I'm not a Christmas practitioner, although I do appreciate the seasonal celebration of gift-giving and twinkly lights and Solstice and Yule and goodwill and global hopes of world peace. Close enough, eh?
One of the aspects of this season I've always appreciated was the cessation of commerce. Commercials continued on the air and on TV, but stores closed and nothing but emergency services were available. Heck, there was a time when I was wee that even TV and radio stations went off the air. It was a TOTAL closure - quite literally nothing or very nearly nothing was open. Peace and quiet reigned supreme!
More and more, I'm seeing "We will be open on Christmas Day from xx:xx AM to xx:xx PM!" I can guess what advantage that is for the business, but I would rather go without. One whole day where sanity reigns rather than commercialism. I remember the quiet on Christmas Day. Very few cars would be about, except ones on the way to parties or to go visiting. Shopping parking lots would be empty, store lights turned off, drive-throughs closed, and even the movie theaters would shut down.
I remember one year that was particularly rough on our family. It was the Christmas after my dad died and we were trying to make the best of it. We three girls had made sure the house was decorated and the tree was beautiful, and everyone had plenty of things to open. We were putting together the final touches on Christmas Eve and began hanging the stockings when we realized we hadn't taken into account stocking stuffers!! That was always a big part of our family tradition, but under the circumstances it wasn't surprising that we'd missed it. The three of us hopped into the car and went out hunting for ANYthing that might be open.
We searched downtown, the nearby strip malls and on the main streets near the freeway. It was a toss-up between a dive of a liquor store and 7-11. Inside the 7-11, it was dead quiet. The clerk was the only one there and had apparently been undisturbed for hours. If we NEEDED a store to be open (as suggested by the helpful tone of the store notices today) you would expect a crowd in the only open store on our side of town. But, no. Apparently, everyone in our town of about 40,000 was quite able to cope for a day and half without going shopping. I think we amused that clerk as we desperately attempted to assemble items vaguely resembling fun that would do for stocking stuffers. I remember our delight when we found the toy isle and could grab such items as playing cards and jacks.
Here's the key point, however: if NOTHING had been open, we were resourceful enough to have made do. Knowing that everything would be closed for a while after close-of-business on the 23rd or 24th encourages foresight and planning ahead. Woe to the procrastinator! Which is, I think, as it should be. Would that we could return to those quiet, quiet winter days of the holiday season.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Fraidy Cats
Ever had the crap scared out of you? I was reminded of this event in my life by a recent email from a friend.
When I lived in Boulder Creek, my boss would occasionally employ me to cat-sit at her home while she and her husband would go on business trips. It was especially important because one of the kitties required daily medication. Besides, my presence there might discourage thieves, and I watered her extensive garden. It was a pleasure of a job for me: the home was beautiful, with a fabulous view of the San Lorenzo Valley. She had cable and a large TV, and a comfy guest bed.
On this particular assignment, I was warned that the three cats were adjusting to a new kitty addition and tended to have occasional spats. It was my duty to pay attention to where the four of them were in the evening, when all were inside, so as to proactively intervene in the event of an impending brouhaha. No one wants to wrestle an indignant, hissing, clawing, pointy ended, injured cat to the vet in the middle of the night, so I was a willing referee.
One evening, after a long day, I was in the den dozing off in front of the TV. At first, the noise didn't raise any alarms, as it sounded as if it could be part of the action in the show I was watching. Suddenly, I realized I was hearing a four-pronged kitty threat display. You know, that low moaning growl that comes from deep in the cat's chest. You know things are about to erupt when the pitch escalates. The last thing one hears before the cats launch themselves at each other is a high-pitched feline battle cry.
I had failed to notice the noise long enough that the cries were becoming frequent and quite high in pitch. I was desparate not to have my friend come home to a battle zone full of injured feline friends, so I ran for the laundry room to try and halt the impending war.
When I said that my friend's house was beautiful, I should have also mentioned that it was LARGE. In order to get from the den to the laundry room, I had to sprint through the living room, past the kitchen, and down the hallway (a long one), break hard to the right into the hallway leading to the laundry room, then a hard left into the laundry room itself. I was afraid that the length of time it was going to take me to get there was too long and that I would arrive too late to prevent bloodletting.
So, I hollered my own battle cry for my entire sprint. I must have sounded like a cross between a banshee and a primitive warrior, headed intently for the front lines. I didn't notice the kitty threat displays had ended during my headlong dash. As I skidded into the laundry room, I found all four cats huddled about the room in various tiny spaces, eyes HUGE, looking right at me, with all their hair on end. On the floor, in the locations previously held by the angry kitties, were four gently steaming piles of kitty poo. Yes, I had literally scared the crap out of them.
Postscript: I felt so terrible that I had terrified them that I spent the rest of the evening treating them all like royalty. I guess they forgave me, because I was always greeted with affection on all my return visits.
When I lived in Boulder Creek, my boss would occasionally employ me to cat-sit at her home while she and her husband would go on business trips. It was especially important because one of the kitties required daily medication. Besides, my presence there might discourage thieves, and I watered her extensive garden. It was a pleasure of a job for me: the home was beautiful, with a fabulous view of the San Lorenzo Valley. She had cable and a large TV, and a comfy guest bed.
On this particular assignment, I was warned that the three cats were adjusting to a new kitty addition and tended to have occasional spats. It was my duty to pay attention to where the four of them were in the evening, when all were inside, so as to proactively intervene in the event of an impending brouhaha. No one wants to wrestle an indignant, hissing, clawing, pointy ended, injured cat to the vet in the middle of the night, so I was a willing referee.
One evening, after a long day, I was in the den dozing off in front of the TV. At first, the noise didn't raise any alarms, as it sounded as if it could be part of the action in the show I was watching. Suddenly, I realized I was hearing a four-pronged kitty threat display. You know, that low moaning growl that comes from deep in the cat's chest. You know things are about to erupt when the pitch escalates. The last thing one hears before the cats launch themselves at each other is a high-pitched feline battle cry.
I had failed to notice the noise long enough that the cries were becoming frequent and quite high in pitch. I was desparate not to have my friend come home to a battle zone full of injured feline friends, so I ran for the laundry room to try and halt the impending war.
When I said that my friend's house was beautiful, I should have also mentioned that it was LARGE. In order to get from the den to the laundry room, I had to sprint through the living room, past the kitchen, and down the hallway (a long one), break hard to the right into the hallway leading to the laundry room, then a hard left into the laundry room itself. I was afraid that the length of time it was going to take me to get there was too long and that I would arrive too late to prevent bloodletting.
So, I hollered my own battle cry for my entire sprint. I must have sounded like a cross between a banshee and a primitive warrior, headed intently for the front lines. I didn't notice the kitty threat displays had ended during my headlong dash. As I skidded into the laundry room, I found all four cats huddled about the room in various tiny spaces, eyes HUGE, looking right at me, with all their hair on end. On the floor, in the locations previously held by the angry kitties, were four gently steaming piles of kitty poo. Yes, I had literally scared the crap out of them.
Postscript: I felt so terrible that I had terrified them that I spent the rest of the evening treating them all like royalty. I guess they forgave me, because I was always greeted with affection on all my return visits.
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