Mele Kalikimaka

“LET’S MAKE CHRISTMAS COOKIES AND WATCH HALLMARK SHOWS!” Bekki said excitedly.  “IT’LL BE FUN!”

Define “fun” I thought as I watched the mayhem unfold.  (Note to self:  If I ever build another house the kitchen will have a floor drain and at least two garden hose connections on the walls.)

As projects go (and I have A LOT of them pending before the holidays) Christmas cookies sounded fun.  But then I remembered the territorial hockey game that happens every time Bekki and I find ourselves in the kitchen at the same time.  Quite simply, I get ass-nudged and hip checked around our puny work island until I draw a foul and find myself in the penalty box.  I’ve realized over the past several years that kitchen hockey is a lifeskill Bek acquired from her mother; a passive aggressive domain claim, like grizzly bears clawing trees to mark their territory.

I walked into the kitchen finding several bowls of pastel colored Easter frosting.  Soupy thin by frosting standards but everyone has their secret recipes for stuff.  I spooned out a few teaspoons of the watery mess into a couple of small bowls, thickened it with spoonfuls of powdered sugar, and made my own colors. I like bright colors.  It must be a guy thing.

I learned I was doing it wrong.  Before this project I didn’t know frosting is supposed to “soak in.”

I watched the master baker create.  

“What’s that?” I asked, looking at one of her creations.

“A crab!” Bekki said, looking over her glasses with a big smile.

“REALLY BEK?  A Christmas crab?  It’s supposed to be Santa.  You have it sideways,” I said.

She paused for a few seconds, staring at her creation.  “Well the cutters aren’t marked.  How am I supposed to know what that thing’s supposed to be! Are you gonna be all critical or are you going to make some?”

I reluctantly picked up a cookie.  The goalie immediately came outta the box and blocked my every move.

Instead of falling into the predictable territorial grizzly kitchen trap, I employed Christmas guy-psychology. Call it “guycology.”

 It worked.

“THAT’S NOT CHRISTMASSY!  YOU RUIN EVERYTHING!” She said, taking a picture of my creation to share with her friends to validate that I am indeed the Grinch.

“Come on Bek, It’s very Chrismassy!  I call it mele kalikimaka!” I said, moving the little hula dancer and singing the only words that I know to the song… the title.

As projects go, it was fun to watch Bekki get in the holiday spirit and make Christmas crabs.  I’m almost certain there will be a second round of holiday baking when the kids come home.

Mele Kalikimaka to all!

Longer Shadows

There are days I wish I was a kid again.  There’s something alluring about the careless freedom of barefooted youth: The short span of life where time is irrelevant and periods of the day are loosely measured by warm sun shadows. A time of innocence where wealth is gauged in pennies and treasure is a collection of sparkly rocks and a bright blue feather.

And then life changes with the joyful progressive warning of an added flame on a cake and a short chorus.

Time becomes relevant. Life becomes scheduled. Worry becomes predictable. And the kid is gone…

…unless we refuse to forget, protecting that small and vulnerable spirit.

Just because we’re higher off the ground doesn’t mean we shouldn’t find treasure… sparkly rocks… a bright blue feather…

We’re just casting longer shadows in the same warm sun.

Happy Birthday Joe Joe!

Frolicking Curmudgeon

Uh oh. Does everyone know what season it is? It’s here. The much anticipated Christmas Hallmark Channel season or what I refer to as the season of TV love triangles, tears, snowball fights, and hot chocolate. And much like the artificial world of afternoon soaps, Hallmark’s snow globe reality sets an expectation for holiday frolicking to which an employed guy – without access to a personal helicopter, yacht, hotel chain, or royal lineage – might have a problem measuring up.

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Festusitis

That’s it. I’m gonna start talkin’ like Festus Haggen. (If you don’t know the name, Google it.) He had his own little language going on, yet everyone seemed to understand what he was saying. I, on the other hand, have reached the ghostlike status of verbal invisibility, even when making an exaggerated effort to annunciate.

Siri started it, forcing me to focus on my lip movements to form words like a frightened immigrant. But it doesn’t matter. Either from lack of interest or short attention, my apparent semi-intelligible yammering is met with confusion. Even my wife’s dog stares at me in bewilderment with her head cocked, apparently thinking, “Did the giant say ‘TREAT?’ I think I heard ‘treat.’ Yeah, yeah… it was definitely ‘treat.’ So where’s my treat?”

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