Rudoph The Red Knows Rain, Dear
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Remembering my childhood Christmas | The Merry Mantonian
Merry Christmas, Happy Solstice, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Jumada Al-Akhirah, and Festivus — for the rest of us. Since we have been airing grievances all year, we can move right on to the feats of strength.
What – you’re not familiar with Festivus? It falls on Dec. 23 every year to “get a leg up on Christmas” according to its creator, Frank Costanza, played to perfection by Jerry Stiller on Seinfeld. Frank got fed up with the commercial and religious aspects of Christmas, so he made up an alternative.
There are many rituals to observe when celebrating Festivus. Instead of a glittering Christmas tree, a plain aluminum pole is erected. There are no presents. A clock is put in a bag and nailed to the wall. The traditional feast is meatloaf on a bed of lettuce. The airing of grievances involves telling everyone else at the table how they have disappointed you over the past year. The feats of strength occur during dinner, and Festivus is over when the head of the household is pinned.
Your family probably has its own holiday traditions, lovingly carried on and shared with the younger generations, who will in turn teach your descendants even though they gave you some serious eye rolls during the teen years.
Our family was no different. My dad’s side of the family was run by my grandmother and her three sisters, all of whom lived within a couple of miles of us in the Bronx. Two of the sisters had remained single and lived together, while Grandma and the other sister had husbands and adult-ish children, of whom my dad was the oldest.
The single gals, Great Aunts Willie and Corrie, were the best babysitters. Being childfree, they loved to spoil the kids and grandkids of their sisters. They owned a two-story duplex with an actual backyard – rare for the Bronx. There was an apartment-sized stand-alone freezer in the kitchen which was full of every frozen confection one could imagine and was always the first stop when we got to Willie and Corrie’s. There were also beautiful glass bowls of M&Ms and other candies adorning every surface in the house. It was awesome.
All four sisters were dancers and showgirls back in the roaring 20s, as were their mother and her sisters before them, but by the time I was born, they had settled into more grownup careers.
Aunt Corrie was the wardrobe mistress for George Balanchine’s New York City Ballet and my big sister and I got to play in all the beaded and sequined tulle and velvet costumes backstage. Attending The Nutcracker every year at City Center and later at brand spanking new Lincoln Center is one of my best childhood Christmas memories.
On Christmas Day, we usually headed to Great Aunt Tina’s house. She and her husband Ray had a huge three-story house – also with a backyard – a few blocks from Willie and Corrie’s. The adults drank whiskey sours, and there was the most serious ping pong I have ever seen outside the Olympics in the basement. No kids were allowed during these games – too dangerous. Just sweaty men smoking cigars and whacking that little white ball so hard it’s amazing it remained spherical.
All ambulatory family members were encouraged to play a game called Fruit Basket, which I highly recommend you try this Christmas. Each player chooses a fruit name and an equal number of chairs – minus one – are arranged in a circle. The seatless person stands in the center and yells out two or more fruits. Those players have to scamper to another seat. The new seatless player goes to the center. Repeat. If the center person yells “fruit basket” everyone switches seats. The game is over when at least one child is crying and furniture is destroyed.
That whole side of the family were and are hilarious, smart-alecky jokers. Quick, funny, and cutting, while simultaneously loving, fiercely loyal and supportive of each other.
Mom’s side of the family was more cerebral and we usually drove out to Brooklyn and Queens the day after Christmas to see them. I remember driving through freezing temperatures with the car windows closed, but that wouldn’t stop Dad from smoking his cigar with us kids lying on the floor of the back seat trying to breathe. I think you can be arrested for that now.
Mom’s side of the family had a unique way of decorating the Christmas tree. While we were strictly limited to two or three strands of tinsel at a time, they would grab a wad and hurl it at the tree. Ultimately, the effect was not all that different from the painstaking approach in the Merry apartment.
3320 Reservoir Oval – Apt. 4E. Two bedrooms, one bath with three kids – how did they do it?
Mr. Standish and I need 2 bathrooms for just the two of us because we start drinking coffee every morning at the same time. Somehow my parents made it work.
Dad loved a ginormous Christmas tree, but we had eight-foot ceilings. He would usually bring the tree home after a martini or three and he’d have to take a couple of feet off the bottom. It would still hit the ceiling.
On Christmas morning, he would make pancakes and bacon. The Jewish kids in 5E would come down and sneak a little bacon into their kosher diet and help us try out our new toys. We would go upstairs and help light their menorah and play dreidel. That’s the best thing about growing up in a diverse city. Learning about cultures and traditions that others hold dear and how they bond families and people. One doesn’t have to share others’ beliefs to respect and admire them.
Whatever your traditions are, my wish is for you and your family to enjoy the peace and joy this season brings. I’m off to enjoy some leftover meatloaf with lettuce and bask in the glory of the Festivus pole.
https://www.redbluffdailynews.com/author/liz-merry/
Unfortunately, Tehama County has an ordinance on the books that forbids living in a travel trailer on your own property. It was adopted in 2018 in a futile attempt to thwart illegal commercial cannabis growers from buying land and using it to grow.
Back then, the same helicopters that were in low-flying neighborhoods like mine looking for pot plants were also tagging motorhomes. Nowadays, Code Enforcement is only after the big pot grows and small “nuisances” are complaint driven. So, there’s been progress.
This past summer, the Boots were visited by Code Enforcement and told they could not live in their trailer. To reside on the property, they would need to have a permitted residence, which is too great a financial burden for the struggling business. The Boots tried hard to work with Code Enforcement, then were awarded one of those nifty $1,000 a day fines like we got for having 11 cannabis plants in our yard.
The Boots appealed to the Planning Commission, which voted 4-1 in their favor. This sets a precedent that should thrill anyone who has been kicked off their property in the past for living in their RV. Does it mean churches and other organizations can let otherwise homeless people live in their motorhomes in the parking lot? Maybe. And feel free to put an RV in your yard to rent out as an Airbnb. Just keep it nice and clean and you should be golden.
I am very happy for the Boots family – they are wonderful people – but this confirms the double standard that continues in Tehama County. Comparing the treatment, the Byrons are getting from the county and the wink and nod the Boots received shows how prevalent Reefer Madness still is here.
Don’t get me wrong – I love wine. (Hang on a sec while I climb up on my soapbox.) Alcohol use kills 140,000 people a year in the US alone, while cannabis use has never killed a single person in the history of mankind. The rest of the state is embracing this new revenue stream – which goddess knows we need here desperately – while Tehama County is still spending tens of thousands to extort money from “dopers”, as Code Enforcement Officer Keith Curl called the Byrons. Such professional behavior.
So Merry Christmas, Fred, and Donna. Your present came early and I know how grateful you are.
And speaking of early Christmas presents, Tehama County is getting one on Dec. 20. Yes, this Tuesday will be the final meeting at which Bob “See You Next Tuesday” Williams and Dennis “I’m Tired of Listening to You People” Garton will serve as supervisors.
They both lost their reelection bids back in the June primary but remain in office until the end of the year. Their leadership has proven to be disastrous for our county. It would take several columns to rehash everything they have done to us, so let’s just be grateful their reign of ignorance and cronyism is almost at an end.
Incidentally, I am under no delusion that the new board will be able to wave a magic wand and fix everything. The doo doo we’re in is so deep it will take years to right the ship. Mistakes will be made. But the fact that the board will consist of 5 people willing to abandon the status quo and stride boldly forward is encouraging.
Tuesday’s meeting will also be the final one over which District 2 Supervisor Candy Carlson will preside as Chair. Probably. The board voted this past Tuesday to make District 1’s Bill Moule the 2023 Chair. D5’s John Leach had inexplicably asked for an agenda item to choose the chair before the end of the year, apparently not realizing he was robbing the two new board members of their opportunity to choose who would lead them in their first year on the board.
A number of citizens spoke against the current board voting, and Leach wisely withdrew. Carlson moved to table the vote until the first meeting of 2023 and Leach seconded that. Garton, Williams, and Moule voted no, so that motion failed. Williams then moved to make Moule the Chair for 2023. Seconded by Garton. Moule was elected 3 -0 -2. Carlson and Leach abstained, rightly believing the people who will actually serve on the board next year should be the ones voting.
Moule will be fine as Chair – there are plenty of people to help him if he’s unclear on a procedure. He is intelligent and articulate and seemed a little hurt that his ability was questioned.
Awww.
He also defended the early vote, saying it had been done before and that he had been attending supes meetings for 35 years. Well, I’ve only been attending for 5 years and the first time I saw him in the room was when he was appointed to his seat in a smooth finesse by Carlson late last year. Must have been when T. Rex and V. Lociraptor were supes.
There is no written policy for when the vote happens, so I assume if the new board isn’t happy with the old board’s choice, they can hold another vote. And should they choose Moule, terrific. But make no mistake – they should be the ones to decide. Not a couple of grouchy lame ducks on their way out to pasture. It was a slap in the face to Matt Hansen and Pati Nolen, who will be replacing Williams and Garton on the board. And a parting shot at Carlson just for kicks.
It’s all good. To paraphrase Bob Dylan, “We didn’t know it, didn’t think it could be done. In the final end we won the war. After losing every battle.”
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