I had this big, long essay planned about the holidays, but I’m tired, and everyone does big long essays about the holidays, anyway. I have often wondered how many new hits a search for the phrase “my crazy family” yields in the days immediately following Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Anyway:
1. Christmas Eve, we went to the “contemporary” service at Scott’s parents’ church. This was all fine, until the dancers came out. It was near the end of the service, I was hot, cranky, and uncomfortable, and I nearly had an ice palace moment. (There is no way for me to explain why, but to this day, the ice palace at the St. Paul winter carnival is still one of the funniest things I have seen in my life. There is nothing intrinsically humorous about it, but the night that Scott and I went to see it, I laughed so hard that Scott had to hold me up, and tears froze to my face. And no, I was not stoned.) I absolutely, positively, most definitely did not look up from the program at the intrinsically un-funny dancers for a full five minutes. It was the only way to keep from embarrassing myself and appalling those around me.
2. Scott’s brother was experiencing his first Christmas as a divorcee, and spent two days thoroughly obsessed with firewood. Jokes about him playing with his wood abounded.
3. The day after Christmas, at my grandmother’s apartment, my father got sick, collapsed, and spent several hours in the emergency room. It was one of the most terrifying moments of my life, although I think he may not have been terrified, as he was unconscious. Thankfully he was fine, just dehydrated and recovering from a virus. Also, my grandmother told Scott that he is fat. He has been to the gym every day since.
4. I ate a lot, didn’t have a drop of alcohol, but suddenly I really want a cigarette every couple of days. Where did that come from?
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