Christmas with the Family

I’m sitting in my living room, the football game on the television and the snow piling up outside. The forecast is calling for 15 – 20 inches of snow today and tomorrow! Yesterday was Christmas and I got to spend the afternoon with most of my family (those who weren’t there were absolutely missed). We talked, we ate and we laughed. As usual, we laughed a lot, especially talking about things from growing up. And of course, we talked about Christmas.

My childhood Christmases, at least as far as I remember, were pretty great. Christmas for us was not all about Santa and presents, partly because of our financial situation. With such a large family we didn’t get a lot for Christmas, yet Christmas was still awesome. Don’t get me wrong, we still did the Santa thing. We made our list for Santa, went and saw him at the mall, and did our best to behave because “He knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sakes!” We got presents, just most years not too many. One of my all-time favorites was Rockem Sockem Robots. I loved that game and I especially liked playing my brothers and knocking their block off! I’m sure they’d say they let me beat them, but we know better, don’t we?

But the biggest thing about Christmas was that my parents made it more about the birth of Jesus. They taught us about the reason for the season and we talked about it. We also had a Nativity scene, or manger, and that became the focus on Christmas Eve. One of the discussion topics yesterday was our Christmas Eve tradition. After dinner, we’d turn out the lights, light some candles, take some of the figures out of the manger and we’d parade around the house singing Christmas songs like “Silent Night” and “Away in a Manger”. The older ones got to carry the candles, while us younger ones got to carry one of the manger figures. Oh, and if we weren’t really singing, Dad let us know to pick it up a bit.

Some people might look at this and think we were nuts, but it’s one of those things that I still remember decades later. And I remember it in a positive way, with happy feelings and thoughts. I don’t know if other families did this, too, but when I think of Christmas as a kid, I definitely think of this. The weird thing about it is I don’t remember when we stopped doing it, other than when we moved from my childhood home when I was in high school.

Whatever your holiday traditions, I hope you enjoyed time with friends, family and loved ones, and had time to reminisce and laugh. Thank you to all of you who have taken the time to read my posts this year. Happy New Year!

Follow Up to "The Last One"

When I wrote my last post, "The Last One", I thought about how great it would have been to have pictures of the diminishing coffee cake muffin. I guess hindsight really is 20-20. But at work today I was presented with an opportunity to redeem myself.

You see, just after lunch there was a Dunkin Donuts box in the kitchen with six whole donuts left. I knew it would just be a matter time before there was only one left and this time I was going to be ready. I figured at some point, someone would take a piece of that last donut. So here are a couple of pictures (taken on my cell phone, so pardon the quality).

I'd say this is about half, as expected: 

And this is just about half of the half, as seen about 20 minutes later:

Fortunately (or unfortunately for this post), someone decided to take the rest of it. So I feel like I at least partially redeemed myself, even if there aren't pictures of ever-smaller pieces of the last donut.

The Last One

Bring a pan of brownies to a party and you’re a hero. Everybody loves brownies. I only know one person who doesn’t like them, but he doesn’t like anything chocolate (I know, can you believe that?). Everyone oohs and aahs when they see the brownies and you barely get them down on the table and people are grabbing them. It’s like a shark feeding frenzy, especially if there are teenagers around. It seems like nobody is bashful about taking one – until there’s only one left.

Why are so many people afraid to take the last one of anything, whether it’s brownies, cookies, cake, muffins, doughnuts – pretty much any food item? It’s almost like they’re afraid they will be cursed for life if they do. Or maybe it’s the Homer Factor. Homer Simpson wouldn’t worry about eating the last one of anything and maybe they don’t want to be seen as being like him.

Whether due to a supposed curse or the Homer Factor, people won’t take the entire last one, but they’re perfectly willing to take part of it. Maybe like half. The problem is that someone else comes along and takes half of the half that’s left, and sometime later another person takes half of the half of the half. For those of you who aren’t mathematically inclined, that would be 1/8 of the last brownie, cookie, piece of cake, muffin or doughnut. That’s a pretty small piece of something.

Last week at work there were some Dunkin Donuts muffins left over from an early morning meeting, including one of those incredible coffee cake muffins that was calling my name. Somehow I resisted and about a half an hour later I went into the kitchen to refill my water and, you guessed it, there was half of the muffin left. An hour or so later I returned to the kitchen, and when I peaked into the box I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was a paper-thin slice of coffee cake muffin left. Seriously? First of all, I don’t see how anyone could have cut the muffin with and left a slice that thin. I could practically see through it. Secondly, why not just eat the rest of it? The piece that was left couldn’t have had more than 1 calorie so I don’t think its going to blow anyone’s diet. Curse or Homer Factor? You decide.

Growing up, we weren’t afraid of any curse for taking the last brownie and the Simpsons weren’t even a thought in Matt Groening’s head. When Mom made brownies or cookies they didn’t last long. Everyone got their share (2 small brownies the way Mom cut them or 3 cookies) and then the rest were up for grabs. When you went back later all that was left was a few crumbs, maybe some melted chocolate chip residue on the plate. Feeling bad because you ate 3 brownies or 4 cookies? I don’t think so. Be polite and leave the last one for your little brother? Definitely not. We came, we ate and we left nothing behind.

So the next time I see a leftover coffee cake muffin in the kitchen at work, I’m taking it. Not half of it, but all of it. I won’t feel bad and I won’t feel guilty. And I won’t be worrying about any curse.

I'm Bored

I’m bored. I’m sitting at work with nothing to do and nowhere to go. I test software for a living and I usually have very busy days, but I’m in a bit of a lull today. I’ve done everything I could possibly do on the last version of the software and am waiting for the next version so I can move on to new features. The day is kind of crawling along. I figured I’d break the monotony by going for a walk, but as I opened the door to go outside I realized it was raining. This got me thinking about two things: how I used to go out in every kind of weather (and didn’t melt) and how I was never really bored as a kid.

Growing up in Massachusetts you went outside and did stuff regardless of the weather. If we only went out in good weather, we would have been outside in May, June, part of July, September and October. That’s it! We get about 5 months of good weather and 2 months of OK weather; the rest of the year is either really cold or really hot and humid. That’s what I think now; when I was a kid, it didn’t matter. We played all the major sports (baseball, football, hockey, basketball), we played all kinds of games (wiffle ball, hide and seek, tag), we rode bikes, we explored the woods, and we went sledding in the winter and had snowball fights. We even made up our own games, but that’s another story for another day. Cold didn’t stop us, nor did heat. And when it rained, we begged to go play in it, especially in the summer! I’m sure we weren’t the only kids who had Popsicle stick races in the “river” in the gutter before everyone on board plunged to their deaths in the storm drain.

Not that you could always go outside and play. We certainly had our days cooped up inside. But we found things to do. Me and my brothers and sisters played cards (Rummy and Crazy Eights were favorites), we played games (Monopoly, Clue, Skittle Bowl), we drew pictures, we read books and comic books, we even watched a little TV - although back then there was only about 7 stations, so there wasn’t much on. We even made up our own games, but again, that’s another story for another day. Bored? Hardly.

So when I find myself being bored these days, it kind of freaks me out. I know there are things I could do if I really wanted to, or if I wasn’t being so…oh no…lazy. And that’s it, isn’t it? When we’re bored it nobody’s fault but our own. Instead of doing something fun or constructive on our own, we’re waiting for someone or something else to entertain us. That’s about as likely to happen as a breezy, 70 degree day in August in Massachusetts. Being bored, or not, is in my control. It’s a choice I need to make.

As I look out the window, I see it’s actually raining a little harder than before. I guess the walk is still out. Now if I could only find some Popsicle sticks.

The House is Buzzing

The house is buzzing. Now before you get all worried, we’re not being attacked by killer bees, nor is this something out of a Stephen King novel. No, the house is buzzing in a good way – with music.

My son has been playing guitar for about five years and is actually very good. He’s up in his room, strumming away on his acoustic. He plays songs by bands that he listens to, he plays songs he’s written himself and sometimes he just plays stuff until he hears something he likes and then it becomes a song, too. It is quite ironic that we used to have to tell him to practice and even hold the threat of discontinuing lessons over his head in order to get him to play. He hasn’t been taking lessons for over a year now and he plays all the time. Go figure.

My daughter is up in her room, playing her electronic keyboard. And yes, she is very good, too, after playing for about three years. She writes a lot of her own songs, both words and music. She’s a little more private than my son and doesn’t like anyone to hear her songs until they’re pretty much complete so a lot of times she plays with headphones on. But today she’s playing free and easy.

There was always a buzz in my house growing up, too, but it was different. The buzz then was because there were a bunch of us in the house, sometimes playing games together or watching TV together and sometimes because we were all doing separate things and competing for space, time and volume. If someone had music on in the living room and others were playing a game in the dining room, both were getting drowned out by the other. So the music was turned up louder, then the people playing the game got louder, then the music was turned up louder, and so on until finally someone blew up or Mom told the person listening to the music to put on headphones. It wasn’t bad, it was just kids learning to get along, learning to compromise.

But this buzz today is wonderful. Somehow two distinct songs being played in two different rooms seem to fit together. Not the whole time, yet it is amazing how they seem to blend into one so much. I feel like I could listen to this all day and not be bored. As I get older, I definitely like things a little quieter than I used to. However, this “noise” as some would say, is good. It is soothing. It is a proud parent listening to my kids using their talents and abilities, and doing something they want and love to do. It sounds good, but I feel even better, sitting on the couch one floor below, with a big grin on my face and a warmth in my heart.

Squirrels

Every day I drive to work I see a dead animal in the street somewhere between home and the office. Sometimes they’re as flat as a pancake, sometimes they just look like they’re sleeping. It really doesn’t freak me out, even if they’re guts are sprayed out before them. I have no connection to these poor critters.

But I have to admit that when I was the driver that squished one I felt a little sympathy. About 30 seconds from my house, a crazy squirrel darted out in front of me and pulled a typical squirrel move – he zigzagged. He (and I’m saying “he” because he reminded me of a teenage boy who acts before thinking) would have easily made it across the road if he had just kept going straight across, but for some reason he decided to try to run along with me. Now I was going 30mph and there’s no way a squirrel can go that fast unless they’re Rocky the Flying Squirrel – and this guy wasn’t.

So he starts running up the road and I swear I saw him look over his shoulder and his eyes widen just before he cut to his left. I breathed a little sigh of relief as I realized I wasn’t going to hit him. Once again, if he had just kept going he would have made it, but he decided to cut back to his right, right into the path of my car. Or should I say right under my car. For another split second I thought that squirrel was the luckiest squirrel in the world because I wasn’t going to get him and then…thump. The passenger side rear tire caught him. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw him flattened on the road, his tail giving one last wave in the breeze. And I felt sorry for the little guy.

How many times do we start on a path and things are going fairly well and then all of a sudden we panic and change course? It’s like we look over our shoulder, see something coming and we freak out. Instead of staying the course and making it to the other side, we change direction and run up the middle of the road. Sometimes we make it unscathed, our hearts beating wildly, and we wonder why we ever changed direction. Sometimes we get squashed by what life brings us.

My parents were great at staying the course. When things weren’t going well for us they didn’t panic. Dad just kept working hard and both he and Mom kept “trusting God”. As they often said, “As long as we have a roof over our heads, food on the table and clothes on our backs, we’ll be OK.” They truly believed that. We may not have had a lot of stuff as kids, but we always had a place to live, clothes to wear and enough food to feed all of us. And we always had each other – to play with, fight with and make up with; to learn with, to laugh with and to cry with. All that we went through, we went through together.

Somehow, when I was feeling a little sorry for that poor squirrel, I was thinking of a squirrel family waiting for squirrel Johnny to come home for a squirrel lunch. But then I realized that happens only in cartoons and kid shows, which made me think of my kids and how much I love them and miss them when they’re not around. And it made me a little more grateful for all I have now.

 

Waiting

I was on my computer the other day, waiting for a web page to load. Or should I say I was getting ticked off waiting for the web page to load. Mind you, this took all of about seven seconds. Why is it so hard for us to wait?

In the not-so-distant past, we would have been ecstatic if a web page, program or a file opened in anywhere close to ten seconds. Think back about five or ten years ago. How long did it take to get to your email so you could read your messages? I’m pretty sure it took longer than ten seconds. How about saving a medium sized document in Word? Take a break, come back and it still was saving.

How about driving? How many times has someone cut out in front of you, causing you to slam on the brakes, when there was no one behind you for a mile? Those people just couldn’t wait another five seconds. The light turns from green to yellow – do you stop even though not doing so will mean you go through a red light? Probably not. Because we don’t want to sit at the red light and wait.

Waiting in lines, waiting in traffic, waiting in the doctor’s office, waiting to buy something until you can actually afford it. As Tom Petty said, “The waiting is the hardest part.” We hate to wait; even though we’ve all been taught since we were children that “good things come to those who wait”.

Growing up in a family of eleven (nine kids plus my parents), sometimes we just had to wait. We had only one bathroom. No, you didn’t read that incorrectly. We had ONE bathroom. When someone was in there, you had to wait for your turn. Whether it was showers or just having to do your duty, you had to wait. When we went on a road trip and came home, we were calling spots in the queue as soon as we turned onto our street. “I get the bathroom first!” “I’m second” You had to be quick and you had to be bold or you had to…wait.

If I wanted something new, most of the time I had to wait. I still remember getting my first brand new, never used before, not a hand-me-down, baseball glove in my fourth year of Little League. I got it from my family saving S&H Greenstamps. It took time to accumulate enough of those stamps and I had to wait. I loved that glove, even if it was blue.

What’s my point? Just that, sometimes, it’s OK to wait. It may even be beneficial. Pulling out in front of someone not paying attention could cause an accident and land you in the hospital. Barging into an occupied bathroom could cause much embarrassment and burn images of your older aunt or grandmother into your brain that can never be erased. Or waiting just may help you to appreciate something so much that you still remember it, and all the good feelings surrounding it, thirty or forty years later.

Welcome

What makes us who we are? The nature vs. nurture debate has been going on for centuries and there is still no definitive answer. That is, unless you’ve chosen one side of the debate and won’t listen to what anyone on the other side has to say. This blog is not about that debate. No, it is about family.

I am the way I am because of the family I grew up in. I grew up in a family of 9 kids, 7 boys and 2 girls. We came in bunches; 3 kids approximately a year apart, a break of a few years, 3 kids approximately a year apart, a break of a few years and 3 more kids approximately a year apart. All this happened in 15 years. My poor mother!

Naturally, we were forever grouped together as “The 3 older ones”, “The 3 middle ones” and “The 3 little ones”. As the 8th out of 9, my older siblings still say to this day that I’m one of “The 3 spoiled ones”. Spoiled or not (most definitely NOT!), I loved growing up in a big family. There was always something to do, something going on and someone to hang with. The positives far outweighed the negative.

Sure, I didn’t have much materially growing up, but as my Dad used to frequently say, we always had “a roof over our heads, food on the table and clothes on our backs”. Above all, we knew that we were loved. Not to sound like a credit card commercial, but you can’t put a price on that. I wouldn’t trade all the toys, all the clothes, all the stuff my friends had for the family life that I had.

Since I was a kid I also liked to write, from silly stories about car driving monkeys and a character that needed help cutting his petrified hair to game summaries of the local hockey and baseball teams. I even got my own little typewriter for Christmas when I was in fourth grade! Well, actually, I had to share it with my younger brother, but he never used it. I either wanted to be a baseball player or a sportswriter (“Sorry, dear. I have to go to the game. It is my job!”).

My hope is that these postings will bring both of these aspects together. I have a deep love for family and a deep desire to write. So come back each week as I relate things that happen in my life to family – the one I grew up in and the one I have now. If you grew up in a large family, you’ll probably be able to relate; if you didn’t, maybe you’ll get a new perspective. Either way, we’ll share a few laughs.