Christmas

Nothing says Christmas like baking cookies to give to friends and then eating them yourself. Val baked some incredible! walnut praline shortbread cookies for the folks where I work. Unfortunately, Val’s down with a nasty virus and those cookies will *gasp* need to be eaten or they’ll become stale. Right? I mean… while my wife’s upstairs sick in bed, I have to keep up with kitchen messes and those cookies… well… they just needed to go. So, I stopped typing, went downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed the cannister. Then I ate them. Two dozen of the little suckers. Nice. Once the sugar rush wears off, I’ll be able to post more intelligently.

Good news is this: before Val went down for the count, she joined baking911.com. Paid the premium, ladies and gentlemen. Which means what? Bigger better baked bonuses for me! She keeps saying she wants to make a burnt sugar cake or something like that.

Darn close to 7 hours of studies - time for a mental break. Val bought an incredible 7.5 foot tree. It glows in our living room like the sparkle in my grandson’s eyes. Seriously… I’ve become quite the romantic this year. Kind of odd but I’m enjoying being sentimental.

As she puts yet another dozen ornaments on the tree, Val turns and tell me someone must say, “You know, I think this is the prettiest tree yet. ” It’s a tradition, a Heinold tradition from my Dad. Each year is better than the last. Sure enough, Ruth came into the room a few minutes later. Looked at the tree, told Val it was just lovely. Then, “You know, this is the prettiest tree I’ve ever seen.”

I looked over at Val who smiled. We both said, “Yes, this year it is the best.”

The funniest and best part of our holiday decor is the 3 foot high giant plastic lighted Santa Claus. It’s not 3-D, it’s a wall ornament. It’s tacky… wonderful… manufactured just as plastic began hitting its stride in the early 19690s. Val’s been lugging it around since 1972 but it’s been in her family since 1963. Her Dad put one of these atrocious Santas on each side of their chimney one year. Two of them, back to back so it would be a whole Santa. It was his joke. She remembers him telling her, “Your sister will be here in a few days. She’s getting a ride home from Fayetteville — apparently with the Tri-Delt president or somesuch sorority business. High class… big honor to ride with such a person or some other bit of canal water. I thought I’d decorate with style just for her. Show that Tri Delta bunch we’re high class too.” Val says he must have laughed for a good five minutes after he said that. Then he put a sign on the front window which said, “We bought symphony orchestra cookies.”

That’s Val’s Christmas story for today. Every evening, she and Ruth tell each other a funny good Christmas holiday story. I’ll give you one of Ruth’s soon. She’s got some great ones from the 1920s.

As my family moves on toward the “It’s December, hence the workday lethargy increases” season, it pains me to realize television will not serve as a panacea for my entertainment ills. We all know it. The re-run parade of questionable original episode champions began with failed labor negotiations. All the holiday-type tripe movies were shown last week. From Elf to Miracle on 32nd St..

Val and I were talking last night about there’s no television anticipation anymore. While the networks and cable channels use their teasers: Original Series! Starts Tonight! The Most Loved New Show on TV! We at home feel no sense of urgency. Not really… with 24/7 programming and more channels than names in the Little Rock phone book, what goes around will certainly come around. Again and again and again.

It’s kind of a shame, isn’t it? Val remembers when The Wizard of Oz was on just one Sunday night a year… it was the premiere entertainment event for kids. “It made us pay attention to every piece of dialog. The next day at school would be spent re-enacting the movie, even teacher’s would go along with it. I had one teacher who could do a perfect Glenda the Good Witch… we baby-boomers are the film strip generation.”

I was born along with Woodstock. That makes me the first VCR generation, I suppose. Ollie and Emmett (the grandballoons) are the first DVR generation. At 90 yoa, my m-i-l Ruth is the Talkie Generation. Her sister Helen played the piano / pump organ in a Cincinnati movie theater back in the 1920s. From Rudolph Valentino to a Red-Nosed Reindeer.

This blog is going to begin to include more cultural conversations. I’ve got almost a century of human experience years bombarding me all day long.