Category Archives: Family and Friends

Relationships and personal interaction

A place for Mrs. Prothero

Over the last few weeks, we’ve talked about Christmas traditions, sharing our families’ favorite movies, music and rituals.

Before we move on from Christmas, there is another ritual in my family that I am betting no one else shares.

For nearly as long as I can remember, every Christmas Eve, after dinner, while we are still at the table, my father has read Dylan Thomas’ A Child’s Christmas in Wales in his best Richard Burton accent.

We and our children have learned to sit patiently and listen to the story. Joking groans sound around the table as my father pulls the weathered booklet from his vest pocket, clears his throat and begins, “One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.”

Even though the recitation comes at the very moment of the whole season when I am most apt to nod off, I find the story engaging. I imagine a cold December night, smoke swirling from the chimneys of early 20th century Wales. It is truly one of the most beautifully written pieces in modern literature.

We have come to know the characters in the story. Mrs. Prothero might as well be at the table with us, as she and the other characters have become part of our Christmas family. There are several parts where we all chime in, having memorized the lines. Here are just a few of our favorites. I defy you to not read these in your best Richard Burton accent.

About winter in Wales:

“It was always snowing at Christmas. December, in my memory, is white as Lapland, though there were no reindeers. But there were cats.”

“I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.”

“Men and women wading or scooping back from chapel, with taproom noses and wind-bussed cheeks”

About the Christmas presents:

“Once I had a little crocheted nose bag from an aunt now, alas, no longer whinnying with us. And pictureless books in which small boys, though warned with quotations not to, would skate on Farmer Giles’ pond and did and drowned; and books that told me everything about the wasp, except why.”

“Hardboileds, toffee, fudge and allsorts, crunches, cracknels, humbugs, glaciers, marzipan, and butterwelsh for the Welsh.”

About the family:

“There are always Uncles at Christmas. The same Uncles…Some few large men sat in the front parlors, without their collars, Uncles almost certainly, trying their new cigars, holding them out judiciously at arms’ length, returning them to their mouths, coughing, then holding them out again as though waiting for the explosion; and some few small aunts, not wanted in the kitchen, nor anywhere else for that matter, sat on the very edge of their chairs, poised and brittle, afraid to break, like faded cups and saucers.”

“After dinner the Uncles sat in front of the fire, loosened all buttons, put their large moist hands over their watch chains, groaned a little and slept. Mothers, aunts and sisters scuttled to and fro, bearing tureens. Auntie Bessie, who had already been frightened, twice, by a clock-work mouse, whimpered at the sideboard and had some elderberry wine… Auntie Dosie had to have three aspirins, but Auntie Hannah, who liked port, stood in the middle of the snowbound back yard, singing like a big-bosomed thrush.”

I wonder if Macy’s has any crocheted nose bags left.

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Time for a change

I promised I’d tell you about the 9:45 a.m. phone call that got me out of bed yesterday.

The call was from my doctor with the results of a recent blood test. Not to worry, the diagnosis was not of a disease and it’s something very common. Just not for me. So I’m bracing myself.

The test results foretell change swirling about our house. All I can do now is wait. For mood swings, hot flashes, maybe a mustache. I have already started losing my thick hair. And now I’ll be growing hair where I don’t want hair. Like on my chin.

I apologize to those with delicate sensibilities for the indelicate subject today. But I also thank the creators of All in the Family who, in 1970, brought a taboo subject into American homes, and playwright Jeanie Linders, who turned a horrific condition into a Broadway musical.

My husband isn’t sure what to make of it all. His first question had to do with the mood swings: “How is this going to differ from how you already are?” At least he didn’t ask that about the mustache.

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Inertia

I am sorry to be a little late again today with the post. I am also sorry for all those who had to go in to work today, especially if they were the principal executors of their families’ holiday preparations. I could not have gone in to an office today.

I awoke as usual, between six and seven this morning. I told myself, “You have to get up. You have to feed the cats. You have to go to exercise class. You have to write your blog.”

“You have to turn over and go back to sleep.”

 Then I succumbed to the intense force of gravity that pulled me deep into my Stearns & Foster Pillowtop mattress. At around eight, I started to wonder why I was so tired. Granted, I did get up early yesterday to work at church, but then I came home and spent the rest of the afternoon on the sofa. And I went to bed early. I had no idea why I’d be so tired. I hadn’t felt this fatigued since, oh, right after last Christmas.

Then the vignettes started rolling in my head. They started around the second week of November. Designing Christmas cards, writing the dreaded holiday letter. Having the letter printed. Then re-printed. Shopping. Wrapping. Shipping. Side-stepping contractors working in our home during the most important three weeks of the year. Traveling on business while, thankfully, my husband did all the decorating. Trading infections four times with my husband. Meal planning. Entertaining. Grocery shopping: many trips to many stores, timed just so, to maximize product quality and freshness. Cooking. Lots of cooking. Meeting my son’s new girlfriend and hoping she’d like us. Adhering to written budgets and project plans. Following timelines set so that the three of us could get out the door for church on time Christmas Eve. Failure. They weren’t ready on time, so I left them. (As they’d say on Everybody Loves Raymond, I AIS’ed ‘em.)

Then came Christmas Day. We slept in, which was heavenly, and enjoyed a nice breakfast followed by exchanging gifts. We Skyped in my brother-in-law, who joined us via satellite at his usual seat on the sofa.

My husband cleaned up the wrapping paper, cautioning me, “You know, when I die, you are going to have to take over this job.” Wow, I have only 25 years to learn how to put trash in a bag.

After that was done, napping and movie-watching ensued while I spent three and a half hours in the kitchen preparing dinner. This included the traditional ritual of a kitchen accident which, this year, involved my slamming two fingers in a metal door.

The phone finally got me out of bed this morning at 9:45. Maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow what that was about. In the meantime: Cats fed. Exercise class missed. Blog written. Back to bed.

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Nightmare before Christmas

The stress of the impending Christmas holiday has caught up with me. Maybe you can relate. Perhaps by the end of the day today, you will have reached your travel destination or your visiting relatives have arrived on your doorstep.

You haven’t sat down for weeks, having cleaned up the wrapping supplies in time to set the dining table, and then pulled them back out after a last-minute addition of a relative to the festivities. You have survived the melee that is the grocery story parking lot with one wit and come screeching into your driveway on two wheels.

Television dramas and sitcoms like to show Christmas movies surfacing in dreams during the holiday season. You’ve seen It’s a Wonderful Life featured in characters’ dream sequences, as Brothers & Sisters did a few weeks ago.

One of the favorite movies in our house is National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. Last night, it became my own personal dream sequence. If you know the movie, think through it with me, and I am betting you could conjure your own dream sequence featuring the characters of your holiday.

One member of the family, exceedingly idealistic about holidays, has unrealistically high expectations for this Christmas, willing to go to great lengths for a Normal Rockwell experience. The next door neighbors, who don’t celebrate Christmas, shake their heads at the spectacle.

A backwoods cousin arrives, bursting with contentment and enthusiasm while getting on everyone’s nerves with his annoying habits and clumsy foibles.

Arriving with the in-laws is a cacophony of conflict, with each trying to out-shout the other, everyone talking at the same time.

Meanwhile, tensions at the office escalate when the traditional holiday bonus doesn’t come and the protagonist tries to put up a cheerful front with the family. He suffers pangs of nostalgia about his own childhood Christmases and struggles to keep the spirit amidst the chaos.

Christmas Eve arrives, along with the doddering aunt and uncle, who have one mental marble between them. She doesn’t know her own name and says the Pledge of Allegiance when asked to say grace. He sets the Christmas tree on fire with his cigar. Don’t you just hate when that happens?

In one of the final scenes, the idealist exclaims, “Merry Christmas, Holy Sh**, where’sthe Tylenol?”

Sweet dreams!

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Sentimental greeting

How long have you had your current voice mail greeting?

I just realized we have had the same greeting on our home phone for 15 years. Isn’t it about time we changed it?

There are three distinct and definitive reasons we should. One, it mentions Monica, Marty and Joseph. Joseph hasn’t lived here since 2006. Two, Joseph hasn’t been called Joseph since 1995. Three, the greeting contains a grammatical error.

It says, “You’ve almost reached Monica, Marty and Joseph but since you didn’t, leave us a message…” the word “since” is incorrect here. The correct word is “because.” I knew that but, as many are prone to doing, I continue to fall into sloppy habits. Guilty as charged.

“Since” is often used interchangeably with “because,” but not correctly. “Since” relates to the time passed from one period of time to another:  He has been chairman of the board since 1995. I have not seen him since Saturday.

Still, I am sentimental about the greeting. It’s the first greeting I recorded after getting voice mail service through the phone company, replacing the old fashioned answering machine.

Back when we had the old machine, we used to change our greeting often, tailoring it for the season or current events. Now, I just can’t do it.

There’s no way to preserve for posterity this greeting that served us well for 15 years, poor word choice and all. Plus, I can’t imagine representing our family any way but Monica, Marty and Joseph. Joseph is Joe and Joe is gone. No one leaves him messages at this number any longer.

I’d love your suggestions for a new greeting, since—er, because—I am facing a mental and emotional block.

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Morpheme drip

On October 15, National Dictionary Day Eve, I came out with my confessions of being a dictionary dweeb. Since then I have received a variety of dictionaries from some thoughtful readers. One day soon, we will get into A Dictionary of Slang and Unconventional English, which I received from a reader in Alaska (make of that what you may; we’ll need to see if “refudiate” is listed).

In the 10/15 post, I recalled the first dictionary I ever had, The Harcourt Brace School Dictionary, which I used in the fourth through sixth grades. I thought I had it around here somewhere but it was not be found among my childhood artifacts. I will say it again, I loved that dictionary. And yesterday I discovered that everything I know about grammar, spelling and word usage came from that primer. Which explains a lot.

My mother sent me the old dictionary for my birthday. It still smells the same as it did in 1970.

It seems that, when I went on to junior high, I passed the Harcourt Brace on to my younger brother, who wrote his name in it three times, along with a phone number and a note that said, “If not home, call back in 2 or 3 hours.”

Prior to that I had doodled all over the cover and inside pages. My friends had scribbled,  Monica loves XXX, several times, and I had crossed out all the XXXes. There were small illustrations near some of the definitions, where I had written the names of people I didn’t like. One illustration is of a peccary and, even today, I couldn’t have told you what a peccary is without consulting the definition: either of two wild animals of tropical America, like pigs with sharp tusks. I won’t say whose name I wrote under that.

The real nuggets are found on the first 65 pages, before the definitions of words beginning with A.

Pronunciation keys, spelling charts, abbreviations, basic dictionary skills, age-appropriate etymologies, parts of speech, idioms, they’re all in there, along with a section on Spotting the Troublemakers. There are sections on variant spellings and pronunciations, regional pronunciations and British and American spellings.

It’s good to know that during these years, I wasn’t spending all my time reading Tiger Beat and pinning Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy posters up on my walls.

So class, who can tell me what inflectional forms are? The inflectional forms of a word are forms changed by adding a morpheme. What’s a morpheme? I need a refresher myself. I can’t even make out Wikipedia’s explanation. Expect a post on morphemes soon. Perhaps you’d like to write it.

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Time capsule in the news

In case you missed them, here are some headlines from Sunday’s Washington Post:

“Twining Criticism Stirs NATO Clash”
“Bulgaria Reds Shift Politburo”
“Nixon Committee to Organize in District”
“Gay Clothes Put Sparkle in Young Eyes”
“Cosmopolitan Tehran Lacks Middle East Table: Hardest place to find a Middle Eastern restaurant in”
“Electronic Gadgets Shrinking to Specks”
An op-ed piece on “Wall Street Money and Politics”
“The Federal Diary: Efficiency Rises in 3 Agencies”

Confused? I pulled these headlines from the Sunday paper that was printed on December 13, 1959, the day I was born. I still have the actual paper my father bought at the Hilton at 16th and K Streets after he dropped my mother off at Georgetown University Hospital. That’s how things were done back then. 

Fifty-one years later, that newspaper is all yellow and crackly around the edges, as am I. Still, I pull it out every year and marvel at how things have changed—and how they haven’t—since 1959.

Debbie Reynolds graced the cover of Parade, while Ann Sothern appeared on the cover of TV Week.

What is now the Style section was “For and About Women.”

One could buy a completely redecorated row house in Georgetown for $28,000 or rent a furnished luxury apartment at 2400 Pennsylvania Avenue for $160 a month. A house in Kensington, Md., where I live, went for $18,900.

District residents were enticed to do their shopping at Julius Garfinkel & Co., Woodward & Lothrop, Kann’s, Raleigh Haberdasher, Best & Co., Stein’s, G.C. Murphy Company and People’s Drug.

IBM took out a want ad for machine operators, offering complete training in Key Punch and Tab and Wiring. Another company advertised openings for “Ambitious Men (white).” Egads.

Before I put away this paper time capsule until next year, I thought you might enjoy a few images.

 

I’m betting many of you recall Washington in the 1950s. Does any of this stir a memory?

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Film festivus

Guess what? We just got a new VCR. I’m very excited.

Yes, you read it correctly. VCR, as in video cassette recorder; perhaps you’ve heard of it.

I don’t watch many video cassette tapes, but my husband does. He buys cases of used classics and sits down very deliberately to watch them. So when our machine melted down recently, we put in a rush order.

About 99 percent of our Christmas movies are on VHS and I do like to watch those. Apparently all the good holiday specials were shown right after Thanksgiving. I missed every last of them when they aired on regular TV.

As Grinchy as I am this time of year, I rely on my Christmas favorites to lift my spirits and get me in the mood.

I like to kick things off with National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and then watch it again two weeks later, when things start to get tense around here; it helps me keep my sense of humor.

I listen to White Christmas while I’m putting the icicles on the tree and, if no one’s looking, I dance a few steps along with Vera-Ellen. I always wanted to dance like she did.

Last Saturday, The Washington Post ran a list of its readers’ top-ranked holiday-themed movies and TV specials. How the Grinch Stole Christmas came in first, while a movie I’ve never heard of—Emmett Otter’s Jug-Band Christmas, came in 20th.

All the popular classics are there, the ones you’d expect, but it was a bit disappointing for me to see many of our family’s holiday musts absent from the list.

When our son gets into town, he’ll be wanting to crank up the VCR for such video treats as Casper’s First Christmas, Jingle All the Way (see it for no other reason than a hilarious performance by the late Phil Hartman) and Merry Christmas, Mr. Bean. Take my advice and pull any one of these out of the bargain bin the next time you’re out. That is, if you still have a VCR.

Of course, A Charlie Brown Christmas is my favorite serious holiday movie. Between Vince Guaraldi’s piano soundtrack and Linus’ recitation of the Christmas story, it’s all I need. What movie or television special must you see every year?

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To the letter

I don’t know about you, but I sense an uncomfortable tension between traditional etiquette and contemporary reality. Nowhere is it more palpable to me than on a Christmas card envelope.

Every year I find different ways of reconciling my respect for proper etiquette with the realities of modern relationships. Last night, the tension kept me awake, as I revisited hundreds of envelopes in my head.

One of the virtues of etiquette is that it gives us clear rules and bright lines between what is proper and what isn’t. I do try to adhere to these, as it saves me from making erroneous judgment calls.

However, the rules were written at a time when households were composed of traditional relationships, typically, a mister and a missus and some children.

One rule I follow strictly is placing a prefix before a name. I’d never address a letter to “John and Mary Smith.” Never. Etiquette calls for “Mr. and Mrs. John Smith” and I follow that.

I’d also never address a birthday card to “Mary Smith.” But here’s where it gets a little dicey. In the old days, the proper way to address a letter to Mary would have been “Mrs. John Smith.” Nowadays, I’d be inclined to write “Ms. Mary Smith,” especially if Mary were on the younger side. But never “Mrs. Mary Smith,” though that has become accepted.

Our Christmas card list is made up of all sorts of exceptions to the rule. This is worth celebrating, because it shows the rich diversity of our friends, their professional accomplishments and living situations.

But therein lies the tension. What if the husband is a mister but his wife is a doctor? Or the wife uses her maiden name? Does one address a couple as “Mr. and Dr.?” No, because etiquette requires use of the husband’s name, so it doesn’t match up:  “Mr. and Dr. John Smith” is incorrect because John isn’t the doctor; Mary is. If the two went by the same last name, then it would be “Mr. John Smith and Dr. Mary Smith.” If Mary uses her maiden name, then it would be “Mr. John Smith and Dr. Mary Jones.” One line or two?

What about a same-sex couple? One wouldn’t say “Mr. and Mr. Baxter” if they don’t share a last name. Even so, whose first name would be used?  What I do is put one person’s name on the first line, usually the one I know better:  Mr. William Brown and Mr. Robert Green. Or both names on the first line if they fit. 

What if one member of the couple has a military title but the two have different last names? Or what if they share a last name but the woman is the military officer? Mr. and Captain? Who, the man or the woman? What if one is a judge?

When addressing a family, I typically address the envelope to “The Nelson Family” (even when the family is one parent and one child) and inside say “Dear Richard, Martha, Bobby, Billy and Betty, comma. Notice I said “Dear.” That’s how letters and cards are addressed. Not “Richard, Martha, Bobby, Billy and Betty.” Let’s not let “Dear” fade away. Please.

In addressing my cards, I encountered instances in which I did not know all the children’s names. Lacking clear guidance, I simply said, “Dear Richard, Martha and family.” Tacky, I know, but that’s all I knew to do.

As an empty-nester, I pondered whether or not to sign my son’s name to our card. I probably shouldn’t have, but I did. What if the addressees’ children have left the nest? Are their names included any longer?

These issues weighed heavily on my mind at three o’clock this morning. The cards are going in the mail today, so there’s not much I can do this year. Next year maybe I’ll keep the rules handy with the master list.

I don’t hear anyone else worrying about these issues. Am I alone in my tension? I suspect the people who wear white shoes and pants between Labor day and Memorial Day will say that times have changed and we should just do whatever is easier. And truly, dropping prefixes and titles is easier. But I can’t do it. I am conditioned for convention, predisposed toward politesse. And sleepy.

Thoughts?

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Saint Nicholas’ wild ride

Allow me to be the first to wish you a Happy Saint Nicholas Day.

This holiday isn’t as prevalent in the United States as it is in Europe, so if you didn’t execute one of the key St. Nicholas Eve rituals last night, you’re not alone. There’s always next year.

There’s also a first time to hear about Saint Nicholas. And, depending upon the version of history or folklore you read (some of which can be a little frightening), you likely will remember next year.

The first Saint Nicholas Day I recall was memorable because it sent my mother and me into a tailspin, oh so long ago.

My two younger brothers, around ages four and six, attended a Rudolf Steiner school run by German teachers and staff. Late one December night, my brothers had been put to bed and, just before lights out, they both jumped up, grabbed shoes from their closet and ran down the stairs and out the front door. My mother followed them and asked what in the world they were doing.

“Mrs. Schiffer said that if we put our shoes outside before we go to bed tonight, Saint Nicholas will come and fill them with cookies.”

In a fit of panic, I shepherded the boys upstairs and back into bed while my mother made tracks to 7-Eleven in what surely was the fastest trip ever made in a 1972 pea green Dodge station wagon. Keebler elves saved the day.

And that’s what Saint Nicholas Day means to me.

That and it’s the birthday of my one and only child. Happy Birthday, Joe. I hope you got lots of cookies.

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