Have Yourself A Melancholy Christmas

I've been thinking a lot lately about the future of Christmas in my family. My parents are in their 70s now, and though they both are in pretty good health, still they are the lynch pin that holds this holiday together for the family. What will it be like after they're gone?
Christmas has never been a religious holiday at our house, even though my brother and I grew up in church, and my parents are still very active in theirs today. Nor has it really been about Santa, even though we all look forward to the gifts, both as givers and recievers. It has been instead all about the family getting together, and even when it seemed that portions of the family were splintering, this holiday still brought us together.
Our house became the place the extended family came to for Christmas since before I can remember. I know that that's true, but the earliest Christmas I can actually remember was in 1969. It was truly magical for us. My brother and I woke to find an HO guage railroad set up for him, and a Hot Wheels track set up for me. At the time, it seemed gifts filled the whole room. That's the last year I remember believing in Santa.
My mom loves Christmas. She loves the tradition of it, she loves decorating the house, she loves the food, she loves entertaining (any time of year). But somehow, Santa was never a big deal at our house. My classmates at school would get into heated arguments in the lunch line about whether he actually existed or not, but I never participated, because I didn't care. (They also argued about whether "The Wizard of Oz" was a movie for "babies.") On the other hand, my mom, my brother and I had some serious discussions about which was the "real" Santa Claus: the one at Sears, the one at the tree lot, or the one at Penn Square. We decided the real one was at Penn Square, and I think it was because he had to park his sleigh at the Antique store on Classen Circle, just down the street from the mall.
My only other Santa memory is from a day in the middle of summer. I think I was six years old, my brother four. An older cousin of ours had come over with some large jingle bells. My brother and I were in the kitchen, when we heard him start shaking them. When we ran into the living room, my Dad said that Santa was doing a summer check to see if we were being naughty or nice. We raced out onto the front porch and stared at the sky while our cousin howled with uncontrolable laughter.
Somewhere between 1969 and 1971, Mom had casually mentioned that Santa was just Dad in a red suit. I don't remember why this came up in conversation, but I do remember that we were in the car on our way to a mall in the city on a sunny afternoon. It didn't surprize me, since Santa had my dad's handwriting, but I did wonder where Dad hid the red suit, because I'd never seen it. But from then on, everytime Santa was mentioned at Christmas time, my brother and I always responded with that smile one has when one is in on the joke.
Christmas of 1971 was celebrated on Christmas Eve for some reason. Santa was passé by that time, so there were no questions about how that would affect his visit. Previously that summer, I had discovered plastic model car kits, and I had spotted one that I really wanted. It was a Monogram model of a souped up fire engine called the Firecracker. That was at the top of my list for presents.
My Dad had a little shack out back of the house that served as his man-cave. That's where he had been hiding the presents that year, and my parents were not finished wrapping gifts when the family started arriving. I heard my Dad struggling with the back door, so I went to help him. When I opened the door, he started yelling "Go away! Get outa here!" I left, but not before I spotted the Firecracker in the stack of boxes he was bringing in. I had to act surprized when I opened it later. I may have overdone it.
I still have that model. It's in the china cabinet in my dining room.
For some reason, whenever I think of the family coming to that house, the face that stands out most is that of my cousin Gary. We never saw him any other time of year, and I could write a whole 'nother post about his sad life. He died of alcoholism just a few years ago.
In 1973, we moved to a new house, one that had a real dining room, and my mom became the hostess for the family's Thanksgiving and Christmas feasts. But her mother died in 1989, and there were marriages and divorces, and kids moving across the country, and other things that happen in the evolution of a family. Thanksgiving just seemed to disappear from the calendar in a way. And yet, Christmas always brings us together. The extended family is no longer there, and the significant others have changed. We don't even celebrate the holiday on the actual day anymore; we have to work it around everybody's schedules. (One year we celebrated on December 15, and another was in February.) But my mom works really hard to bring it all together, regardless of the changing circumstances.

I've always loved giving gifts, and I love it even more if they're truly appreciataed. My first Christmas as a working man (I was 16), I got my brother a Pachinko machine. He loved it, and I loved that he loved it. Now he lives halfway across the country, and I know little about his home life. As a result, I'm having trouble this year figuring out what to get his significant other. I imagined she might be having the same difficulty, so I sent her a suggestion for one particular family member. She reacted with anger, and I was confused by that reaction until I talked to my mom, who told me that the current economy has been bad for them. She apparently took my suggestion as a demand at a time when they could ill afford even the trip. Then we find out that she can't get off work, and won't be coming this year, which is very disappointing. So she's been on my mind a lot this season.
But that situation also made me wonder about the future of the holiday in my family. Without Mom and Dad, Scott's family actually has no use for Christmas, and I'm thinking in particular that I wouldn't ever see his daughter again. I'm seeing Gaby and myself, grey-headed, sitting in a Cracker Barrel, exchanging small gifts over turkey and dressing, and trying to get that game down to just one golf tee. I hope the future is a bit brighter than that. Who knows, maybe by that time we'll be able to take a cruise or something.

Thoughts on the Occupy Movement

My job involves driving the cars of a wide variety of people. Often those people will leave their radios on in the car, and I get a peek at the type of music they like, where they get their news, and their tastes in humor and religious programming. One night I heard Bill O'Reilly on FOX Radio talking about the Occupy movement, and it was pretty obvous that he was completely clueless.

At that time I had just finished reading Bethany McLean and Joe Nocera's book "All the Devils Are Here: The Hidden History of the Financial Crisis", so I had a decent understanding of how the whole financial crisis happened. Also, in the blogs I read, the wonkish economists have a lot to say about the perils of the current income disparity. It's not hard for me to understand why people are out protesting in the parks.

I have a good friend who is a left-of-left liberal. His Facebook page is filled with Occupy messages, some on the mark, some not so much, and I was inspired to write a blog post about my own impressions of the movement. But I never actually started anything until one of my friends from the other side of the spectrum posted a link to a story about Wall Street execs showering the OWS in New York with McDonald's employment applications. In the ensuing discussion he said this:
"I think whatever the Occupy movement tried to represent, it was co-opted long ago by anarchists, union thugs, etc. This movement won't help me pay my student loans. And, frankly, wanting a "free ride" is not what most Americans want. Hand-outs don't work. Never have, not long term. And that seems to be what the Occupy movement's underlying message is: 'You have something, and I want it. I'll have the government take it from you by force and give it to me.'" It was pretty much exactly what Bill O'Reilly had said that night on the radio.

So I started collecting notes from my various reading sources online, and collecting newspaper articles, just to have references to construct a meaningful blog post. But I didn't yet have the core piece that would bring it all together.

Then I found this. It's a comment on a post on the Frum Forum, a Republican blog with a centrist-to-right point of view. To me it summed up the whole thing and made all the rest of what I had collected unnecessary.

"Ray_Harwick // Dec 12, 2011 at 12:56 am
My sister is an RN at a non-union hosital where the Job Creators run the cartel. This year **all** of the staff, with the exception of the doctors and executive staff, were forced to take a pay cut; thereby widening the gap between the highest earners and even college-educated nurses and technical staff. For my sister, it meant she picked the wrong place to live because the amount of her pay cut was equal to the amount of money she spends on gasoline monthly to commute to work. Or it means about half of her mortgage payment for a two bedroom farm house of 1,200 sq. ft. that she had to save money for the downpayment for until so was 40 years old.
I get your point. Somebody has to win, right? And you want to continue the status quo of the top earners not only staying at the top, but holding the power of determining prosperity over everyone else. Win-win for the highest wage earners.
Gannett Publishing, owner of a couple dozen newspapers around the country, boasted about how they’d held down expenses for their stock holder’s benefit. Yes. They did. They layed off some 3,000 workers nationwide, mainly those on the news side, then rewarded their 57 year-old retiring CEO who “met Gannett’s challenges of the 21th century” with $39 MILLION good-bye present. I’m gonna say you’re beaming with pride over that, Mr. Foster, since it meets you ideal of keeping the living wage power in the hands of the Job Creators. Give yourself a pat on the back.
This is why I love to see the other extreme flaunt its power. I proudly point to the NBA Players Association which represent a couple thousand near, or actual millionaires who are the actual BACKBONE of the NBA. You know, the talent? Sort of like what the nurses who do all the work at hospitals are? Anyway, the NBAPA is equal in the argument for their sport. Too bad pro baseball is forbidden by law to do what the NBA players can do. But I suppose that’s why we can have minor leaguers playing for peanuts and holding down jobs at car washes in the off season.
The best question that came from last night’s GOP debate, in my opinion, was the one from a Yahoo commenter who asked “When was the last time you had to cut back on *necessities* in order to survive?” Did you notice that *none* of the candidates gave a direct answer and, of course, when Mitt Romney can bet $10,000.00 (or about 0.0055% of his net worth) on a *trivial* political point, it stands to reason why he’d have to admit that he *never* in his life had to cut back on *anything* in order to survive. He had to reach back into papa’s early days. Bachmann still clips coupons with her net worth in the millions! Poor girl. Rick Perry had to bath in a #3 wash tub, just like I did, and gee, what a great real estate oracle he turned out to be. So this millionaires club running for the nomination couldn’t even answer the question. Makes you feel cozy, don’t it. You’re working for them and as soon as you’re used up, the Job Creator cartel will dump you without so much as a going away party at the Motel 6 Hospitality Room."

The point of the Occupy movement is simply this: The system has been rigged, through a variety of methods, to send the wealth of the nation to a few at the top in such a way that the many at the bottom are deprived of the very opportunity to succeed, to advance, sometimes to even survive. It has nothing to do with a free ride, hand-outs or taking from rich to give to the poor. It has only to do with the removal of the artificial obstacles that keep people of good character and great potential at the bottom of the pile.

These Eyes

Gaby went to our optometrist's office today and picked up our new glasses. He didn't take any money with him, so I have to pay for them when I go to get my pair adjusted tomorrow. He did bring the bill, though, and boy am I glad we have insurance. My pair alone would have cost us nearly a thousand dollars. And I'm not even sure I like them. I'm practically blind, so picking out frames that look good on me is not easy. Now that I can actually see what they look like, I think my head needs to be taller and thinner. I guess I'll get used to them. If not, I'll just have to get poofier hair and lose some weight in my jawline.

Uhn Expeermnt in Communicayshn

Oklahoma, as a state, will be 104 years old this coming Wednesday, and I decided to try something on Facebook to celebrate: for one week I'm going to write all my posts with an Okie accent. I think I can do it well, but the hardest parts will be remembering to do it everyday, and rewriting reposts.

The seed for this idea was planted in my head a few years ago when I overheard a conversation among a family at an art show. One young man was bringing the food from one of the food vender's for the rest of the family, and when they asked him what took so long, he responded, "Stdnlahn fr boutnour." (I stood in line for about an hour.) For some reason, that got stuck in my head, and I wondered, 'how would you spell that?'

The second time I thought about this was when I was visiting my buddy Ted in New Jersey. He introduced me to two of his friends, who commented that I didn't talk like I was from Oklahoma. I said, "Well, I'm urban. But Ahcn tahk jss lahk my cuzznz down'n Antlers."

The third, and ongoing impetus is that I've been trying to teach myself Spanish for a while, and now that I have Gaby here to help, he tells me that I don't always pronounce my vowels correctly. This is a problem, because as an Oklahoman, I don't actually use vowels that much. In Spanish, if you don't pronounce your vowels, you might wind up saying a different word.

Gaby's family name is Guerrero, pronounced gay-r-r-reh-do (warrior), not guh-r-r-reh-do (dirty clothes.) As an Okie, I have trouble hearing the difference. We tend to not pronounce most of our vowels at all, and when we do, it's just a schwa (ə).

So, with these things in mind the other morning, I posted this: "Skina wundrin whut kina rsponss I'd git fi startd doin' awl my Facebk posts withnOkie axnt." (I was kind of wondering what kind of responses I'd get if I started doing all my Facebook posts with an Okie accent.)

The responses I got were:

"Huh?"

" i say, dear sir, your charming yet incomprehensible dialect has compelled me to leave you a rather generous gratuity. Cheerio!"

"Sum kinda cownty fair bringin the hayseeds intah town?"

"Weeel, idunnno, but ain't tooo muchin wrawg witit!"

This told me two things. One is that even people who are from here think Okie equals hick, and that just isn't so. We just have a definite way of talking. We don't sound like we walked out of a Ma and Pa Kettle movie or an episode of Hee-Haw. We don't have a drawl like Southerners; we speak at a normal speed. We don't double our syllables like the Tayuxans; that would require too many vowels. (In fact, the name of the state south of us has no vowels at all.) We do sound a bit redneck once in a while, but we don't flatten as many vowels as is done to the south and east of us. In fact, a lot of words are actually pronounced correctly in normal speech.

Besides the lack of vowels, we also tend to run words together to make new and often shorter words. Hence, "I was kind of" becomes "skina". We may use 'aint' and 'y'all', but we also have 'whollago' and 'yoosta'.

The other thing the responses told me was that people don't listen to the way they talk. For me, this is going to be an exercise in listening to myself. No exaggerations, no faking it for the laughs. When you read it, you should be able to hear me just the way I talk all the time.

One rule I plan to stick to wherever possible is that all punctuation, including capitals, will be correct (as in 'anOkie'). Apostrophes will be used once in a while for clarification (as in m'uthr).

So, I'm gunnaduit! Startn nex Wenzdy (Statehud Day), I'm gunna postenOkie awl week. Allyall Okies out thercn join me ifyalike.

Eavesdropping

Okay, I know this is none of my business, but you guys were talking loudly just a few feet from where I was working, and I couldn't help but overhear practically every word, and naturally I developed an opinion on what you were talking about.

First off, judging someone for being judgemental, I think, is the height of hypocrisy. Now that's not a criticism; hypocrisy is human nature. But it is a contradiction that weakens your argument.

Secondly, I'm guessing that you are, what? in your mid-thirties or thereabouts? So your parents would be at least in their mid-fifties, right? That would mean they've already settled into the people they will always be. If you can deal with that, good. If not, get out. If you want a change in the relationship, it's going to have to come from you, because they aren't going to do much changing.

Thirdly, most people aren't going to live their lives to meet your expectations. The only exceptions might be your kids or your employees, but even that's gonna have some huge limitations. If you don't like the people your brothers have become, tough. They're not here to please you; they have their own lives to live, whether you approve or not.

The big question that I see, and that your friends didn't ask, is 'Why do you feel the need to have everyone conform to the image that you think is right for them?' But like I said, this is none of my business.

Survivor

So I'm standing in the lobby working on my inventory when the decorative railing around the second story windows start to rattle as if the wind was blowing through an open window. I realized quickly that it might actually be an earthquake, but I didn't feel anything.

Moments later, someone from the 12th floor calls the front desk to report that their room was shaking. Did we have an earthquake? JS had been talking to MP, and was surprized by the call. He didn't know; we didn't feel anything in the lobby. Then someone called from the 10th floor to report the same thing. Then MP's wife called his cell phone to ask him if he'd felt it.

JS started hunting for news online, and discovered that we had indeed had a 4.7 magnitude quake. Later, on Facebook, my friend Mark reported that he'd felt it very strongly. His research revealed that the epicenter was actually very close by. He provided a map with the epicenter's coördinates, smack on top of his little hometown, 50 miles east of OKC.

Several other friends and my husband were reporting that they had also felt the quake. My buddy Jason, who also lives east of OKC, said he was feeling aftershocks till around 5:30am. So now I'm feeling a bit cheated.

Two Down. Way Down.

Yesterday was our 2nd wedding anniversary. I had plans, but had to work last night, so it was just going to be dinner at a new restaurant in town, and possibly a movie. I wanted to be there by 5:30 or 6. I expected Gaby to wake me in time. I also expected him to be close to ready to go. (It takes him an hour and a half to get ready to go to the grocery store.)
I woke up at 6:06. I found him in the kitchen, still in his sweats, microwaving a bowl of beans. I reminded him that we had plans. He had totally forgotten.
I'm trying hard not to be angry --he was, after all completely guileless, though I'm having trouble understanding why he would remember it was our anniversary but not that we were going to be doing something about it. But the truth is that I'm very disappointed and very unhappy.