Turns Out Cheer Season And Duck Season Aren't As Similar As One Might Think

 

Libby is in the thick of cheer season, with basketball games at school and regional competitions with her competitive squad nearly every weekend.

You would not believe the people who go to these things. They are all, um, enthusiastic, and involved, and LOUD and there are a LOT of them. They participate, man, and cheer for their cheerleaders.

 

My views on cheerleaders at sporting events are pretty well known, at least among the half dozen people who read this blog, but I’m all for these competitive teams. The girls – mostly girls, there are some boys – are in pretty good shape and do some impressive stunts.

 

For example, look at how high these flyers are. The ugly backdrop makes it hard to see them, but they are way up there.

 

Libby is very good and getting better. I’m proud of her. She doesn’t know it, but with her hair done up for cheer, with the big bows, I think she looks like Julie Newmar.

 

Competitions are long and exhausting for parents, but rewarding. The music is awful. And loud.

 

As Kelly says, “the bigger the cheer bow, the better the cheer mom.”

Oh Brothers! Six Boys, A Dad And One Tired Mother

 

My mom asked that her six sons get together. She didn’t say, no one said, you know, one last time, or before it’s too late. She just asked that we come because she wanted to see us, so we made a plan. Some flew in, some drove in, some already live there, but the six of us spent parts of four days together for the first time in a long time. Someone said it had been eight years, someone said it had been longer, but that’s just the kind of thing some people say.

 

My children were worried that something was wrong with grandpa, and I’m not sure I convinced them otherwise. That thought crossed my mind, too, but actually dad seemed healthier, stronger, more alert than he’s been in years. That’s due to how well my mother takes care of him.

I have a photo from the last time the six of us were together. We look about the same, I guess. There’s just less hair and about 200 pounds more of us. There’s been some divorces and some marriages, some children and some grandchildren. There have been several moves, many career changes, and a lot of ups and downs in all the ways life can change. The one thing that remains, though, the one constant, is that we still make each other laugh.

The highlight of our time together was all the stories. Jeff called them lies, and there was some exaggeration, sure, but mostly it was a lot of “remember that time….” And we do remember the time. We don’t all remember it the same ways, but remember it we do: the time Doodle broke my teeth, the time I stabbed the knife into Gary Jo's foot, the time Jeff cracked Gary Jo upside the head with a baseball bat, the games and fights with neighbors, all the stuff kids do.

 

My brothers still love TV sports, so there was lots of football and hockey and a little golf. I don’t follow sports anymore, and found the broadcasts dull and uninspired, but it was nice just sitting with them. Of course, we watched on big screen TVs with those recorders that let you skip commercials. When we were boys, if the football Cardinals were at home, we had to go outside and physically turn the antennae, pointing it in the general direction of Cape Girardeau. If it was overcast, the reception was poor, but it improved when one of us actually touched the antennae pole. So we took turns standing out there in the cold, so the others could get the snowy images of our favorite team. What a difference.

 

I stayed with my brother Jeff and his new wife, Bridget, who took excellent care of us and fed us well. At Gary Jo’s, he showed us his baseball Cardinals room, stuffed with hundreds and hundreds of St. Louis souvenirs from the past 50 years. His basement is wall-to-wall Beatles stuff, everything you can imagine, from dolls to lunch boxes to pins to posters, again, hundreds and hundreds of really cool and rare things.

 

Doodle is still everyone’s favorite, wherever we went, and if you look at the photos on Facebook, most of the comments are for or about Doodle. I knew I should have learned to tap dance.

We said we would all get together a couple summers from now, and I hope we do.

And Baby Makes Half A Dozen, So Far....

Our daughter Carrie had a healthy little boy this morning, our sixth grandchild, but the first boy born into the family in 30 years. My second child, Brad, has been surrounded by girls for those three decades, but seems to have thrived on it.

As for me, having grown up the second oldest of six brothers, with no sisters, it has been a wonderful adventure having so many daughters and granddaughters, but we are all excited about this baby boy. His name is Nico.

 

Here are some photos I’ve received this week of the other grandchildren, six and counting. Am I lucky or what?

Our little Sadie, just turned 2.

Brianne, Aspen and Callie, three wonderful little girls

Our Lucy, getting so big.

 

Is Kelly Lucky Or What (Especially At Christmas)

We were married on New Year’s Day, a Monday, a new beginning in many ways. Since then, I’ve described myself as the luckiest man on earth, and that remains true.

 

I am lucky to have Kelly, but here’s a modest reminder of how lucky she is to have me, a man who likes having someone to do things for.

 

 

One night, after a long day of shopping the flea markets, she set up this lovely display of her plates on our bedroom wall. She was unhappy to leave “a hole” where one more plate should go, but she was nearly falling over for want of sleep. I’ve lived with her long enough to know that once she gets to that point, she is useless for anything but sleep. As I tucked her in, she whispered, “If you loved me you would put up one more plate….” And then she was out.

I figured it couldn’t be that hard. Kelly had put up 11 plates already, and only broke two, so I could probably manage. But she was out of plates, and out of the wire racks to hang one with. So I did the next best thing, what any man in love would do to prove his devotion. I went downstairs to the cupboard and found the exactly right shaped and patterned paper plate to fill in for the time being, until we could make another trip to the thrift stores.

 

When Kelly awoke the next morning, she noticed the plate first thing, and showered me with affection. She was so excited, so pleased, that she took photos to share with her friends in Blogland. She is still so happy with my act of kindness, these many months later, that she refuses my offer to put up a real plate in place of the paper one. She's sentimental that way.

 

While installing Christmas decorations a few weeks ago, we found a small pink tree that our daughter Carrie left behind. With her permission, I set it up for Kelly in our sitting room, because I know she loves pink Christmas trees and I know how much she loves the twinkle lights. Few things bring Kelly as much joy as sock monkeys, so I thought “what better for this little tree than her favorite sock monkey,” this pink little guy with the big smile. Kelly came in and saw the tree, then saw the toy on top, and she squealed with delight. More kisses came my way, I’ll tell you that.

 

Kelly’s new favorite place to sit is right under this tree, with the monkey man watching. While there has been talk of having to take down all the trees and decorations in the rest of the house here in a couple of days, she has not mentioned taking down the pink tree. It just means too much to her. She's sentimental that way.

 

On the porch, we have a white tree, another flea market find, which Kelly says she has always wanted. The ornaments are all pretty, but they are plastic, because they are exposed to the sun and wind and rain. The topper on this tree, a colorful keepsake from one of our many trips to Wendy’s, a family favorite, has become a tradition for us, and a reminder of what really matters.

 

This disposable display is highlighted by a used paper cup. The neighbors might call it trash, but to us it represents the true meaning of holiday celebrations. Ultimately, everything we have is disposable, and all the gifts and foods and trappings of Christmas mean little. Some people may have a perfect Martha Stewart magazine-cover Christmas, but neglect each other. What matters, what really lasts, is our family, each person, each individual. The love and kindness that we share, the bonds we form that will never be broken, that is what Christmas really means, and the humble little tree on our humble little porch helps us to never forget.

 

Here, Aubrey shows that she has learned the lesson, too. Awwww….

 

So I ask you. Is Kelly lucky or what?

Enough Already With The Ancient Christmas Carols

 

One drudgery of Christmas season – which, as you know, is much, much too long, starting in mid-October – is the tired old Christmas carols the stores insist on playing. Perhaps they assume it makes people more, what, festive, to hear those sleigh bells in the snow, but mostly it just annoys people.

We need some new Christmas music, not just more tedious remakes by whatever singers happen to be popular today.

Every year I try to buy one or two Christmas CDs, or downloads the past two years, hopeful that the new recordings will make a difference, but generally they do not. This year was an exception, as I came across some pretty good music, and added two songs to my favorites list.

First was Christmas Cello by Steven Sharp Nelson, aka one of The Piano Guys. The entire set is wonderful, perfect for decorating the tree, as we did (at least one of our trees), or for just having as background while reading, or talking, or doing dishes. My favorite is Simple Gifts, which is simply beautiful.

Next was Christmas Island by the one and only LeonRedbone. The title track is excellent, but my favorite, barely beating out That Old Christmas Moon, is Christmas Ball Blues. Great for dancing in the kitchen with the one you love, and if you ender up under the mistletoe, even better.

So here’s my updated list of Five Favorite Christmas Songs, with a tie for the bottom spot:

 

1. Merry Christmas Baby, Elvis Presley (another great one for dancing in the kitchen, when the kids aren’t home)
2. You’re All I Want For Christmas, Brook Benton
3. Baby, It’s Cold Outside, Brian Setzer and Ann-Margret (although the Ann-Margret Al Hirt version is much more sensual)
   
4. Christmas Ball Blues, Leon Redbone
5. Christmas Wish, She & Him
   Simple Gifts, Steven Sharp Nelson

What are your favorites?

White Christmas Is A Scam

WARNING! FRAUD ALERT! If you are about to snuggle up in front of the DVD player to watch WhiteChristmas, be warned that it is not a Christmas movie. Except for the opening minutes where Bing Crosby sings the song, and then, of course, the closing minutes where the women in those beautiful red robes join in the singing, there is no mention of Christmas. None. The plot has nothing to do with Christmas. The story line is not about Christmas. Except for one brief mention of doing their show on Christmas Eve, NO ONE SAYS A WORD ABOUT CHRISTMAS in the entire movie. It’s a scam.

These movies are more about Christmas than White Christmas because they mention Christmas or have more Christmas decorations in them:

Die Hard

Lethal Weapon

Dirty Harry

Gremlins

Trading Places

Goodfellas

When Harry Met Sally

Edward Scissorhands

Brazil

Batman Returns

The Godfather for Pete’s sake.

Or even Life Of Brian.

I’m not saying White Christmas is not a good movie. I’m just asking you to not be fooled. Watch Crosby sing White Christmas on YouTube if you must, but then go watch a real Christmas movie, like Steve Martin in Mixed Nuts. You’ll thank me for it. Ho ho ho.

Another Christmas Tree For My Brother's Birthday

 

Today is my older brother’s birthday, which has many fond memories because December 17 was the day our mother finally let us put up the Christmas tree. It never crossed my mind that Gary Jo  might have thought he was cheated, having a birthday so close to, you know, the BIG holiday, and having his party overshadowed by trimming the tree. If it bothered him, I never knew it.

Nor would I have cared, because getting the tree and decorating it was a BIG deal at our house, and we waited for it for months. Four of the six of us shared one big room, half of our basement, and we used to count down the last 65 days until Christmas. And before that, we would count down the days until October 22, when we could start counting down.

As the 17th approached, one of us would get to ride along with dad to Heck’s IGA, where they had a rack of bundled trees leaning up against the building every year. Dad would carefully check each one to get the one that seemed just right, and he always did get it right. We never had a bad tree.

One year, when I was 12, dad let me pick the tree, and it was a thrilling and terrible responsibility. He never minded the mess of needles and sap. He loved the smell and the texture. Our decorations were simple: bright red and blue and green and white and yellow lights as big as his thumb, hand-glittered glass ornaments, and 20 boxes of tensel, placed carefully and evenly, one strand at a time.

Every tree we had growing up was fabulous, but no matter how fabulous, my mom had them down and out on the trash heap by noon, December 26.

 

 

Now, on the other hand, we feel bad taking any of our seven trees down before February, and I admit there was at least one year it was still up on April Fool’s Day. This year, so far, anyway, we have a white tree on the porch, the big green tree in the living room, another white tree in the dinning room, a silver tree in the baking kitchen, a pink tree in our bedroom, a mulit-colored tree in Libby's room and another silver one in Aubrey's room. The other green tree, we gave to Lydia for her new house. That's normal. Right?