Home for the Holidays

Christmas. It can evoke a great deal of emotion. For example, for little kids: excitement; for grown adults: merriment; for other adults: depression; and for families: either anxiety or a warm feeling of love. It's really hit or miss.

Personally, I had a fantastic holiday. I was off from work, which meant that I had three glorious days to spend with family and friends.

Adam was supposed to pick me up around noon. Which he didn't, of course. He's really not one for following an actual schedule. Adam time has a formula: take the time he says he'll be there, add two hours. If its an important event, expect to be there +/- 10 minutes of start time. Generally the latter.

If there was one benefit to his being late, it was that I was able to have someone forcibly removed from my store. Twice. Merry Christmas.

The drive home was pretty frightening at times. The snow was coming down heavy and wet, making it difficult to see the road at times. However, we arrived in our lovely hometown around 8 pm.

I celebrated the impending holiday (as it was just Christmas Eve) with a beer. And some cookies. And then we went to church.

There is nothing like going to an upper midwest Lutheran church on Christmas Eve. The elderly, white choir always seems to find a new and interesting way to sing new-age Christian songs with the influence of either the classic "negro spiritual" or calypso stylings. Always a real treat.

Years ago, we used to be able to have candles for the closing hymn of "Silent Night," but after a few disasters involving candle wax and the new pew cushions, one of the many well-intentioned committees decided it would be for the best to completely avoid open flames. Now the choir gets battery operated light-bulb candles. They surround the congregation, the light of their 10-watt bulbs illuminating the church.

After the service, we returned home and went to bed. I couldn't wait for Santa! Lol cats. Actually, I was just really tired.

The next morning, I woke up and went to the living room where my mom had started a fire. On the TV, that is. WGN plays a loop of a fire all Christmas morning, which seems to be a bit of a tradition in my home now.

Santa brought me a toy polar bear which POOPS CANDY. Sometimes, things don't get much better than that. I got every thing I wanted, including a polar bear that poops.

We spent the rest of the watching TV, eating food, having a rockin jam session. The fam and I decided that it was by far, the best Christmas ever.

Christmas day night is reserved for the annual pilgrimage to the Dome Lanes. This remarkable bowling alley is the one drinking establishment that is open on Christmas Day in the tri-city area. Friends who I haven't seen in years, and some that I hoped I would never have to see again gather in a festive spirit for pitchers of Miller Lite, darts and pool. We laugh, catch up, and drink far too much. Also, did you know that you can still smoke in bars there?!? Uncanny!

The next morning, I decided that next year, I wouldn't be so festive at the Dome Lanes, as my judgment became impaired mid-way through the evening. The whole family got together to make eggs benedict, which as you know, has become my new specialty. Then I laid on the couch and cursed my poor reasoning the night before. The bloody mary which accompanied our benedicts had done nothing for me, though as I stated to my father, "I need this." That hair of the dog thing is a bold-faced lie.

Adam had gotten a slow leak in his tire on the way home, and on Christmas morning, discovered that he had a flat from where a nail had punctured it. He called all of the auto shops in the tri-city area, which is many more than you might expect. Because it was a holiday weekend, many of them were closed. Finally, he got a hold of someone. That person wanted to charge him $300 to patch the tire. Adam finally found someone who would do it for $20. We went to get the tire patched and then headed to Burger King and Walmart.

I went home and feeling much better, sat with my parents for a bit. It was their anniversary. 39 years! Whoa. It sort of makes me think that love is still possible in the modern age. Or perhaps my parents are outliers. I'm more apt to believe that.

We went out for dinner at the nicest restaurant in town, because it was a very special occasion! I got surf and turf. YUM. I'm fancy.

That day, which you Brits know better as Boxing Day, was very snowy. Very, very snowy. Christmas had been all melty and rainy, but Boxing Day was snowy. Which meant that the roads were now very icy. Home in pjs, laying on the couch, nursing a 7up, we watched a movie. At 10:30, Adam texted me saying that he would be at my house in 5 minutes and that we were going out to an ugly sweater party. Mom was not pleased.

I put on a dreadful puff-paint sweatshirt from the 90s. We drove off to the "fancy" bar in town, and after 20 minutes, went to the "dive" bar in town. I was tired and kind of crabby and was not in the mood to be drinking after the prior night's escapades. The bar smelled awful. Like poor choices and regret.

At 12:20, I reminded Adam that we would be going home now. He was distracted by a girl who now worked in Vegas as a hair stylist. They didn't speak, but he sent her a really creepy facebook message when he got home.

He dropped me off and began to get philosophical. I was too tired, and we would be in a car together for 5 hours the next day. I made him get out of the car and have a snowball fight. Because even though I was tired, there was beautiful fresh fluffy snow all around us. He nailed me. With a snowball. Sorry. I felt there needed to be clarification.

Hitting the sack was delightful, and all too brief. My mother sent me a text message at 7:15 and put the crazy dog in my room. We were going to shovel the snow. Yay!

Some good Samaritans came by and snow blew the worst of it. I shoveled some of the walks and then threw a snow ball at my mom. She threw a shovel of snow at me.

After the shoveling and the church, we went out to breakfast. Sunday mornings we go to the Serving Spoon, which is a delightful little cafe on the bay. We usually sit at the same large table and all sorts of people join us. However, some STRANGERS were sitting at our usual table, and as such, we had to squeeze into a couple of little tables.

Back at home, we changed into pjs again, and watched another movie. And ate some Mickey Lus. Now, if you're not from my hometown, you may not understand the glory of this cheeseburger. Its small, has a crusty bun, and "the works," which includes onions, ketchup, mustard, a pickle and a pat of butter. Best burger you'll ever eat.

The fam and I sat down to play some cards and then had another remarkable jam session. Adam and I postponed our trip back until 6. Which allowed for a little more family time.

When he came to get me, we gave him an encore performance of "Who dat baby," a song my father wrote in response to being subjected to years of awful choir performances. He'll be singing it at church on Sunday.

There's something really special about having a weekend like this with your family and friends. It's the sort of thing that while you're living it, you know that its a time you'll look back upon and think, "those were the good days." You have way too much fun, good quality fun, dull periods that are still fun and most of all, you just feel loved.

Now I have to go to work again. Literally, now. And as such, I'll leave you with a bit of wisdom: keep Santa in Christmas. And cherish the good times!