Tag: Christmas

Working on Holidays

I love that more and more people are refusing to shop on the holidays in order to pressure companies to not force their staff to spend those days at work. And I love it when I hear of a company that chooses to do the right thing and close during those periods. I will always support organizations that support their employees.

But while you are enjoying your turkey today, please don’t forget that it’s not just the cashiers of this world who are forced to work on the holidays. As you read this, I’m most likely working all by myself on this, my favorite holiday, and feeling kind of lonely because of it. I’ll also be working on Christmas and New Year’s Day, just as I worked on Memorial Day and the 4th of July.

As a bridgetender, it kind of goes with the territory. Heaven forefend that the shipping lanes are not navigable for any reason. And I’m not alone. The ambulance drivers, nurses, policemen, cab drivers, 911 operators, security guards and airport personnel of this world are right here with me, keeping the gears of society turning.

So when you give thanks today, thank those of us who can’t sit at the table with you. And maybe bring us a plate. A little of everything, but hold the cranberries, please. I hate cranberries.

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It Came Without Ribbons

‘Twas an odd Christmas indeed for me this year in this land of total strangers. I didn’t deck the halls with boughs of holly. I didn’t string lights. I didn’t attend parties or wrap gifts. I left no cookies out for Santa as I knew that this year he’d pass on by. It’s hard to put on the ritz for a party of one. Instead I went to work.

While others donned their ugly Christmas sweaters, I was struggling into a pair of coveralls that make me look like a prison inmate. While others were drinking egg nog and singing carols, I was wiping the grease off trunions. While others were watching It’s a Wonderful Life, I was removing grime from buffer landings and striker plates. Drawbridges don’t clean themselves, don’t you know.

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Before you start feeling sorry for me, though, I have to say that I was actually quite happy doing all this, and not just because of the double time and a half pay rate. Although I had been braced to feel completely sorry for myself, somewhere along the way this feeling washed over me. It was the purest, most sincere sense of gratitude I’ve ever felt in my life. It actually brought sappy little tears of joy to my eyes.

After a couple years of pure hell, it suddenly occurred to me that in actual fact I’m in a really good place in my life right now. I’m not sure how I lucked out. A lot of it really was total dumb luck. But here I am, reaping the benefits regardless.

I’ve got the best job I’ve ever had in my life. I’m living in a really cool city. I’ve got my dogs, and a nice, safe place to live. I get to sleep at night like a normal person for the first time in 13 years. Things are really quite good. The rest will come.

At some point this made me think of that scene in the Grinch where he realizes that even though he’s taken all the material things away from the people of Who-ville, somehow he hasn’t managed to steal Christmas. Whether you’re a Christian or not, much can be learned from that story. Gratitude and love are what counts in this world. All the rest is just frosting. The cake is the thing.

And I do feel gratitude and I have love in abundance. Life is good.

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[Image credit: pinkpolkadotcreations.com]

The Lost Art of Communication

I got three Christmas cards this year. I miss them. We used to get so many that we’d string them up and hang them on our bannister. They became part of the holiday decorations. It was a great way to catch up with friends and relatives far removed.

Granted, in this digital age it’s much easier to keep in touch. It might be tedious to read a long Christmas letter when you’ve been hearing the news, bit by bit, on Facebook all year long. But there are limits.

Recently a friend of mine heard of the death of her grandmother on a Facebook post. I was stunned. I can’t even imagine receiving such horrible news in such an impersonal way. How hard would it have been to pick up the phone?

I think we’ve lost something as a species when monumental life changing moments such as death, birth, weddings, and divorces become tweets and posts. I actually think it’s kind of disrespectful. Close friends and family deserve the personal touch at times like these. If you can’t be bothered, it shows an utter lack of consideration.

But I have to admit that this societal deterioration has worn me down as well. I’ve stopped sending out cards in recent years because I discovered my time, effort and expense wasn’t being reciprocated or even acknowledged. I suppose that means I’m part of the problem. But I guarantee you I’ll never sink so low as to announce someone’s death on Facebook until I’m sure that all loved ones have been PROPERLY notified.

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[Image credit: projectdonelifestyle.com]

Rankin Bass’ Rudolph

I just watched Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, one of my favorite Christmas shows, for what’s probably the 40th annual time. I wanted to do something festive because I’ll be working Christmas day.

But being in a cynical mood, I’m noticing this year that this is actually a pretty cruel flick. It starts off with Rudolph’s father, Donner, criticizing him for something over which he has no control. And then Santa, who is the obvious leader and ought to know better, does the same thing. Then Donner tries to turn Rudolph into something he’s not by hiding his nose, and his wife goes along with it.

And then we meet Hermey, an elf who wants to be a dentist, while he’s being ridiculed by his boss, who not only belittles him for being different, but encourages all the other elves to join in. He even punishes him and threatens to fire him. It’s ironic, because Hermey is the only male elf that doesn’t have a nose like a light bulb. His boss tells him he’ll never fit in.

Then Rudolph’s team stands around calling him names, Santa berates his coach, Comet, even though Rudolph was the best flyer, and Comet, again the leading adult, encourages everyone not to let Rudolph join in any reindeer games. Clarice, Rudolph’s love interest, seems to be the only open minded one in the whole show. (Unless you count the rabbits, raccoons and birds who sing along with her). Clarice’s dad acts like a jerk, too.

No wonder they felt like misfits. We know that children’s contemporaries can be cruel, but even the adults are horrible. I would have run away, too. Thank goodness they found each other. The narrator said they didn’t know what they were in for, but if you ask me, home seems like it was infinitely worse than the cruel world outside, in spite of the Abominable Snowmonster and the crazy Yukon Cornelius.

And the Island of Misfit Toys is depressing as hell. There are all these perfectly delightful toys, and none of them want to be where they are. And I never could figure out what was supposed to be wrong with the doll.

In spite of all his horrible treatment, Rudolph does the noble thing. He sets off on his own so as not to endanger his friends. Heaven knows where he found that nobility. He certainly wasn’t shown any examples of it.

I always thought that the most distressing part was when Yukon fell over the cliff after Hermey removed Abominable’s teeth, because his dogs take the plunge with him. I mean, what did they do to deserve that? Animal cruelty at its worst.

Even after everyone apologizes to Rudolph, it seems that the only reason everyone is now accepted is that they have utility value. Hermey will be the North Pole’s Dentist, Abominable will be the tree decorator, and Rudolph is now Santa’s spotlight.

If I were to make a sequel to this story, I’d say that Rudolph and Hermey hit their teens and rebel like nobody’s business. They’re surrounded by basically rude and inhospitable “people” whom I don’t think can really tamp down their vicious streaks based on just one glowing Christmas run. This story may seem as if it had a happily ever after ending, but not to my jaundiced eye.

Ah, the messages we send to our children. Don’t even get me started on the Brothers Grimm. Bah humbug.

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A Parade from the Inside Out

One of my coworkers moonlights as a Duckboat Tour operator here in Seattle. I’ve yet to have the opportunity to take one of these tours, but it’s way up there on my to-do list. Just riding in a vehicle that leaves the street then plunges into the water, then later drives back out again, would be worth the price of admission.

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So when he posted on his Facebook page that he’d be driving a duck in Seattle’s annual Macy’s Holiday Parade the day after Thanksgiving and that he needed passengers, I was jumping up and down. “Me! Me!”

The only real down side, aside from the fact that it was bitter cold and raining out, was that we had to meet at the “nest”, where they keep the ducks, no later than 6:50 in the morning. But still, I was excited. I had seen plenty of parades in my lifetime, but I’d never actually been in one.

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I have to say it’s a different experience entirely. After we drove to the staging area and jockeyed for our position amongst a great deal of confusion, there was even more waiting than the spectators experience. The parade wasn’t to begin until 9:00. But the time passed quickly because it was extremely surreal. Clowns and penguins and snowmen were wandering in the rain, some without their costume heads on, looking dazed and confused. Polar bears conferred on the sidewalk. Balloon floats alternately sagged and perked up and bumped into each other. I honestly couldn’t imagine how this chaos would turn into a parade, but somehow it did.

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On the duck we were given a choice of Santa hats or antlers to wear. I went for the antlers. You can never have too many antlers. They were playing some of the funniest ever Christmas music full blast, and we started singing along and rocking out. Santa stopped by to say hello on his way to his place of honor in the back, and high school marching bands started streaming past, looking wet, miserable, determined and excited by turns.

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 And then we were off. And suddenly everything made sense and went off like clockwork. It was really amazing. And I’ve got to hand it to Seattleites. The streets were packed in spite of the freezing rain, and it kind of made you feel proud. It also made me feel even more obligated to give them a good show, so I waved and smiled at every little kid I saw as we boogied on down the road. I even spotted two really nice women I had met at Thanksgiving the night before, and that was really fun. “Look at me! I’m in a parade!”

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And the energy that was directed back at us was amazing. People were so happy and excited to see us! For the first time in my life I got a little taste of what it must feel like to be famous, and it is without a doubt addictive as hell. I didn’t want it to end. More please. What a rush! I was grinning in spite of myself. And I was thrilled to see a reflection of us in a department store window.

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And then abruptly it was over. Balloon floats deflated, characters pulled off their heads, and band members scattered to the four winds. And naturally we were caught in a float jam of epic proportions.

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But eventually we made it back to the nest 4 hours after we had left, still high on adrenaline and rather pleased with ourselves. I will never view a parade the same way again. Each one is a miracle of coordination and teamwork and patience. This was a delightful experience that I’ll always remember. What a fabulous way to kick off the holidays!

Exploring Seattle – Part 9

I’ve decided that Ballard is my favorite neighborhood in Seattle. I doubt I’ll ever be able to afford to buy a home in this outrageously expensive town, but if I could, that would be the area I’d want to live in. It is rich in Nordic history, which brings me back to my roots.

Apparently I spoke Danish before I spoke English. As a hard-working single woman, my mother had no choice but to leave me with my grandmother during the day, and she spoke to me in her native tongue. Once I was old enough to go to school, I lost this talent, and my grandmother passed away when I was 8 years old. I have no memories of speaking Danish, and that’s a pity. I would love to have that ability today.

I thought of my grandmother quite a bit when I visited the Nordic Heritage Museum last week. It’s housed in the heart of the Ballard neighborhood in a former elementary school, so all the railings and door handles are unusually low, and that brought me back to childhood as well. While there I read the stories of the people who had come to America from that region to make new lives, and I saw a lot of the items they brought with them along the way, which reminded me of some of the things my grandmother brought. There were also crafts that looked familiar to me, and skills that my grandparents possessed. My grandfather was a very experienced seaman (in fact he died at sea during WWII) and he was also a dairy farmer. These are very Danish qualities.

All the faces in the pictures, with their pale skin and ice blue eyes and heavy eyelids could have been relatives of mine. And the Danish room with its plain, simple, severe Lutheran religious display struck a chord, too. A translated excerpt from a Danish children’s book entitled The Flight to America made me smile. It said, “In America the rain tastes like lemonade and you can spit on the floor as you please.”

I was delighted to see that they were having a Nordic Christmas Celebration soon called Yule Fest and it would fall on one of my days off, so I made a point of going back. The place was packed. It was full of craft and food vendors and musicians. I spent more money than I intended, because I couldn’t resist the Danish Æbleskiver (which is a kind of pancake that’s shaped like a tennis ball, topped with jam and powdered sugar), the bratwurst, and the clam chowder. I was also dying to buy the sweaters, the candles, the Danish plates, and the jewelry, but I had to control myself.

As I sat there in the crowded hall eating my delicacies and listening to the music, I looked around at the weathered faces, and listened to them telling stories to their grandchildren about the home country. It made me feel somehow connected. As transient as my life has been, that’s a feeling that I’ve rarely had.

I want to get more in touch with my Danish heritage. I even thought of taking Beginners Danish at the Scandinavian Language Institute that’s housed in the same building, but unfortunately it takes place on a day I have to work. Maybe some day. I quite like the idea of coming full circle. Like an Æbleskiver.

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[Image credit: wikipedia.org]

The First Christmas Commercial

This year I saw my first official Christmas commercial on November eleventh. Already? Decorations in the stores cannot be far behind. I feel like I’ll have to take a really deep breath and sink below the surface of society between now and January second, because it has become too much to take. Honestly, the Christmas spirit has been beaten out of me by Madison Avenue. I’m so over it.

I feel particularly hypersensitive to this whole phenomenon this time around because I will be spending Christmas alone in a state where I don’t know anyone. No one will be waiting for me under the mistletoe. It’s hard to feel all warm and fuzzy when the chestnuts are roasting on everyone else’s fire but your own. Bah humbug.

And when you’re grumpy or blue during the holiday season, you feel added societal pressure because ‘tis the season to be jolly, after all. What the hell is wrong with you? Here, pacify yourself with a candy cane. Fa la la.

I truly believe that the greatest gifts you can give anyone are understanding, compassion, patience and tolerance. So if you are in the mood to jingle your bells and deck your halls and grate us with your tidings, do the rest of us a favor. Cut us a little slack. Tone it down just a few notches, m’kay? Let us grumble in peace.

I don’t even like candy canes.

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Sending Art into the World

When you are a creative person, the art that you make feels like it’s a part of you. When you sell it or give it away, it feels like you’re sending a child off to college. You still have a connection, but you know that for all intents and purposes that child has embarked on a life of its own.

Recently I got to hear what actually became of some of my work, and it blew me away.

In the virtual world known as Second Life, I have an annual Christmas tradition where I create an ornament out of one of my fractals, and give it to people who like my art. So I created this year’s ornament, sent it out, and a few minutes later I got a message from a woman whom I had never met. She thanked me for the ornament, and then told me that she has been carrying the one I gave out in 2009 almost daily since then. She said it appeared in many of her photographs, and sure enough, she sent me a few and there it was, sharing a variety of significant moments in her life. That ornament, she said, was sort of a lucky charm for her, and it had been with her in good times and in bad.

I cannot even begin to tell you how flattered I was to hear this. The idea that something I created had been out there in the world for the past 4 years, playing such a major part in someone else’s life renders me speechless.

When you send art into the world, you have no idea how it might impact others. That’s the most amazing thing about being an artist.

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A few of my fractal ornaments from years past.

A Christmas Thought

I am having a hard time getting into the Christmas spirit this year, which has placed undue stress on my blogger’s heart. Fortunately, I am quite lucky to be surrounded by unique people with very creative minds. Not only is this Christmas tradition fun and entertaining, but it’s a financial God send for those of us who aren’t among the one percenters, and it’s a humane act for those poor neglected trees out there. Having said that, what follows is written by Chuck Guerra. His pithy commentary and delightful turns of phrase always warm my heart.

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Soon, it will be time to begin my annual Christmas tree rescue campaign. Each year, thousands of unsold Christmas trees are just discarded on December 24th, like so many unwanted puppies or kitties. The exploiters of the tree community just throw them on the street, waiting on the frozen asphalt to be picked up and ground into mulch.

Many years ago, I decided to do something about this inhumane practice. My children and I would go out to these “death lots” and pick up as many of these discarded creatures as we could fit in my truck and bring them to our house. We would set them up in the yard and decorate them. One year we rescued 15 or so and kept them until Valentine’s Day, when their time was done.

One lucky creature was chosen for our living room, which we decorated with the usual tinkle and garblins, etc. I am a socially responsible and caring man, who sees the irony of buying a $75.00 Scotch Pine and just throwing it away at New Years.

So, if you can just realize that Jesus Christ was born on December 11, 3 B.C. , maybe this Druid holiday could be offset by a week or so in your minds and you can see that Christmas, as most people observe it, is the celebration of the birth of the gross national product.

Amen and Amenhotep

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Andy Johnson is Back on the Radio. Heaven Help Us.

Yes, it’s that time again. My quarterly rant about Andy Johnson, the man who stole thousands of dollars from me and refuses to pay it back, despite my winning court judgment and my lien on his house.

If you want to get the full, ugly story of what this man did to me, check out my blog entry, Andy Johnson, SHAME on you!!! Or you can get the abbreviated version of the whole sordid mess here. But if you don’t care about this man enough to be bothered, and on most days I’m right there with you, suffice it to say that this guy, who tries to style himself as a pillar of the Jacksonville community, is in actuality a thief. As a matter of fact, I’ve recently caught him in some more lies. You can read about that here.

And now he is back on the local airwaves, attempting to perpetuate his own myth. I couldn’t be more disgusted. Here’s the irony. The reason he took my money in the first place was in a desperate attempt to remain on the air a little while longer, and in that he failed. Our airwaves have been blessedly devoid of his blathering for quite some time. But now he’s baaaaaack!

Another irony: in theory his politics and mine are quite similar. I’d love to be his cheerleader. I’d love to support him. But unfortunately I know the content of his moral fiber, and it’s flimsy at best.

What Andy doesn’t seem to realize is that he’s somewhat of a Jacksonville joke. A political has-been who sometimes manages to pay for a few hours on an obscure am radio station to blather on, no one really takes him particularly seriously.

The five views a day I get on my Andy Johnson rants are probably a larger, more loyal group than his listeners. If you listen to his show for any length of time you’ll realize that he spends the bulk of his time begging for callers.

Here’s a cool idea. On weekdays, from 2-6 pm eastern standard time here in the US, listen to his inane show at http://1600thebeach.com, then call 904-861-1026, get past his screener by saying you want to ask about some political foolishness or other, and when you talk to the man himself, ask him if he respects the courts and feels he’s a law abiding citizen. When he says yes, ask him why, when it’s a matter of public record that he has to pay Barbara the thousands of dollars he took from her, he hasn’t bothered to do so.

It would be so much easier and less embarrassing for him if he would just do the right thing and pay me, but yeah, eventually I’ll sell my judgment to a professional who will get the money from him and pay me 50 cents on the dollar if I’m lucky. Either way he will pay on that judgment eventually. But in the meantime, I’m rather enjoying spreading the truth about this man and hearing from others whom he’s bilked. And if it prevents even one more person from being taken in, it’s worth it. Let’s keep those lines of communications open!

New Andy Johnson Pic(This is Andy Johnson. Ironically, we’ve never met face to face. But knowing what I know about the man, even his photo makes me shudder.)