Feed Me!

Actually, "Feed MYSELF!" Yes, Little has mastered the art of picking up food AND (an important "and") opening up his little clenched fists to push it in.


This two-fisted eating thing is downright primeval. (I'm jealous).

Spot the Potential Lawsuit 6

I simply cannot be stopped. The Spot the Potential Lawsuit game is just too damn entertaining. Today, I offer you another in the category of vehicular-accidents-waiting-to-happen, also known as if-you-can-weld-it-you-can-drive-it.


What we have here is, well, almost inexplicable. There was once a motorcycle in there somewhere. It morphed into a three-wheel, rear-drive sedan chair with a lovely and practical over-arching canopy frame. And, of course, the previously examined make-do hitch, making possible the tow-along cart.

The whole rig is, indeed, the most ambitious of all the recycle men in the neighborhood. God forbid, a stray dog darts in front of him. It'll be a game of pick-up sticks.

Spot the Potential Lawsuit 5

Ok, so I have no restraint. It's been a Spot the Potential Lawsuit kind of week, and these are just the ones that I manage to get photos of. So many more of these lawsuits are zipping by on motorbikes and overloaded trucks, but my reaction time is a little dulled by the stroller.


Here, my handsome husband demonstrates a "Potential Lawsuit" that even he thought was funny. Two boards pounded into the sidewalk for no apparent reason. He missed the perfectly positioned "head banger" by about ten inches as we rounded the corner engrossed in conversation (with heads down pushing the stroller).

Spot the Potential Lawsuit 4

Remember, I'm exercising incredible restraint in the Spot the Potential Lawsuit game. But, the (new) mother in me just couldn't walk past this one.


I don't know what freaks me out more, the exposed rusty bolts or the jagged, rusty metal. Let's not even talk about the projecting steel pipes and sheet metal corners.


This is one of three public places that I've found for kids to play, and this is the GOOD one. (sigh)

Will This Do?

One loyal reader (one of two, I hasten to add) has pointed out that I'm so often behind the camera, that I'm never in front of it. And, so I offer you (both) this tidbit from yesterday.

(Thanks for missing me.)

Little, Bigger Every Day

Two new teeth coming in (the uppers), fascination with the index finger (rolls it over his thumb and stares at it with great interest - uses it to pick up tiny things), drinks from a cup (skipped over bottle and sippy cups - not terribly manly), and speaking Thai! ("ta" means "eye" and "grandfather" - "ma" means "come on" - and "ba" means "let's go!" too bad none of it means anything in English.) Still prefers serial rolling to crawling, but I'm in no hurry to be chasing around after him.

Flickr

Okay, maybe you're not as obsessed with Flickr as I am. I'm totally hooked. It all started just before Christmas. Nong tells me her friend has some photos on-line. We look. They're not too interesting, but the idea grabs me. I sign up. I start uploading baby photos. I invite family and friends to look. Nobody does. Whatever.

Then, Christmas hits me in the gut, and I'm feeling homesick for cinnamon and wrapping paper. When everyone is asleep, I find myself in front of the screen scrolling through thousands of photos of people decorating Christmas cookies. I feel connected. It helps a little.

You see, no matter what people are doing in the computer-savvy, camera-owning world, they are posting pictures of it daily. Thousands of them. As a former cultural historian type, I find it fascinating. As a girl half a world away from most of the things she loves, I find it comforting. Even though I don't have an oven, can't find truly fresh butter, and won't pay the equivalent of $7 for a bag of chocolate bits, I can plunk myself down and see people making cookies. People making cookies TODAY. In places where it's snowing and Christmas music is playing. It helps more than a little.

Christmas is over, and my attention has turned from food to knitting. Our little family is headed into the cold later this year, and I'm itching to finger some wool. Here we have only cheap acrylic and low grade cotton, so while I'm making the best of it, I'm getting a nightly fix of knitting WIP's (works in progress) and FO's (finished objects) by the thousands.

I even posted my low-grade cotton WIP to a knitting pool, and I GOT A COMMENT TODAY! Way cool. I'm not alone. Someone's actually looking! (891 someones as of this evening, actually.)

And, with my new camera in hand, I have given myself a project for 2007. Project 365. A photo a day for a year. A slide show glimpse of my year. A photo diary. Turns out it's not an original idea and a whole bunch of people who are doing the same thing are looking at my photos. Validation.

So, while I watch the odometer spin on my little photo page, I hope you'll take a look a Flickr too. No matter what you're interested in, there are thousands of people taking pictures of it and uploading every day.

The Queen Had a Dream

Don't ask me how we know it, but we do. The Queen had a dream. (Amnat surmises that the court astrologer got word out to his friends.)

In the dream her son (her only son) the Prince, first in line for the throne, came to some harm. The court astrologer advised her to boil nine eggs (or, in her case, have someone boil them for her) and give them to her neighbors. Why, you ask? (Silly you.) FOR GOOD LUCK AND PROTECTION. (You might wonder, "Does the Queen HAVE neighbors?" Don't get bogged down in details.)

The Queen's dreams represent the fate of the Thai people as well as her own kin. Having averted disaster with her egg boiling, all of us who have only one son are doing the same. Amnat's mother boiled hers and called Amnat to have him boil his. Thinking Amnat might not do it quickly enough (smart mother), she also called Nok and told her to do it for us.

So, one morning last week (before the camera was out of bed), Nok boiled nine eggs and gave one to our landlady and eight to the man who salvages salvagables on our street. (Feet visible here).


I can feel the Good Luck and Protection already.

Trouble

This blog is generally light-hearted and (on a good day) amusing, but we ran into some serious trouble yesterday, and stopping to take this (mediocre) photo may well have kept Jimmy and me from being right in the middle of it.


Saturdays we often head out for breakfast (who am I kidding, we eat out every meal). Yesterday Amnat came home from our favorite breakfast place on Ratvithi Road ahead of Jimmy and me. He had a massage to give, and we had a favorite coffee shop to visit. Over coffee, Jimmy grew a little anxious to get home and nap, so we poured my big latte into a to-go cup and headed for the sidewalk sooner than I might have hoped. The birdcage across the way caught my eye, so we headed for it. Coordinating camera, latte, and carriage, I got my shot. The whole process, about one minute.


In the next block, we were approaching the noodle shop, a place I've been meaning to tell you about (just waiting to get a better photo), and this is exactly what I saw.

Men yelling and confusion. A man ran out of the noodle shop in front of me. His left hand was wrapped in a tan jacket. He ran into the street and yelled at a passing red truck taxi to stop. He got the people out and jumped in. Another man ran up to the truck taxi, stopped it again, and jumped in. Then a lot of men on the sidewalk. Walkie-talkies and head sets. They moved up the street ahead of me. We walked ahead a bit. There was blood on the sidewalk. Not a lot. We stopped in front of the mango stand. I couldn't understand anything anyone was saying and didn't know what to do. I just wanted to get off the street, but there was no place to go.


From the mango stand, I could see men gathered around a point on the sidewalk ahead of us. The ambulance came (and believe me, you never want to find yourself in one of these). I saw the face of one of the (very young) ambulance drivers as he shifted weight into the back of it, and it sped off. By this point, you didn't need to speak Thai to know that someone had been shot. The mango seller's wife was standing next to me. I asked her in Thai, "What's happening." I didn't understand the answer, but she made the universal sign for shooting gun.

People were all around and seemed unaware that something was happening. Students were coming and going from the school across the street. Traffic kept moving. I even remember that people were still eating their noodles while the guy was jumping into the truck taxi.

I hurried to the opposite side and past the spot where the ambulance stopped. There was more than blood on the sidwalk, and I could see that these were cops in street clothes. Lots of them. Emotionless. I got about a half block between it and us and started to cry. I thought about that birdcage and where I and my seven-month-old baby would have been if I hadn't stopped for it.

We've been back down Ratvithi Road since yesterday and the mango seller told Amnat what he knew. Two men were walking to the noodle shop from the university at a nearby temple, where they were taking classes. A man came out of the construction site as they walked past, shot one of them in the back and twice in the head, then jumped into a waiting red car. The second man (a cop) was shot in the hand. He ran to the noodle shop for help then commandeered the truck taxi to chase the red car. The man who was shot died on the sidewalk in a place we walk (and take photos) every day. He died under this ridiculous sign.


This morning we were awakened at 7:15 by loudspeaker music coming from the parking lot of the city offices (and ambulance station) across the street. After a round of Thai pop music (which I cannot explain), monks began chanting. It was a merit making ceremony for the man who died. Feeling some connection to this person whom I never saw, I went over to the edge of the parking lot. I don't know why, but the ambulance guys have a big Chinese shrine, and it was the center of this ceremony. The ancestor papers had just been burned in the red bin and prayers were being offered. As I left, I noticed people coming up the sidewalk, each little family group carrying an envelope. One hundred baht (about $2.50) to be offered to the family to help pay for the lunch, the tent rental, and the loud speaker rental. All traditionally Thai.


Apart from the horror of what happened, something in the reactions of people to it troubles me immensely. The first person I saw when I got home was Nok. I told her what happened. I got teary and felt shakey. She laughed. The second person I told was Amnat. After listening to my laborious explanation, he said, "Did Jimmy have lunch yet?" I told our friend Jo that afternoon. He had heard about it already. When he heard how close we were to it, he laughed. When the mango seller told Amnat that he grabbed his wife and ducked behind the bins of fruit when he heard gunfire, he laughed. The two old guys who were gossiping about it with him laughed when Amnat told them Jimmy and I were there too. There weren't even any tears at the funeral ceremony. I have seen this before. Thai people, if they react (publicly) at all to something highly charged with emotion, laugh. They place tremendous value on keeping "jai yen" or a cool heart. Sometimes I wish they'd just show what they feel, instead of bottling it up until in explodes.

Minor Vice

You know you're a regular when you order your daily latte, and it comes to the table looking like this.

Water Room Protocol

In Thai, the word for "bathroom" is "hong naam" or "water room." If you've ever been in Asia (or any other plumbing-challenged area), you'll quickly see the meaning behind the words. It is, in fact, a water room. It's mostly wet most of the time, because you mostly throw water all around when you go in.


Our hong naam looks like this (exactly like this, in fact). Shower shoes keep your feet kind of dry and about a quarter inch above the wetness. The pot and dipper are perhaps self-explanatory. Throw water in the squat toilet and all over the room to flush and tidy up. Thai people often come out looking a little damp. Westerners often come out looking a little confused. Generally, in Thailand you'll find no toilet paper or hand towels either. I haven't yet met a Westerner who could get a straight answer out of their Thai friends on the actual water room protocol, so we'll just leave it as the great unanswered question.

Showering happens in here too, and after a shower its REALLY wet. We, being city people, have a wall-mounted shower hose and even a water heater for the upstairs hose (the only hot water in the house). Our country cousins just dip water out of the clay pot and pour it over their head. Actually, several of our neighbors still do this, because at night I can hear the splashing dippers around us. And, Amnat perfers a cold dipper rinse after his hot shower. You can take the boy out of the country...

So, when we Westerners meet with an actual sit-down, flush toilet, we are so happy. No wet feet. No teetering on the rim. But, if a Thai person has been there ahead of you, you may find footprints on the seat. Sigh.

My favorite coffee shop, Tiida Coffee, has a real flusher with the following explanatory sign.


Meaning, "Please press the flush until done," or something to that effect. And given the fragile sewer infrastructure here, one additional bit of direction is needed;


Or, "Don't put anything into the flush."

P.S. I felt the need to explain to Tiida why I was taking pictures in her bathroom, and I made her promise never to change the signs. Our coffee-drinking massage students have been getting a giggle out of it, and having a giggle is so very Thai.

Nap Shot

Apologies loyal reader(s). Did I ever mention that I do all this blogging at night after Little lays down and before I fall into bed myself? It's amazing I can run a sentence together. I've been learning from reading other's blogs, some of which are remarkable, and I've been slow to post.

Enjoy this recent "nap shot" while I mull over my next move.

National Head Cold Week

In Thailand, the week after New Year may as well be designated "National Head Cold Week." Effectively, every man, woman, child (and massage student) gets hit. We've all taken our turn, despite habitual hand washing and (hopelessly ineffective) attempts to keep perfect strangers and passersby from reaching for Little's hands.

My Thai family are convinced that dew falling on your head is the cause of all this trouble. I've tried to explain that there is no dew here, but I'm making no headway.

I was feeling quite robust having been skipped over by the National Head Cold, when I made a tactical error at dinner on Thursday. I ordered a squeeze of fresh lime for my soda water. It came to the table looking lovely, and then the cook turned away and sneezed into her hands. (Dew, my ass.)


So, while we spent last week wandering around feeling pretty much like this..., we did find an up side to the whole thing. An opportunity to increase our Thai vocabulary!

Did you know that in Thai "runny nose" is "naam mook" or "nose water"? And, what we might colloquially call "boogies" our Thai friends call "kee mook" or "nose poop." In this same vein, my mother's "sleep seeds" are "kee taa" or "eye poop," and ear wax is (you begin to see the pattern) "kee whoo" or "ear poop."

Well, having significantly elevated the level of conversation in our household of late, I'll leave you with one additional thought. In Thai, the word for "stinky" is "men." (no comment)

Cute Suit

Alright, already. Enough of the holidays. And to think, I used to come here every year to get away from it.


Just in case you didn't get your RDA of cute today, I offer you this sweet little morsel. As you might have guessed, this is the work of a grandmother. It's cool enough at night that he'll get a good three weeks out of this, before we fold it neatly and keep it forever (Mum is sentimental).

New Year's List

As another New Year has dawned (where I am anyway, you are still watching the countdown), it has me looking around and noticing things I'm particularly thankful for, big and small. So, in no particular order, here's my New Year's list;


1. (Well, this is locked in at a permanent #1) I am richly blessed that Amnat and I were able to bring Jimmy into the world, where he is a little ray of (drooly) sunshine.

2. I'm thankful that for two years I have lived in a place where I don't have a mobile phone, an answering machine, a date book, any use for credit cards, a car, a washer and dryer, a stove, a coffee maker... you get the idea.

3. I'm appreciative that living without all of these things has slowed my life down a bit (well, the stroller is a factor, too).

4. I'm deeply grateful to my sister-in-law Nok for taking such good care of our little family. Without her, all of this just wouldn't be possible.

5. I'm thankful that my father's ex-wife has dropped me from her Christmas cookie list, and I don't have to throw out three pounds of cat-hair-laced cookies at this festive time of year.

6. I'm grateful that I am surrounded by people who actually think I'm beautiful and tell me so often, just because I'm pale and have straight brown hair.

7. I'm thankful that my brother Pete, with the help of his remarkable wife Diana, has made it through another year with a grace and good humor that are truly humbling.

8. I'm downright giddy that having a baby turned out to be a wicked easy way to lose weight (who knew? 15 lbs less than when I moved here! sorry, bragging).

9. I'm eternally grateful to my dear friends Liz and Rick for helping Amnat get the visa (otherwise known as the "Get-Outta-Jail-Free Card") that will get us all back home this year.

10. And, last but not at all least, I am grateful to my husband Amnat for having the guts to marry me, not because he always understands what I'm saying, but because he understands my heart.

Christmas Recap

Well, it was quite a weekend. We had the in-laws, Mae Ni and Khun Pung, for their first ever Christmas celebration. They came by train (and bus, truck taxi, and motorcycle) from Trat Province, through Bangkok and on up to Chiang Mai. They made an overnight stop with Amnat's sister Taan in Bangkok, who sadly couldn't make the trip this time. We made it worth their while. But of course, they'd cross continents (if visas weren't so #$&! hard for Thai people to get) just to be with Jimmy.


Christmas morning started with a hot bowl of "joak." It's a Thai breakfast standard, and with a (slight) chill in the air in Chiang Mai this week, it was warming and lovely. Think pounded rice soup in a pork stock with pork balls, fresh ginger, and green onion.


Mae Ni and Khun Pung are always happier outside, since they are farmers, so they had their joak on the front porch. And, yes, Mae Ni IS wearing a bath towel. We are all sadly underequipped for a chilly spell, and bath towels make great outerwear!


Since we were all VERY good this year, Santa treated us nice. Khun Pung and Mae Ni opened their first ever stockings and caught on right away. Mae Ni dumped hers out and started upwrapping, and when Khun Pung dumped his nearby, she swept her goodies in close with the quick reflexes of a seven-year-old.


It was after breakfast that things got a little out of hand. After the showering and dressing, Mae Ni and Khun Pung went off for massages at our friend Jo's shop. Amnat and I headed out with the stroller for a coffee and iced chocolate and a little last minute bakery run. And, I vaguely remember as we sauntered out the gate, my sister-in-law quietly asking something like, "shouldn't we be chopping vegetables or something?" It was in Thai, so I didn't catch most of it.


After making our leisurely rounds with Jimmy in his Santa suit getting smiles and waves from every motorbike in town, we roll back in the gate at about 2:00, and I'm thinkin' "let's open presents!" My sister-in-law is now looking quite serious, and says again, "you want me to chop something?" Ok, this time, it sinks in. As you know already (if you are a faithful reader, TWELVE people for dinner at 4:00!). So, Nok and Nong and I hurl ourselves at a huge pile of vegetables, fruit and flowers, while Amnat settles Jimmy for a little nap.


Again, faithful reader, you will recall the muttering husband ("why didn't we do this yesterday?"), to which Nok (quietly) replies, "Bon yert, tamgan nit noi." Sorry, that was Thai. "Complains a lot, works a little." (She can be quite funny, even when hacking at something with a machete.)


My dear friend Nong wanted to experience a true American style Christmas, so she slept over and rolled up her sleeves with the rest of us. I thought she'd be great at doing some special flower arranging for the party, but I had to pull her off flowers and get her to help mash potatoes with a drinking glass at the last minute. She looked a little dazed by the experience, but isn't that part of Christmas too?


We posed for pictures, looking cool and collected and having completely forgotten about opening our presents!


The party guests lined up for a photo op with the little elf.


Khun Poo (Grampa) and Khun Yaa (Grammy) were grinning from ear to ear all day. And, during dinner, I got more than one thumbs-up across the grass mat from my mother-in-law. She found a dried fig on her plate and was a little puzzled. When assured that it was fruit, another thumbs-up. As the whole thing was eventually winding down, she asked me, "Mee quam sook mai?" Are you happy? Like it was about me being happy. Very sweet, indeed.


Of course, gifts were exchanged, but with a twist. Everyone brought something nice, but the Khunchamnan's seeded the gift pile with a couple of gag gifts. Then, we took numbers, took gifts, opened them. Red faces in a couple of places. Gawp got sexy little black undies (which she could probably wear on one leg), and Khun Pung got a year's supply of toilet paper. Then, the fun really began. We drew numbers again and went round from low to high taking the gift we REALLY wanted. An electric sandwich maker jumped from person to person until Jomsi managed to hold onto it. And, sweetly, when it was Khun Pung's turn to have anything he wanted, he opted to keep his toilet paper. Mae Ni told me later, they could really use it (not in the bathroom, of course, but that's a story for another day.)


Little was a trooper throughout. No fussing. Just rosey cheeked and beaming in his little red suit.


And, just before rolling off to bed, the Khunchamnan's FINALLY opened their gifts. Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Turkey Tales

Ok. So, recently you heard me toot my own horn about being on top of my game (figured out how to upload vdo). Well, yesterday I completely dropped the ball (got to get in as many idioms as possible, as my peeps here just don't get it).

I invite TWELVE people for Christmas dinner. We have exactly ONE small toaster oven, ONE wok burner, and .... well, that's about it. What the hell was I thinking! I wasn't, clearly. And, it didn't hit me (hard) until 2 pm, with everyone due to arrive at 4 pm. Even with the Thai total disregard for clock-time, I suddenly realized I was up the proverbial creek. Luckily, I had two paddles - my dear sister-in-law Nok and my equally dear friend Nong. They stepped up the usual Thai-mindfulness-pace and chopped the vegetables, arranged the flowers, and set the table (well, floor actually) in record time. My (dear) husband just kept saying - why didn't we do this yesterday? Good question. Particularly for a Thai person who never plans ahead. (It seems to be catching.)

Anyway, it all came off beautifully. With not a grain of rice in sight, my Thai family and friends cheerfully ate Waldorf salad, duck with cranberry-orange glaze, mashed potatoes (with a precious dollop of sour cream!), and carrot salad. A word on the carrot salad. We have here the most gorgeous fresh coconut and pineapple. Wow, what a carrot salad. We even had a respectable (bakery-made) apple pie for dessert. It was lovely, as you can see. (If you want to see more, click the More Pam's Pix link in a day or so.)


All of this holiday food wrangling reminded me of another story that I gave my family a couple of Thanksgivings ago. It's a turkey tale, and in my family turkey makes an appearance at both Thanksgiving and Christmas (when you've just barely choked down the last of the Thanksgiving leftovers). So, having made in through another Christmas weekend, I offer you a little tale about holidays past. Make that holiday repasts.

. . . . .

I love my family, but they are terrible cooks, every last one of them. And, their attention for dinner conversation is short. Holidays at home are always buffet served on Corelle from the Formica island in my aunt’s kitchen. The eating, because it is eating, rather than dining, is dispatched with quickly, so the day is mostly cooking and cleaning up with big doses of t.v. for added distraction.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my people. I love that total lack of pretension. Actually it is distain for pretension. And, I love the card games after dinner. Was a time that cards also meant cigarettes and whiskey, but those days are gone. Now it’s just cards. Competitive, chicks-only cards at the kitchen table. The young men sometimes get suckered into a hand or two, but the old guys know better.

I do have vivid memories of my grandmother preparing the Thanksgiving turkeys. The night before, a big store-bought frozen bird would get set down into the scrubbed stainless steel sink for an over-night soak. In the morning, early, the stuffing preparation would begin; because it takes all day to cook a turkey until the meat has fallen-off-the-bone, my grandmother’s doneness standard. I should clarify. Fallen-off-the-bone means, in fact, meat desiccated to the point that it shrinks away from the bones under a layer of whisper-thin, cracked skin. This solves any problem of the bacteria brewed in the over-night bath.

Stuffing pre-preparation actually began a week or so before, with the drying out of the bread. Sun Beam Bread set around on baking sheets and air-dried until slightly curled. You see, there was a desiccation theme. First thing Thanksgiving morning the cast aluminum meat grinder came out of its cardboard box and got clamped to the kitchen table. A big mixing bowl was set under it, and the bread and a couple of peeled raw onions brought to the table. And, now the fun part. In rapt attention with my nose right at the edge of the mixing bowl, I watched my grandmother turn dry bread into bread dust moistened with essence of ground onion. There was a fear factor which held my fascination. I’m sure I was warned against fingers in the hopper, yet she pushed and poked that dry bread and those wet onions dangerously close, it seemed to me, to that grinding mechanism. Sometimes I would turn the handle for her, and I loved the sound of the meat grinder chewing up that dusty bread. You could almost feel it scratching the back of your throat.

For flavor, my grandmother would sprinkle her stuffing dust sparingly with Bell’s Poultry Seasoning, the little yellow box with the turkey on the front. And, then the most graphic part of all. The bird was lifted from its bath, and with the back of a big spoon, my grandmother packed that stuffing dust into that bird, and I mean packed. Packed so tight, that many hours later at the table, she had to shave that stuffing out of that bird the way you shave hard ice cream out of its tub.

It was never my favorite part of dinner, the stuffing; but I loved to watch her make it. So, this year, as I plump organic raisins in Spanish port before making my dried fig and cranberry compote, I’ll remember all the wonderful lessons about the pitfalls of pretension that I learned from my family.

A Christmas Story

I wrote this story for my brothers two Christmasses ago, and I thought I should "re-gift" it this year. Since writing it, Santa has come back into my life after a long hiatus. We're busy making happy Christmas memories for our little guy, and though he won't remember his first Christmas, we will always.

P.S. Aunt Kappi Rocks! The Santa suit (with real plush velour) is to die for!


I am the oldest of three, and so I was the first to come to doubt Santa. But, I do remember the last Christmas that I wanted to believe, and so do my brothers, even now.

In our family, we had a tradition. Christmas eve dinner at the living room coffee table featuring Mom’s once-a-year seafood casserole. Pretty simple really; mayonnaise, heavy cream, buttered bread cubes, chopped boiled eggs, a can of crabmeat, and a fist full of frozen shrimp (we are WASP's, obviously). And, she sprinkled the top with more bread cubes and melted butter, before putting it into the oven (I know, but it was the '70's). We loved it. And, there were side dishes. Chex party mix, chips and dip, popcorn balls, and homemade cookies with M & M stains baked into the dough. Actually, I remember feeling like throwing up on more than a few Christmasses, but I never put it to the Christmas eve dinner (not 'til now, anyway).

Mom was great with decorations too, which went up the day after Thanksgiving. Lots of “arrangements” on all available horizontal surfaces. She got the lingo from selling Home Interiors, Italian baroque injection-molded plastic items (which they cleverly called "syrocco"). She peddled the stuff at home parties (again, it was the '70's). The Christmas “arrangements” consisted of ceramic dancing angel trios balancing votive cups improbably on their heads, plastic mini-garlands wrapped around pillar candles, and tiny (empty) wrapped packages set (precisely) at random among more plastic garland. But, our three Christmas stockings were never part of the "arrangements." They were always held in reserve until Christmas eve.

After dinner, we were allowed to open one present. This was the second part of the tradition. It was always new pajamas. We ripped them open, and then put them on. They were a little scratchy, having come directly from the plastic packaging, but that was just part of the deal. After the ritual pajama opening, it was time to hang the stockings, the third part of the tradition. As the evening drew to a close, we each strategically placed our stockings for maximum impact. And, I gave mine an extra tug, to be sure the weight of the goods wouldn’t pull it to the floor.

Santa was very clever with our stockings. I noticed some kids at school got socks and soap in theirs. Filler. Ours were filled with precious little treasures, and none of them were ever wrapped. He seemed to wrap some kid’s gifts, which initially puzzled me. In our house there was a clear demarcation. Santa’s booty was unwrapped. Mom and Dad’s was wrapped, labeled, and bowed.

By the time I was ten, my brothers were seven and four. That winter at school, I couldn’t avoid hearing that Santa was a scam, and I could see it was probably true. I didn’t let on to my mother, thinking it would only disappoint her, and why interrupt the flow of gifts at this juncture? So, that year after hanging our stockings, we all went off to bed a little on the early side, as usual. In the middle of the night, I woke up and decided to get my brothers up too. I wanted them and all their tingling excitement in my room with me on this last Christmas, when I would rather have believed.

On our way back to my room, one of my brothers whispered, “Do you think he came yet?” We tiptoed to the top of the stairs leading down to the family room (yes, a split-level, I repeat - it was the '70's). The house was dark, and I opened my eyes wide and stared into the black. It was then I saw it. And, they did too at the exact same moment. We bolted to my bedroom without a word. When we were out of earshot of the family room, I asked, “Did you see it? Santa’s hat?” The white pompom on his red hat floated through the deep darkness of the basement family room as clear as day. And, we had all seen it. We lay there in agony, not sure if he had seen us and decided to skip us over that year.

With much debate, we realized we had no choice but to wait until morning. After fitful sleep, mercifully morning came. We got Mom and Dad up at about five (another tradition) and headed for the family room. He had come, and he had left us his beautiful unwrapped booty.

Santa made many more visits to our house, before my youngest brother gave up believing; but none of those visits would ever be as sweet to me or my brothers as the year we saw Santa Claus.

Sit

On Sunday, Amnat and I plopped Little down in front of the tree for some documentation of his most recent accomplishment, sitting!


Well, I didn't say that he was particularly accomplished at this particular accomplishment, did I?


At least, he was good-natured about the whole thing. Flopped over, no fuss.

Today is Tuesday, and he's mastered the art of sitting in the last two days. Wish I could still learn that fast. He's gonna catch up with me pretty quick, at this rate.

At Last, Video!

Been moaning for weeks about being too stupid (and tired) to figure out how to do it, and it was only about three buttons to push after all. How cool is this! I'm feeling quite on top of my game, I must say. Enjoy Little's video debut.