Category Archives: Holiday Hijinks

Halloween relic

Halloween came and went, and it took something with it.

Halloween gave us candy. In exchange it took part of my fatherhood experience away.

For the first time in 17 years, I did not go Trick or Treating. I was no longer needed.

Once upon a time, I pulled a wagon, with a baby passenger, from house to house. I walked with a toddler, holding his hand, until he asked to be carried home. I brought the younger brother, hurrying with him, so the older brother didn’t get too frustrated by the anchor around his candy-gathering ankles. I flitted among three boys of varying ages and speeds, struggling to keep the herd together as three lengths of legs progressed at different strides, slowing down the fast and speeding up the slow so that no one got lost and no one lost faith.

It was exhausting; it was wonderful. Everyone needed Dad to facilitate the fun. As the night grew dark, no one worried, as long as Dad was in sight. Dad was always in sight, because these were his boys, and this was them together.

More than any of them, Dad wished to stay out until Trick or Treat was officially ended. This unifying quest was two fleeting hours, and when it ended, it was ended for an entire year.

After Halloween last year, it ended for always.

Perhaps, Dad should have known, but the hope for one more time is difficult to subdue.

This year, the two boys who still had interest in Trick or Treat, looted the neighborhood under their own authority, which was only right. They had grown into that freedom. They ran with their own pack, as time had long determined they should do.

Dad stayed home, warm and dry, as old people should be kept. He had no more babies to protect. Only memories of babies. Memories don’t make new memories; they stay home too.

One more thing put away in the scrap book, the way it was always meant to be. But I claim the right to cling to the fraying strand of nostalgia.

The way we were.

How many reasons do you need?

Our town has its summer fireworks display in late June as part of its annual celebration of itself. I don’t know if this move from July 4th is because fireworks rates are cheaper in June, or if we’re collectively sticking it to Mr. Jefferson, or if we’ve quietly switched over to the Julian Calendar. I’m sure there’s solid reasoning is behind it. It’s a win-win for us; a week later we drive to the next town over (their board members haven’t read the most recent socially corrective scolding from Vanity Fair Online) to watch their morally tainted display.

This year my wife and some friends went to our town’s annual self-congratulation early, to sit in the beer tent. I don’t want you to get the idea my wife is a big beer drinker; she is not. In fact, she never touches a drop of the stuff. Not a single drop. She snuck a bladder of wine in with her.

My job was to bring Buster and Big Man to the event in time for the fireworks. The boys had a friend over, and they were having so much fun playing together, they decided to skip the pyrotechnics altogether.

Just as I settled into the idea of sticking around the house, the friend went home, leaving Buster and Big Man each with only a brother to play with. As any brother can tell you, this is unacceptable. Suddenly steeped in abysmal boredom, both boys decided they would like to see the fireworks after all.

Now we were late. As we drove, we saw the beginning of the display from the car. The boys became eager to get to the action, but we were stopped a particularly long red light.

No other cars were visible. “Just go through the light,” Big Man instructed.

“I’m not getting a ticket so you can see the fireworks you didn’t want to see five minutes ago,” I said.

“Just go through it,” Buster demanded. “Mom would!”

“No. She wouldn’t go through this one.” I know Mom does what she has to do to compress time, but this was a major intersection, quiet only because everyone was at the fireworks show.

“She would totally run this!” Big Man insisted.

“Yeah,” Buster agreed. “Because she’s late, and she has someplace to be, and nobody is here, and she’s grumpy. That’s four reasons to run the light, and Mom only needs two.”

“And Mom’s always grumpy when she drives,” Big Man piled on. “So she only really needs one.”

While they were listing the reasons to run the light, it turned green. We got to see some of the fireworks in the open air.

When we caught up to Mom, she wasn’t grumpy at all – probably because she had no idea just how far under the bus her kids had thrown her.

This might have been worth running a light to see, assuming you could see it in color.

Editor’s Note: There is no admissible evidence that any person named herein has actually run a red light or is a grumpy driver. Any insinuation of either occurrence is merely hearsay.

Happy Valentine’s Day from the clogged lint screen

My wife thinks I’m not as romantic as I used to be.

To this, I agree.

Also, our 15-year-old clothes dryer doesn’t dry clothes as fast as it used to.

Maybe we are both clogged with lint. Or maybe our heating elements are burning out.

After 19 Valentine’s Days, 19 of her birthdays, 19 Christmases, 16 wedding anniversaries, and 15 Mothers’ Days, it can become challenging to come up with fresh bursts of romance. 

Lately, it has taken lots of time and effort to keep that old dryer limping along. It’s had its triumphs and failures. It makes more noise now than it should. So do I.

We both wore out our belts.

Cards have sure changed since my youthful days of flaming romance.

I prepared to buy a new dryer, but my wife said no. She said these new computerized dryers have too many sophisticated parts that could break down and be expensive to fix.

Sure, they look flashy and seem full of promises, but they would most likely be unreliable.

She would rather stick with the dryer she understands—the one she knows where to kick when it acts up.

The one I can keep running, imperfectly, but consistently.

She gets annoyed at the old dryer’s many flaws, but she knows eventually the clothes will come out warm and dry, and comfortable.

We both get annoyed, but we are the only two who know all the old jokes, and understand why they are still funny. We couldn’t laugh so hard at anything else.

Even after all these years of hit or miss holidays, my wife is still a very attractive woman. I have little doubt she could have much more than a new dryer if she wished.

But I have even less doubt that she cherishes warm and comfortable things that she knows exactly where to kick.

I may have slowed down, but I never moved the target.

There must be something romantic in that.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all the young lovers, young and old alike.

Have yourself a merry little air fryer holiday

SPOILER ALERT: This post contains a spoiler in the first sentence. Read at your own risk.

You’re getting an air fryer for Christmas.

Maybe more than one.

And that’s okay.

I have two air fryers, and I use them often. If, like me, you love fries, chicken wings, or battered fish, and you want those things to kill you fractionally more slowly than they normally would, you will love the air fryer(s) coming your way.

So, rejoice!

How do I know you’re getting an air fryer?

That’s a complicated mathematical equation involving the abundance of air fryers on the store shelves in ratio to the lack of most everything else. Air fryers have spread from the kitchen section to various undersupplied areas of the store.

The stores have found a way to prevent you from being disappointed at seeing empty electronics cases this year. You won’t see the empty cases at all; they are hidden behind a mountain of air fryers. Who needs distracting electronics anyhow? Let’s all go back to simpler time, when we sat around the house and actually talked to each other, with nothing more pressing to do than wait for the beeping noise that told us the fried chicken was ready to be turned.

Fryer mania

Fighting inflation with air fryer deals. Note: this is not even the kitchen section of the store.

I recall reading news stories in which the executives at major retailers downplayed the supply chain crisis, assuring us they had millions of dollars’ worth of extra inventory in their warehouses this year. It is now becoming clear what those millions of dollars were tied up in.

Don’t be discouraged if you can’t find those special somethings your loved ones wanted this year, and you must settle on giving air fryers. Just think: by eliminating the need for all those unhealthy cooking oils, you may be adding upwards of two or three days onto their lives. And when you get the air fryers they’re giving you, you can join the rest of the family in exchanging creative and pseudo-healthy recipes.

So let’s all get psyched for the air fryers in our futures! Also, the other item that seems in ample supply is the novelty waffle maker. You may find one of those in your Christmas stocking, so making Minnie Mouse face waffles is also something to look forward to. Your kids will clamor to eat the heads of the world’s most beloved cartoon characters.

I have faith that you will all enjoy your new air fryers. A happy holiday season is assured. Knowing this, I feel it is only right to wish you a crispy, golden brown New Year.