The Sinking of Santa

At this time of the year I often find myself reliving earlier Christmas memories. It's hard not to do that when your kid is grown and Christmas just seems to lose it's lustre. Like most kids, my son relished every second of Christmas - especially those weeks before the 25th when he edited and re-edited his Christmas list. How many times did I hear him call out to me "Mommy - come here...come here" and I would rush to the living room where he would inevitably be pointing at something on television..."This!" he would yell "I want this! Can I have this??"    But, like many Mom's I wanted my child to experience the holiday from all angles so every year we carved out a few hours to shop for children who wouldn't have a Christmas unless some well-meaning strangers gave them one.

It was 1990. Eli had just turned 6 and the excitement and anticipation of the holiday filled his thoughts. He worried that maybe santa knew he hadn't exactly been a "good boy" as often as he should have been...but he hoped Santa would overlook his missteps.  I assured him that he had probably been "good enough" to get at least some of the many items on his growing list. I reminded him that Santa would forgive most of his transgressions if he spent some time doing something for others.  So we planned our yearly shopping trip to get some toys for children who needed them. We talked about what these children might want and where we might find these toys. We set a date to shop. My plan was working. I was certain this was a good way to instill some values that he could carry with him into adulthood.

On the day of our big shopping trip we bundled up and piled into the car.  We were still in the driveway when he said, "Mommy?"  "What," I asked.  "Why isn't Santa bringing the poor kids gifts?" Oops. I spent a few seconds collecting my thoughts and choosing my words. "Well honey, Santa can't do it all. He needs help. That's why he has helpers....like at the mall...where all the Santa's are just helpers because Santa is so busy getting the toys ready." There. Good answer. "But," he said, "why are we buying toys for the kids.  Do other people buy us gifts too?"  Uh oh. I may be losing ground here I thought.  "Well Eli,  the real truth is we pay Santa for the toys and the poor kids parents' don't have the money to do that." This was not going well.  After a long silence during which he pondered my answer he said, " That's not nice. Santa's not very nice is he?"  Oh. My.  "I think he is Eli. But he wants us to be nice too. So we help."  Another silence.  "I don't like this," he declared.  ANother silence.  "Mommy?"  "Yes Eli?"  Are you Santa? Is there really a Santa?  I don't think there is because it's not like in the Night before Christmas book. IS THERE A SANTA? he demanded, "IS HE REAL?"

What to do? What to say?  Perpetuate the lie? The kid has already figured it out.  I hadn't figured on having this moment with him for at least another year. But here it was.  "You're a very smart little boy Eli.  And you're right. Santa isn't real. Daddy and I are Santa.".  He said nothing for a few seconds. "Oh. Okay. Then lets go get some toys for those kids.  And Mommy? "Yes?"  "I'm glad you're Santa cause we don't have a chimney anyway."

It feels like buttah and there are only 1000 left

It's not that I don't have a buttery leather jacket made by some far flung company whose clothing I've never bought (or heard of for that matter) - it's just that I never knew it was humanly possible to talk about one item for 30 minutes using every adjective or combination of adjectives possible. I am stunned. I have discovered the shopping channels. WHo knew?

Boredom combined with a remote took me to the channels tucked below HGTV, The Cooking Channel and the endless bullshit of the Guy Fieri channel (what do you mean he doesn't have his own channel - of course he does. He's on all day and night.)What I found blew me away.

Tonight I missed (or rather ignored) the opportunity to buy a tall, skinny (excuse me, "sleek") vacuum that came in 4 designer colors.  This "amazing" vacuum boasted "double motor action" and the man who was selling it said that if my vacuum didn't have a motorized brush bar that I was relying on nothing but "air" to move my brushes. I'm so ashamed of myself and my inferior floor cleaner. And this vacuum is lightweight (much like the guy who was selling it) and why was I lugging around a heavy, old fashioned slug when I could own this remarkable, modern, machine for 6 easy pay payments of $30?  And I'd better hurry because they were selling fast....only 427 left at this price. Tonight only. Ta dah!

On the next channel a young, absolutely gorgeous woman was selling 100% pure Argan oil. While she talked and talked and talked she kept rubbing the oil on her arms, hand, neck and chest. I must confess I was worried that the spray on dress she was wearing would have nothing to grip and just slide off with all that oil. But it didn't.  I kept wondering if she had side rails on her bed to keep her from sliding out of bed at night....I had vision of her husband having trouble holding on to her when they made love...but I guess that's none of my business.  I also liked the callers. Yes, people actually watch these shows, buy the stuff, drink the Kool Aid and gush endlessly about the products. They all have southern accents and they all swear that the oil has changed their lives.  (I don't think they really have lives.) Tonite one caller suggested that the company should make a larger bottle. The pretty lady responded that "we're working on it". Seriously? What's to work on? Buy two! I have several under my sink to pour bacon grease into...they can have these bottles if they need them. They can also keep the bacon grease because it's probably as good as their product but smells yummier. 

Skipping to the next channel, I overcame the temptation to buy a lamb leather jacket in cognac, wine, mallard, black or evergreen.  ( Mallard? )This channel had two sales reps - both young with a lot of hair and fake nails. The jackets were dull but the ladies took the viewers on a tour of the seaming of the jackets.  I've never toured a jacket quite that way. This "must have" jacket was a "phenomenal value" and was "crazy popular". Over 500 were already gone. So was I.

My last stop was a jewelry channel. The sales person was sitting next to the jewelry designer who looked a bit like a stuffed Yogi Berra doll, He smiled a lot but never spoke. I only ever saw his profile so I'm not sure they'd finished stuffing him before air time.   The jewelry was not to die for. It was fake. The sales host repeatedly said that if I bought these earrings and necklace that people would think I was wearing "real diamonds". Sorry, but the people I know HAVE real diamonds and aren't blind - just old. The jewelry was "fabulous". It was being offered at a special price and the price was only good for 30 more minutes. I waited. Still waiting.  I didn't bother to wait for the matching bracelet because the lady said there were only 29 left.  I didn't want to go up against the ladies who sit by their TVs, phone in one hand and credit card in the other. They're pros. I'm not competitive.

I don't know if I'll watch again. Maybe on some cold night when everyone else is asleep, the dogs are snoring and I'm out of chocolate...maybe then.  But probably not.

The Incredible Shrinking Woman

So I haven't blogged for awhile. Too much going on. So, naturally, it would take something major to redirect my attention to anything other than my hectic life. Case in point: The annual physical.

Let's roll back to late October when, out of the blue I get a phone call from an enthusiastic young man who identified himself as Brad from United Health. His mission that afternoon was to convince me that it was time for my annual physical.( How creepy is that...? )  "How do you know I haven't had one?" I asked. "Your records don't show one for this calendar year," he responded. "Brad?." I replied, "Are you watching me? Has United Health joined the NSA to spy on me? WTF? I don't need an annual exam...I've been at the doctors' many times since May...I'm fine. Really." "Ma'am," Brad commented, "We encourage annual physicals and to make it easier for you we have arranged to have several pharmacies available to perform the exam for you...to make it more convenient .for you...maybe closer to your home.  I can even make the appointment for you.""  "Brad, " I responded, "My doctor is less than three miles from my house. I think I can get there.  I can still drive. My brain still functions. I don't wear diapers. I still have most of my teeth. And I don't need any help."

Brad was silent for  few seconds. "Well, ma'am (knock off the freakin' ma'am stuff already!!!) If you complete your annual physical we will send you $15"  "Brad, I said softly and slowly, "I don't need to be bribed to see a doctor. Keep your money...really keep your money."  Apparently Brad has never experienced anyone who actually told him they didn't WANT UHC's money.  "But ma'am, it's part of our service to this plan."  "KEEP YOU MONEY BRAD!!!!" I said somewhat forcefully and I ended the call.

But I did call my doctor because not all systems had been checked and what the hell - it is free.

Turns out my doctor was booking physicals way into 2015 but the receptionist said she was familiar with UHC's aggressive tactics and she would schedule me with the NP. I took it.  Nothing special happened. After all, for a woman closing in on 67, I'm in pretty good shape...except....omg...tell me it, isn't so...I have shrunk a quarter of an inch!!! I made the nurse measure me again. I stood as erect as I could, sucked in my stomach (don't ask what that was going to achieve), stretched my neck and stood in the posture that my mother had always wanted me to have (Stand up straight! Stop slouching or I'll get you a back brace!!) But fact is fact. I am on the downslope. Shrinking. Withering. Getting smaller.

So what has aging given me so far? Grey hair I cannot dye. Deep smile lines. Freckling and strange bumps from the years of sun worshiping (baby oil, iodine and a reflector) sore joints, less collagen, diminished stamina and now - the cruelest thing of all. Shrinkage.

I'm looking for property in Lilliput...I'll still be tall there.