

C'est si bon

Another sad loss this year. Miss Eartha Kitt has passed away. I will remember her for a lot of songs that she put her own special spin on, but when I think of Eartha, this is the song I think of.

I one day, long ago got to sit near Eartha at the A House bar in P'town one afternoon. I didn't chat her up, it was enough of a thrill to be sitting 2 stools down from her.

She was a true icon.

Happy Xmas to all.....

Alice and I just want to wish everyone a Happy Xmas, Solstice, Chanukah, Kwnaza or whatever you do to celebrate this time of year.



Here's hoping the fat man brings you whatever is on your list.

Sweet dreams

I mentioned in a recent post that I was getting a CPAP. I was suppose to pick it up last week, but the snow storm put the kibosh on that. So, I went and picked it up today.

It turned out to be an appropriate day to do it too. For starters, I got a lousy nights sleep last night so I am, to use Yellowdog Granny's words, feeling like hammered shit. When I did drag out of bed, there was a report on NPR on a new study on the importance of good sleep to your health. In particular, heart health and weight management.

So, here it is Xmas Eve and Santa brought me a CPAP. Hopefully, it will be easier to sleep with at home than it was at the sleep center. I have already made up my mind that I will just sleep with the damned thing no matter what. Dr. Fred is actually very good about common sense and doesn't rush off to the most expensive or most complex answer when I have a problem. So more often than not, we manage to find a cheap easy solution to any complaints I've had since I've started seeing him. After going over the results from my sleep study, he was pretty adamant about my sleeping with the thing, so I trust his judgment on this.

On the upside. I am feeling confident that this gadget will help ensure my continuing bachelorhood, unless someone has fantasies about sleeping with someone who sounds like Darth Vadar at night.

So. That's what Santa brought me this year. Hopefully, a good nights sleep.

Snocial Science

As Wahz and I slipped down the snowy sidewalk at Forest Hills, grumbling and fretting our way through the snow storm, Wahz turned to me and said, "You know 20 years ago, we wouldn't have thought twice about walking out to JP in this, because it was so pretty out."

I agreed, but pointed out that we would probably have had a couple of bracing cocktails in us before we left his place and that by the time brunch was over everyone would have been 3 sheets to the wind.

We were on our way to our friend C's house for a Solstice brunch. C. doesn't really do Christmas anymore, but it's nice to do something for the season, so he usually has a couple of people over between the first day of winter and New Years. This year it was a combination of winter solstice and "Hogswatch" a mythical holiday from a book by Terry Pratchett that we all love, which is a send up of Christmas, among other things.

Dinner was lovely. C. had opted to order in Chinese, which he filled out with a few special touches of his own and the table was a thing of beauty. This is no surprise, since C. is a retired scenic designer. However, C.'s mad culinary genius was not to be entirely silenced. Dessert was a white fruitcake that he made, which was served warm with a zabaglione to go over it.

We had a delightful time and left sober as judges. Which later really struck me, since in the old days we used to refer to the holidays as "Drunkmas".

For my part, I have developed gastric problems which keeps me from drinking much. This is quite a change from my youth, when I never met a cocktail I didn't like. I can't say I'm terribly sorry. Starting off my day with a clear head the morning after, really is it's own reward. However, I can't regret the happy alcoholic fog I wandered around in during the holidays when I was young. I will never be able to look back with anything but fondness on Christmas Day spent at our late friend Steven's house, which started off with a glass of champagne in your hand at noon as soon as you walked through the door and ended 4 hours later staggering home after port, Stilton and walnuts. Steven was an old New England Yankee and a great believer in traditions. One of these traditions was that if he invited friends to Christmas dinner, they were going to walk out of the house with at least one bottle of good champagne under their belt by the time they left.

These days I have Christmas with Wahz at his house with a few other old friends. Conversation will turn to Christmas with Steven and that in turn will bring back memories of epic parties of the past. Who was it that always passed out in a hallway and would be stepped over for the rest of the evening once the party got into full swing? Who got caught doing the host's boyfriend in the guest bathroom? Famous party misdeeds that live on in legend. It was fun at the time and it is still fun to remember, because it happened in a far away land called our youth.

I read Susan Cheever's piece which she wrote for the Times about epic drunken holiday parties from years ago and the fact that a lot less booze seems to get consumed at parties now and no one smokes. This was unheard of in my youth and so it would seem in Ms. Cheever's as well. I thought it was a good piece of writing and really enjoyed it. However the comments that were left were a bit discouraging. The majority of them seemed to be in terms of scolding. I can only assume from the tone of the comments that the individuals writing them spent their youths doing good works and attending temperance meetings. Speaking for myself, I have to say I was as badly behaved as most people are in their 20's and early 30's. I can't say I regret a minute of it either.

One gets the impression from the current trend of thought that the new nanny society is ending youthful indiscretion, but I am fairly certain that young people out there are even now, getting hammered, waking up with blinding hangovers and in general living life to its fullest. This is as it should be and I suppose that equally, whenever people of a certain disposition get past a certain age, they are bound to disapprove of anything that looks like young people might be enjoying themselves. In turn today's young people will go out and behave excessively and with any luck, will live to tell the tale when moderation or outright abstinence becomes their lot in life. No doubt, some of them are merely drinking and smoking their way into their roles as the scolds of tomorrow.

As for myself, I'm glad I misbehaved when I was still young enough to do it and that eventually I grew up and changed my ways instead of turning into a sloppy old drunk. I am also thankful that I still have a few friends who survived from those days so that we can reminisce about those times from the safety and comfort of our relative old age.

As for the young folks that are drinking and smoking and carrying on, good for you.

For all the vinegar faced old shrews who are going on about the evils of drink among other things, I can only say I'm sorry you never had any fun when you were young, but stop trying to take it out on the rest of us.

More snow

We are getting another winter storm here in Boston. The photos are from earlier this afternoon. Since then, it has decided to start throwing down a mix of rain and frozen rain. I understand we can look for some sleet as well.

It's going to be so much fun getting into work tomorrow. I really envy my friends who are retired.

Bread and Soup

It is pretty snowy here in Boston. We got about a foot of snow last night and it has been spitting snow all day. Plus it's colder than the balls on a brass monkey. Though it doesn't feel that bad because for a switch, the wind is giving us a break.

However, to get into the spirit of the thing, I decided to get all domestic and make pea soup and bread. The pea soup by the way rocks. If you don't believe me, ask RG who came over for a visit. He was going to leave before the soup was done, but with very little arm twisting he agreed to stay until the bread was baked and the soup was ready. Either he really liked the soup or he's a really good actor, since he ate 2 bowls.

The bread was okay. I was trying out a new recipe for whole wheat bread and next time I think I will add a little more salt. It's not terrible, but it was a tad on the bland side. Nice texture, but I think it needed a bit more salt to bring up the flavor.

So, I am full of soup and bread and I may need to have a brief food coma before I tackle cleaning my now restored bathroom.

I kind of love the first few days of winter that are like this when spending the day being domestic and making cold weather food still has the novelty factor going for it. By mid January I am going to be losing my mind and praying for warm weather. For now, I'm just going to enjoy it.

Snow day

We are suppose to be getting our first big storm of the season today. The last report I heard predicted between 6 and 12 inches. The snow has just started to fly. I suppose I will have to go out and get some pictures, but at the moment I am enjoying the fact that we got cut loose from work early and I have not had to deal with slipping around on the shit.

However, it will be sort of nice if we actually have a white Christmas this year.

Yummy Xmas

Yesterday, the mail hottie Claudio stopped by my office to deliver a package. I didn't take much notice at first since I thought it was just something I had ordered for faculty.

Then I looked at the return label. Those awesome Oregonians Mark and Roger sent me a care package full of holiday goodness. Habenero Dill Pickles, Tomatilla Salsa and 3 kinds of jam! Raspberry, Apricot and their own special blend that they call "Black and Blue" jam, which as the name implies is made with blackberries an blueberries. As good as it sounds, I am prepared to tell you since I am having some on top of my post workout English muffin, it is in fact better than it sounds.

As I get older I am not that big on receiving presents for Xmas anymore. Usually it entails getting some toy or useless item that you really don't need and will more than likely will wind up in the back of the closet.

I am however more than willing to make an exception for such things as the Nieces annual "heart attack in a box" package of baked goodies and I can also say that I just love my surprise package from Mark and Roger. Getting consumer crap is one thing. Getting something that actually took some effort and was made with care seems as I get older a much more sincere expression of friendship.

I have been lucky enough in the past year to get a box of goodies from Mark and Roger, so I know what I have to look forward to. You can all begin to envy me now. The only problem will be to restrain myself from scarfing it all down like the greedy pig I am.

Thanks again guys, and Merry Christmas!

Tagged

I got tagged by the niece with a meme. Since I am trying to write a couple of longer pieces and I'm a little desperate for material until I post these pieces, I figure what the hell.

You are suppose to send this along to 2 other people as well as the person who sent it, but I figure, the Niece will read this and I'm hoping at least 2 people will check my blog today, so my work here is done

Two names you go by:

1. Tony
2. Anthony

Two things you are wearing right now:

1. reading glasses
2. argyle socks

Two things you want very badly at the moment:

1. Good Coffee
2. New hard drive for my laptop.

Two people who will most likely send this back:

1. Not going to pass it along
2. Seriously, I'm not passing it along

Name two things you did yesterday:

1. worked
2. Gym

Two things you ate yesterday:

1. soup
2. oatmeal

Two people you last spoke to:

1. Doralong
2. Frank our IT consultant

Two things you are doing tomorrow:

1. Painful workout
2. getting my CPAP machine


Two states you'd like to visit:

1. Oregon
2. New Mexico


Two favorite beverages:

1. coffee
2. water

Yeah, I know, my life is non-stop excitement.

Whitman Sampler

I must have pissed off the weather gods who have decided to channel my father. "Stop your crying, or I'll give you something to cry about!"

So far this morning, here in Boston, we have had snow, sleet, freezing rain and rain.

The sidewalks are unhappy and are taking their hostility out on pedestrians. Among the more brainless sights I've seen are people out riding their bicycles. Can we say "death wish"?

I think I will keep my comments about the weather to myself from now on.

Weather report

It is turning into a typical New England winter day. I was raining lightly when I left for the gym this morning. A couple hours later, when I left for work, it was pelting sleet. Then I chatted online with RG, who is a couple of towns over. It's snowing out there. WTF?

I find myself almost missing the winter in Vermont. At least up there, once it gets cold, it's cold. There are no sneaky surprises with 10 degree weather one day and 50 the next. Once it's cold, it's cold. You just have to get used to it.

This has nothing to do with thinking of myself as a hardy New Englander. I am pretty sure it's more about wanting the weather to just make up its fucking mind. Fer Christ's sake! It's December! Just get it over with.

Oh Tannenbaum!

Birdie was asking about peoples favorite Xmas memories. So, I thought I would repost this story from last year. It seemed to be pretty popular, so I figured no one would mind rereading it and if anyone is new to the blog, I think it offers valuable insights into some of the more formative experiences of my childhood.



*RG has reposted his Xmas story from last year. For those of you who havent' read it, I highly recommend that you check it out. And if you did read it last year, I can say it is just as wonderful a second time around.

Oh Tannenbaum!

Say what you like about my parents child rearing skills, Christmas was always a big deal around the house. I think this was due in part to my mother's childhood experience of the Great Depression and the old man's toyless childhood. My Pepe was of a rather stern disposition and felt that children did not need to be playing with toys, they needed to be out working. In contrast, my Grandma did what she could to provide the furniture of childhood for my mom and her brothers and sister, but there wasn't much money. While some of this influenced my Dad's own parenting technique, he did make sure that there were toys under the tree, come the morning of December 25th. The fact that the situation by lunch time had deteriorated to a state of trench warfare didn't matter as long as the presents made it under the tree.

In this spirit, every year our family went through the agonizing ritual of “The Christmas Tree”.

My mother would announce that it was time to go out and “get a tree, before all the good ones are gone.” we would be shepherded into the Ford and off we would go on the annual quest.

My mother had been in charge of getting the tree, ever since the now infamous episode in our family history, where the old man had been allowed, while shithammered, to go get the tree unsupervised. To this day my mother still brings up the unlovely specter of the “Charlie Brown Christmas Tree”.

After that my mother exercised due diligence. The disgrace of the “stick” as she also referred to it, was never to be repeated and the entire family was dragooned into going out to find a decent looking tree. In all fairness to my mother, the tree did really look like it had been grown on a bare rock and then napalmed just before it was harvested. The specter of this tree seemed to haunt her every holiday and no matter what the circumstance she would dutifully head off in the direction of the tree lots even when she was actually sick as opposed to her ground state of hypochondria.

At the time, she was the only female in the house. There were my father and my 2 brothers to boss around, but my older sister had flown the coop by the time I was 8. Neither of my brothers had any patience for this, nor did my father. Eventually the spirit of rebellion against this holiday tyranny formed in the breasts of the male population of our household. Finally, my father and brothers refused to go tree shopping. However, it was also decided that my mother could not be expected to deal with a six foot plus Christmas tree by herself, so at the age of 10, I was volunteered to accompany my mother on her tree buying expeditions.

Among my mother's eccentricities was the belief that the perfect tree was at the next tree lot. What this usually entailed was visiting every Christmas tree lot in the area, only in the end to wind up back at the original lot, to purchase the first tree that she had liked.

Thus every year, a couple of weeks before Xmas, Mom and I would get into the car and start our search. She knew exactly what she was looking for. A Scotch pine. She had a deep seated dislike of firs because they shed too much. She did not like small trees. They had to have the right shape. She favored broad conical trees, big fat pyramids that could hold what became a vast collection of Christmas tree decorations. Over the years things changed and grew. Ugly decorations made by the eager hands of children were replaced by carefully chosen glass balls. The old fat incandescent Christmas lights that I still love with their saturated colors were replaced by the modern fairy light type of tree lights. The only constant was the angel that sat on top of the tree, “Suzie the Christmas Angel” which my Mom had purchased when my older sister, Susan had been a small child.

Being a little fairy, I really didn't mind. The prospect of decorating the tree was always a big deal for me. My mother was willing to spend ages making sure the ornaments were just so and if it meant taking every last piece of tinsel off the tree and starting over, so be it.

The penultimate tree experience came though the year I was 14. By then we had graduated to the 65 Plymouth wagon, a car that could seat 10 people with comfort. It was a car designed for my mother to finally indulge her every Christmas tree related fantasy of excess.

Our first stop was at a new lot. This was unusual in that ordinarily the first place, and usually by virtue of it being the first lot, it would be our ultimate destination was Polino's greenhouse, after having scoured every other tree lot in central western Vermont.

We looked around a bit and my mother was dismissing the offerings as being not nearly as nice as the trees that she usually got at Polino's, when she saw, “the tree”. I can only imagine that Ahab got the same look in his eye the first time he saw Moby Dick.

It was quite the tree. It was a scotch pine and it really was something else, thinking back, the tree had to be 8 feet tall. She made the man selling the trees hold it up for her as she circled it seeking out imperfections. At the base, it easily spread to a width of 6 feet and it was full and beautifully shaped. It was the type of tree usually only encountered on Christmas cards or in lavishly illustrated children's books of the more treacley holiday variety.

Still my mother is my mother. She sniffed and said she would have to think about it and off we went to look at what else was on offer abroad. However, she had the gleam of that tree in her eye. I might be making this part up, but it seems as though she was somehow motivated to seek out an even higher pinnacle of Christmas tree perfection after coming across this holy grail of the Christmas tree world. Through the cold dark evening, we scoured every lot she could find, as she tried with all her might to find a tree that would outdo this vision of perfection. Tree after tree was examined as we worked our way through every tree lot in the lower Champlain Valley. All were found wanting. Nothing could compare with the beatific vision that had been imparted unto my mother in that first full moment in the initial tree lot.

Finally, having exhausted every other option, we returned to the original tree lot, my mother filled with anxiety that “her” tree would have been snapped up by some other lucky family.

But the Xmas tree gods that had first inspired man to gather wood at the darkest time of the year and build bon fires to bring the sun back smiled upon my mother. Her quarry was still there, waiting for her in the cold, clear winter night. It was destiny. There probably should have been flights of angels, a celestial chorus and a ray of light beaming down from the heavens as my mother completed her transaction and we laid claim to this paragon of treeness.

We put down the back seat in the station wagon, and I loaded the tree into the back, while my mother supervised, continuously fretting that something might befall the tree to mar its perfection, finally, with my mother holding the top of the tree, I closed the tailgate and with the rear cargo window open, we drove off into the night headed for home, my mother radiating the same glow of satisfaction that some tribal huntsman must have displayed when bringing home the fresh kill that would sustain his family for a few days more in the harsh northern winter.

The next day my father had his first opportunity to admire Mom's tree.

“Jesus Christ, Mother! Why in the hell did you buy a redwood. We're going to have to cut a couple of feet off it just to get it in the stand. Well, I'm not going to do it till the weekend.”

What happened next was my father's own fault, by that point he'd been married to the woman over 20 years and he should have recognized the look on her face.

Dad went off on some self appointed errand that distinctly had nothing to do with Christmas trees and Mom went in to mix herself a drink. As the day wore on, my mother started making “we really ought to get the tree up” noises. My brothers were both off somewhere and it was just she and myself in the house. A couple of drinks later, my mother announced that we could get that tree up by ourselves and she wasn't going to wait around until dad was in the mood, or it might not be put up until Christmas Eve!

I found myself being instructed to drag the tree into the house. I expressed a few doubts, to which my mother answered, “Well, if we can't get the tree up, then your father will just have to do it, since he won't have any choice once it's in here.”

It was one of those flat statements of my mothers that over the years I had learned to just not argue with.

As I manhandled the tree into the house my mother, well, mother henned her tree with many an admonition to me to “be careful”.

Inside the house, the tree really was looking pretty big. Actually it was looking huge. I think even my mother was beginning to have some doubts about whether her goal could be achieved. However, my mother would not be my mother if she was not equal to giving some hair brained scheme a sincere effort and a will to die if necessary in the attempt.

We had got out the tree stand, the lights and the decorations beforehand and a saw to take off what I thought would be a good sized chunk off the bottom of the tree.

As I prepared to start sawing off a couple of feet from the bottom of the tree, my mother let out a shriek. “What do you think your doing?”, she demanded.

“Well, Dad said….” I began.

“You just saw off a few of the lower branches so we can get the stand on. You're father doesn't know everything, in spite of what he thinks.” I was informed in imperious tones.

I guess I felt as though any trouble I got into in the future with my father would be nothing in comparison to the trouble I would be facing immediately if I didn't do as I was told by the old lady. So I sawed off some lower branches under my mothers careful directions and baleful glare.

As it turned out we did have to saw off about 8 inches from the bottom of the tree to get it even close to fitting into the stand. With more cautious removal of lower branches we proceeded. I held the stand up to the stump of the tree.

“We're going to have to cut off a little more,' I said. 'the stand is still a little to small.”

“You are not cutting anymore off of my tree, young man! You just wait right there and I'll show you what we're going to do.” I was informed.

At this point I didn't dare disagree and besides, I was intrigued as to what she was going to do. She disappeared into the kitchen and I heard her rummaging around in a drawer. A few minutes later she was back with a hammer.

“Now, I'm sure you can just tap the stand onto the tree.” I was informed.

The tree wasn't in fact all that much larger than the opening on the stand and while it took a couple of whacks to get it over the widest part, after that it was more like getting a fat lady into a girdle, it just took a little wiggling.

After the little knurled screws in the stand had been screwed into the base of the tree the moment of truth arrived. We hoisted the tree up and the legs on the stand immediately splayed out flattened to the floor. The tree began to sway.

My mother made a mad grab for the tree and caught it before it could topple over.

“ I guess we're going to have to wait for dad to come home and….” I never got to finish the sentence.

“You just hold this tree up!” I was commanded.

At this point, my mother had the light of battle in her eye. She disappeared into the kitchen once more and once again I could hear the rattle of the utility drawer. In a minute she was back with a hand full of nails. She stood back, looking appraisingly at the tree and began to have me position the tree so that it was upright. Once it had been adjusted to her satisfaction, She told me, “Just nail the tree to the floor, that should take care of the swaying.”

“I don't think Dad is going to be very happy if I start putting nails in the floor.” I offered weakly.

“I'll worry about what your father thinks, you just nail that tree to the floor.”

I was faced with the immediate threat of not nailing the tree to the floor and dealing with the consequences of not doing what my mother told me and the future prospect of my father coming home to find a scotch pine nailed to the living room floor. I looked at my mother and took the hammer and crawled under the tree.

Let us leave our hero for a moment industriously nailing a Christmas tree to the floor of the family living room while I explain a little bit of history about our house that will illuminate what was to happen next.

My parents bought the house they live in, in 1960. When we moved in there was no heating system, no plumbing and the electrical wiring had been installed in the early 20th century. Over the next few years, the old man installed a furnace, baseboard heat, plumbed and rewired the place and dry walled and insulated walls, so that by 1969, two things of historic significance occurred. The Americans landed on the moon and the old man had finished dry walling and painting the first floor of our house.

After I crawled out from under the tree, I got my first good look at it. It was pretty impressive. The top of the tree practically touched the 8 foot ceiling and it stood there in all its holiday glory.

Slightly swaying.

The damned thing was still about as stable as a top that was winding down. My mother however was not about to have victory snatched from her when she was so close to her goal. However, her plan was going to need the full support of her meager troop of one. But drastic times call for drastic measures.

“Why don't I just fix us both a drink while I think about this,”, she said and we walked into the kitchen while I wondered what Mom had in mind and exactly how much more trouble this was going to get me into. That being said, at the age of 14, a cocktail in the hand was worth an asskicking in the future, and with any luck would help to, at least metaphorically, soften the blow.

Mom made us gin and tonics and then began to rummage through drawers again. Eventually, she pulled out the roll of kitchen twine that usually only made an appearance when she was making roast pork or gigot. She sipped her drink thoughtfully as I tried not to gulp mine down. She tapped on the glass for a minute with her fingernail and then told me to go down cellar and to get a couple finishing nails. Not quite sure what she was up to, but having a bad feeling none the less, I at this point was resigned to my fate and dutifully went down into the basement secure in the knowledge that at least when my father killed me for whatever was about to happen, I could meet my maker not entirely sober.

I came back up the stairs with the nails and a sense of foreboding. My mother was waiting there, hammer in hand. She took the nails from me and then walked over to the newly painted and plastered living room wall and carefully tapped the first nail in. She then went to the other side of the tree and repeated the process.

“Dad's really going to…” I began.

“I told you, I will deal with your father, now hand me that twine.”, was the only answer I got.

I have to hand it to her. The guy wire system which she devised, going from one nail around the tree and to the other nail really did the trick! The tree was now standing straight and tall and not weaving drunkenly.

I guess Mom felt that one sober person, or in this case tree was plenty. I think she also felt like she had thrown caution entirely to the wind anyway, so she made us both another drink which is probably why we decided to string the lights without the assistance of my father.

Now, my mother is 5 feet tall, and if I am remembering correctly, at the age of 14 I was still a bit shorter than her. Somehow, with the aid of a step ladder and a lot of direction from Doris, we got the lights strung on the tree in a manner that met with her approval. At this point I was in a happy haze of gin and I guess my mother had the feeling of , in for a pence, in for a pound, because the decorations came out and over the next hour or so we got out all of the garland, ornaments and tinsel and decorated the tree.

Finally, my mother had me do the honors and I plugged in the lights. The tree was beautiful. The angel was bumping its head against the ceiling, but finally, my mother had found a suitable canvas upon which she could demonstrate her vision of what a Christmas tree should look like and it held every ornament that she had collected over the years without looking crowded or having to banish any of the glass balls for another year and another tree.

We stood there, gin in hand admiring our handiwork and the old man came in the house.

He just stood there for a minute, agog.

“How the hell did you get that thing up by yourself? Jesus Christ, Mother! Why didn't you wait for me to trim it down. It's touching the ceiling for Christ's sake!”

“I think it looks beautiful.”, was my mothers reply.

“Yeah,' I announced happily under the influence. 'We had to nail it to the floor.”, with the happy idiocy of a tipsy teenager who knows he’s about to die and is beyond caring.

“What”, the old man bellowed. Walking over to the tree for a closer look he saw the nails in the fresh walls.

“God damn it all!', he yelled. 'Who put nails in my fresh walls?”, he demanded looking directly at me.

“I did.” Mom announced flatly.

Glaring like a thunderhead, the old man stomped into the kitchen to get himself his first beer of the afternoon with my mother directly at his heels. I could hear a lot of muffled “God dammits, Jesus Christing, dammits, a couple of Jesus H. Christs an assortment of shits and knowing Dad, I am sure the words stupid bastard and son-of-a-bitch had a prominent part of his side of the discussion. There was also a fair amount of muffled but stern sounding Mom sounds that tended to indicate that things had better go the way that she had decided that they should go, or she was damned well going to want to know why.

I will never know what Mom said to the old man. Or should I say what instructions he received about what his behavior was to be, but I never heard another word about the nails in the floor.

After a few minutes, the old man stomped out of the kitchen without a glance at me and went into the TV room and threw himself into his recliner to steam in front of the set.

My mother and I returned to our contemplation of the tree, It was in its own way the most perfect thing of its kind we had ever seen and we basked, cocktails in hand, in the warm glow of a job well done.

It was at that moment our 20 pound tomcat, Boots chose to make his annual attack on the Christmas tree.

And with the exception of a couple of ornaments falling to the carpet in front of the tree, I have to say, Mom's cable stay system held up beautifully, even as she shouted the cat out of the tree.

That may well have been one of the happiest Christmases of my childhood.

Bettie Page

I was very saddened to read that Bettie Page passed away.



I remember her from my childhood and rather enjoyed the fact that she developed a second career in the 90's as a cult figure.

It's a gray day. It really feels more like late autumn than winter. Gray and wet. Not really cold but the damp makes the cold in the air feel raw. Not on the whole, in my opinion, a great day to be out.

I had planned on walking into the office as usual regardless of the fact that I had already tortured myself on the aerobic machines at the gym however, with one thing and another I was a bit later getting out of the house than I had planned. By the time I had reached Mass. Ave. I decided that if I wanted to get into the office early like I had planned, then I had better take the bus.

For those who do not live in Boston, the number 1 or Dudley bus has a reputation for being one of the worst lines in the city. I've known a few people who have worked for the T as drivers and the impression I have received from them is that the Dudley is a combination rite of passage for junior drivers and form of discipline for senior drivers that have pissed someone off.

I should say right now that after over 30 years of using that particular bus line that over all my experiences have not been that bad. It does tend to be very crowded during high use hours and very slow because of rush hour traffic. More than once I have beat the bus over the river walking. However, this morning I needed the bus.

Just as I got to the corner of Mass. Ave and Boylston. I saw the bus come into the intersection. This tends to be one of those "damned if you do, damned if you don't" situations. I had to decide if I was going to try and run, creating a little amusement for the driver so he could close the doors and pull away just as I was getting to the bus, or just walk and have the bus pull away just when I was within 10 feet of it.

As I said, I had got enough exercise, in my opinion, this morning on the stationary bike, so I opted to walk. As fate would have it, traffic was a bit snarled this morning and so by the time I was within 20 feet of the bus, it appeared that if I ran I could still catch it. So I ran and naturally the bus started to pull away.

Then it happened. The clouds parted, heavenly hosts sang, the bus driver looked in his mirror, saw me and.... stopped.

Not only stopped, but missed the opportunity to blow through a yellow light!

The day might be a wash out in all other respects, but I have been convinced that miracles really do occur.

I hope this doesn't keep up. I am not sure I want to find myself believing in god. Even if it's just the mass transit god.

Reindeer games

I really don't have anything else.

You Are Dasher

You're an independent minded reindeer who never plays by the rules. Why You're Naughty: That little coup you tried to stage against Santa last year Why You're Nice: You secretly give naughty children presents.

Which of Santa's Reindeer Are You?

Thanksgiving recap

I went to the nieces for Thanksgiving dinner Saturday. My older brother (her father) my sister-in-law and her younger sister were in attendance.

It was a really nice day. I arrived in Salem at 10:00 and the niece, anxious to get a break from the family was actually waiting at the station when I got off the train. This was something of a notable occurrence, since arriving on time is usually something that happens to other people.

When we got to her house, the sister-in-law had achieved the perpendicular and was working on regaining consciousness. As she went to take a shower, by older brother and the other niece arrived back from a shopping expedition.

After that it was socializing, getting the dinner table ready, cooking and more socializing along with a fair amount of teasing. Older Bro and I kept the troops entertained with stories about all the things we got up to as kids, including sending my mother over the edge with the hanging teddy bear trick, which I am sure I will describe someday.

The turkey, in the way of Thanksgiving turkeys everywhere, took longer than it was suppose to, but was well worth the wait. The Niece outdid herself. I had provided a pecan pie that my sister-in-law requested, she had made mince pie.

All told it was a very enjoyable day, which is something. For years I have avoided family holidays, simply because they are usually just an excuse to get together and argue, but I am guessing with the blessings of age and the absence of my mother we were able to relax and just enjoy each others company.

So, a big thank you to the niece for a wonderful day.

It's the day before Thanksgiving. Things at the office were quiet with only the occasional flurry of mad panic as everyone who actually showed up today prepares to head out for self induced food comas.

My own plans for tomorrow are pretty tame, since I will be doing the triptaphan orgy on Saturday at the nieces. This will involve my brother, his wife and my other niece. I am praying against all expectation that things will go smoothly and quietly. You know things are serious when an atheist starts praying.

My plans for Thursday include, rising at my usual ungodly hour, throwing a couple of loads in the machine, getting a start on some seriously needed housework. Breakfast. Hopping on the train to go to my gym's sister facility in Southie, since our branch will be closed. Home. More housework and baking a punkin' pie.

Since I am not that big of a fan of turkey, I will be having a nice fat pork chop I picked up at TJ's, mashed 'taters and green beans and cranberry sauce (it is Thanksgiving). I will then eat some of the pie for dessert. What I am going to mostly do (aside from housecleaning) is going to be enjoying some peace and quiet.

RG has said he may come over to torment me at some point, which will be fun. We may even go out for a drink. Though what I mean by drink is that RG will get to have a drink and as usual, I will probably pass. But you never know, it's a holiday and I may feel festive.

Mostly, what I am looking forward to is 4 days off from work. I hope whatever you have planned you have a great time.

Happy Thanksgiving

My Xmas present to myself

Joe has a guest post up right now. Carl Siciliano the founder and director of the Ali Forney Center has posted a letter asking for donations.

The Ali Forney Center has experienced some serious funding cutbacks and needs help.

I became aware of the Ali Forney Center a couple of years ago, when Joe posted about it before. Since then, whenever I have had a few dollars to spare I have sent what I can. My childhood may not have been ideal, but at least I wasn't thrown out of the house. God knows I was such a little queen that my parents must have known I was gay. After I came out at the age of 20, well after I had made my own escape from the parental clutches, there followed many years of being kept at arms length, but I was never completely cut off from my family.

The Ali Forney Center is for young LGBT kids who don't even have the lukewarm support that I got from my family.

I had earmarked some money to get myself a Xmas present that I really wanted. Instead I am donating that money to the Ali Forney Center.

I don't expect anyone else to do the same, but I do ask that if you read this blog that you donate what you can. I know times are tough and like a lot of people right now I am worried about the security of my job. But I'm a grown up and I have the ability and the experience to see myself through hard times, even if it means I wind up mopping floors. These young people don't have those resources or that experience.

Please donate and post a link to the online donation page on your blog. The more money that goes to the center, the better the chances are that the Forney Center will be able to continue to make a difference in the lives of kids that have been thrown away by their families.

If you need added motivation, If you don't donate, I will give your phone number to Doris. You do NOT understand the meaning of the word suffering until you've had that crazy old woman chewing your ear off, so don't make me do it.