to remember Christmas

So for Christmas, I got out of bed, tramped into the front room, sat on the floor amidst cat toenails and wrapped presents. I had purchased two spiffy rolls of paper- one with snowmen, and one with penguins I think, but left that in my car so ended up using the santa paper from last year. This is fine. I will just use snowmen and penguin to wrap all of this years' birthday gifts. 

I had ravaged Target looking for a gift bag. Just a plain one. All of the gift bags this year sing and cook punch and tremble and cost $2.99. Unnecessary. So I found a silent gift bag with a garish poinsettia on it and lots of gold brocade. Purchased it. Discovered Christmas morning that it was too small for what needed to go in it. Brett wanted a real live hourglass for Christmas. Which, when he announced this at 11 pm on the 23rd, prompted visions of a 4 ft. tall mahogany thingy that would surely set me back more money than I like. But turns out one can purchase hourglasses for pretty cheap and they only come up to mid-shin.

However.

This hourglass stops every minute or so. Which completely defeats the purpose, though I feel lends character.

Anyhow, that is what was supposed to go in the Christmas bag. But it didn't, so I just gave it to Brett wrapped up in whatever that stuff is that's supposed to keep it from breaking.  Not bubble paper. I know EXACTLY what that is. 

I realize this is a narrative. Entirely uncalled for. But I suppose it will help me remember.

So we went to my Hopewell house and had a lavish brunch featuring egg casserole, sausage balls, me squirting something green (don't remember what it was now) all over the fresh tablecloth, blueberry dough chunks, and strawberry danish. Then we opened presents. 

My mother has an uncanny ability to know when I am running low on things like body wash and razors. Also my brother got me a family sized bag of Twizzler nibs. I'm almost done. Also received a sharp red wallet featuring a pudgy cat which turned out to be an owl, but I like it just as well.  Then Brett went to sleep, my father went to sleep, my mother boiled eggs and I harassed my brother for a couple of hours. I love doing that. 

Then we set up the ping pong table in the garage. I skunked Brett, was completely decimated by my brother without his ever having to shift his weight, then my father shamed us all. When it was my turn to play my father he allowed me a fifteen point advantage from the beginning. He won 21 to 17. So the next time he played left-handed. I don't want to talk about that.

Then Jazz got into my lap at left all her hair on my shirt. So I duct-taped myself off. 

Oh and THEN. THEN my mom decided it would be a good idea to sing Christmas carols. Brett and my brother were fairly perky about this. Brett had brought his flute, my brother plays guitar and my mother is Donna Reed so anything like gathering her kith and kin close to her bosom round ye olde pianoforte and caroling whilst the candles glow and bathe us in warm familial light is right up her alley. My father and I lurched in and he put his feet up. I fortunately know most of the carols from memory so was able to do several crossword puzzles while this went on. My father calling out helpful suggestions like, "Nancy- push the buttons on the piano softer! I can't hear the guitar!" 

Some of those songs have  A LOT of verses. 

My father was so pleased with the proceedings that he took it upon himself to drive down to his place of business and make photocopies of all the songs he felt we had sounded good on so that we could do a repeat performance later that evening at my aunt's house.

So we went there. Lots of old old people I had never seen before. And one minorly old woman wearing an electric blue crushed velvet jumpsuit riddled with gold beads. I had to hold her plant while she came down the stairs. Highlights of this excursion include: Ted- the orange Manx easily mistaken for a Buick and the rum cake sent by my church choir director that was really just a platter of rum sprinkled with flour. This choir director is a glorious southern lady with strawberry blonde hair and one son who plays the saxophone very well, moved to Vegas and married a Japanese woman. All this is fine with the exception of the fact that due to the Japanese influence, her first grandchild has been named SACHI, which she is not too sure about. Maybe she makes her cakes that way to forget. 

My grandmother divvied up her Bingo winnings from the assisted living facility amongst her three grandchildren. Which I think is just great. She apparently smokes everyone there in the Bingo.