Story 61: A Christmas Carol of Christmas Present

            “I cannot perform as Scrooge in these anachronistic conditions!  Shelley’s cell phone keeps ringing, the construction workers are at it again with the jackhammers in the lobby, and that train, that flipping train, keeps coming by blaring its horn every 20 minutes!”

            “You’re an actor, Gary – block it out.”

            “Yes, I am an actor, Steven, one who is attuned to the world around him in order to fully embody his roles, and I cannot fully embody a 19^th-century moneylender when I am being constantly upstaged by 21^st-century ambient noise!”

            “I understand.  Now take it from the top.”

            (Clears throat and speaks with an upper-crust, old-fashioned English accent) “‘A Merry Christmas?  What right have you to be merry?  You’re poor enough.’  If that fire alarm goes off one more time, I swear to all the ghosts of all the Christmases – ”

            “It’s being fixed, Gary, just – focus.”

            “Easier said than done.  Ahem-hem-humbug-humbug-humbug.  ‘What right have you to be’ – I’m sorry, Shelley, but unless you’re an on-call physician, that phone really needs to be destroyed.”

            “Stake of holly through your heart, Gary!”

            “Shelley, he has a point – no phones on stage.”

            “I’m waiting for a call-back!”

            “Then we need to have a talk after rehearsal.  Continue, Gary.”

            “I forgot my place.”

            “‘What right have you to be merry?’”

            “Oh yes.  Can we skip ahead to the end?  My ‘Redeemed Scrooge’ needs more practice.”

            “Fine, whatever keeps this moving.”

            “Thank you.  ‘The spirits did it all in one night!  They can do’ – ahhhh!!! The train!  The infernal train!”

            “Gary!  Opening night’s tomorrow!  If you can’t do this, I’ll have to bring in Scott!”

            “Not Scott!  He can barely do a passable Bob Cratchit!”

            “Then don’t make me!”

            “Bah!”

            “That’s the spirit.”

Story 60: The Eight Nights of Hanukkah

            On the first night of Hanukkah, my mother gave to me: a 40-inch flat-screen TV.

            “What?!  That’s too expensive – how could you blow the first night on something so big!  I said I was going to buy it myself, and I only got you some gloves!  I can’t believe you spent the money – ”

            “You’re welcome.”

            On the second night of Hanukkah, my mother got from me: a hot stone massage certificate, for one free.

            “Those things are rip-offs – you can’t get more from hot stones than they already can do with their hands, my masseur friend told me, you shouldn’t have wasted the money, here you take it – ”

            “OK!”

            On the third night of Hanukkah, my mother gave to me: a set of brand-new kitchen cutlery.

            “I don’t need these.”

            “You can always use new ones.”

            “Mine are new!”

            “These are back-ups: what if you have company and you need more?  And don’t tell me that you’d use plastic – I raised you better.”

            “Yes’m.”

            On the fourth night of Hanukkah, my mother got from me: a set of brand-new kitchen cutlery.

            “These are the ones I just gave you, aren’t they.”

            “Of course not!  I figured you also may need back-ups, just in case.”

            “All right, but I have no room, so I’ll leave these in your house until I need them.”

            On the fifth night of Hanukkah, my mother gave to me: a nice sweater, warm and fuzzy.

            “This is great!  I needed a new one!”

            “Don’t be insincere; I know you hate them, but I’m running out of ideas for you kids.”

            “No, no, I like it, I’ll wear it right now, I mean it!  Don’t give me that look, Mom.”

            “I know you’re doing it because you think it’ll make me happy, so I won’t stop you.”

            “Good, `cause I’m freezing.  You really need to turn up the heat.”

            “This is your house!”

            “…Oh yeah.”

            On the sixth night of Hanukkah, my mother got from me: a home-cooked meal made traditionally.

            “Everything is a bit…”

            “Bland?”

            “I didn’t want to put it that harshly, but yes.”

            “Want me to order pizza?”

            “Please.”

            On the seventh night of Hanukkah, my mother gave to me: my inheritance, super-early.

            “And you get all my jewelry, but your brother gets the train set.”

            “Why are we talking about this now?!”

            “I’m out of gift ideas, so I’m letting you know all the gifts you’ll receive in the future.  The very distant future.”

            “Thanks?”

            “It’s no trouble.”

            On the eight night of Hanukkah, my mother and I got each other: nothing.

            “It was fun when you were kids, but now it’s a struggle.”

            “I know!  This is so much better. More wine?”

            “You have to ask?”

            “I love you, Mom.”

            “I love you, too, dear.”

Story 59: Winter Wonderlanding

            I love the snow.

            It may just be the fond memories from childhood days of yore, but I’ve never gotten over it.  Even before Winter officially starts, I prefer to have at least one blizzard to get things rolling; however, I will settle for a few inches of snow in November, as long as it’s before Thanksgiving.

            People say to me: What about having to shovel the driveway all the time?

            I say to them: Why shovel?  If my driveway has enough frozen water on it that I’d have to shovel, then obviously the roads are bad and I should stay off of them.  I have an obligation – nay, a duty – to my fellow human beings to stay home and curl up in my blankets with a cup of hot cocoa and a book.

            People say: What if you absolutely must drive somewhere and the roads are all icy?

            I say: Wheee!!!

            People say: What if the power goes out and you have no heat?

            I say: See above regarding blankets.  And that’s what fuzzy kittens were made for.

            People say: Well, you can’t go building snow forts and pelting passers-by with snowballs and topping it off with rolling around until you’re covered in the stuff.

            I say: And why not?

            People say: Because you’re not a kid anymore.

            I say: I fail to see your point.

            Bottom line: I love the snow less for itself and more for all of the things that come with it – sledding, hot drinks, snow people, mittens, cancelled work, muffled outdoor noises, the beauty of it all.

            Although, it is awful cold when it gets stuck under your clothes.  That, I can do without.