Holiday Tradition: The Cussing of the Lights

It was back in September...I was already drenched in the holiday spirit. What holiday? Columbus Day? Halloween? No, Christmas! Okay, I can understand if you're embarking on a major arts and crafts project, such as stitching a needlepoint stocking to hang on the mantel with care, but WHO in their right mind, for example, is going to start buying strands of lights this early in the game? This year, that would be our family.

My concern about purchasing holiday goodies so early is that I'll forget where I put them. I made that mistake one year with oodles of Christmas presents I bought in JUNE while we were on a cruise. Much like a squirrel stashing away nuts for winter, I forgot where I buried the gifts. Plus I have enough of a stockpile of greeting cards that one day I'll remember I bought a case of them at the "after holiday sale." Having such a plentiful supply will come in handy if I suddenly acquire a large number of new friends…perhaps the entire population of a small Caribbean Island.

Last year we finally tossed out the lights that could not be resurrected. Every year it was the same situation...we'd unpack the random boxes of lights and start plugging them in, only to discover we hadn't labeled the box "dead lights." Sure, one day in our free time we would sit in front of the television, fiddle with the 100 individual bulbs on about a dozen strands and perhaps give them hope for a bright future. Not!

So we're packrats. At least we have the good sense to give each strand a test-plug BEFORE we begin adorning the outdoor bushes. My neighbor shared a fun family tradition, "The Cussing of the Lights." This is what happens when you painstakingly strand to perfection before you test. Nothing fills one's heart with the holiday spirit more than expletives spewing from the mouth of a husband who's holding an extension cord in one hand and a beer in the other.

While some of our neighbors pay several hundreds of dollars to have a licensed and insured company come to their home and string the lights for them and end up with quite an impressive display, we still make our annual pilgrimage to Lake Lanier Islands to see what must be the equivalent of enough electrical output to illuminate an entire small Caribbean Island (even with all the blenders for tropical drinks running simultaneously).

One year we broke the tradition and trekked to an alleged wondrous display closer to home. After we waited in line for about as long as it would have taken us to drive to Lake Lanier, the most impressive display of lights we saw was the tail/brake lights of the SUV in front of us. We even tried to enliven the moment by playing our favorite Christmas CD. The festive music was drowned out by the children in the back seat giving their own commentary, "This stinks, can we just go home and watch our OWN lights short out?"

This comment was in reference to our illuminated reindeer that suffered from a series of issues throughout the season. We went with modest versus ostentatious with our ornamentation, so the "display" consists of two smaller lawn adornments: a doe that appears to be grazing and a buck with head upright. We did not collect the entire jumbo set, nor do the heads on these animals move.

Mr. Buck must have needed some male enhancement medication, as when we plugged him in his back end wouldn't light up. Soon thereafter we experienced what only can be described as a miraculous healing. There was no logical explanation to why his entire body was lit up.

There were also no witnesses, nor would anyone fess up to how our reindeer got into an amorous position. May your days be merry and bright!

Nice Giblets, Baby!

Admit it, do you ever get that urge to break tradition? It’s been the same thing year after year: turkey, stuffing (prepackaged or homemade and subsequently cubed versus crumbed), mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberries (whole or jellied), sweet potatoes (with or without marshmallows), a couple of vegetables, and a lovely assortment of pies. As much as we embrace ritual, every once in a while I wonder, “What would the family do if I served burgers for Thanksgiving?”

One year we got a “this is your life” perspective on video including the meal preparation, everyone stuffing their faces, then sprawling on the sofa moaning, “I ate too much.” Many of the out-takes could be eligible for one of those funny video shows, my favorite being my aunt’s German Shepherd licking the top of the apple pie for good luck.

Too bad we captured no footage of the first year I lived on my own and graciously offered to host Thanksgiving dinner. This was my chance to prove that even though I flunked Home Economics, by golly I could cook. I woke up very early in the morning and set the turkey on the counter. Thankfully I had my helpful mother on the phone guiding me through each step. “Yeah, the wrapper’s off, uh huh, it’s thawed. You want me to stick my hand WHERE? No way, YOU come over here and do it!”

Okay, so the turkey’s dead, but I felt like I was violating the poor thing. Brilliant packaging engineers go to great lengths to take all the innards OUT of the bird, so why do they stick them back inside? Some guys at the Turkeys ‘R Us manufacturing plant were bored one day, or perhaps had been driven insane be the constant sound of gobbling, when the following discussion ensued:
1st guy: Wow, this stuff is really nasty looking, what is it?
2nd guy: It’s the liver, neck, and giblets.
1st guy: What the heck’s a “giblet?”
2nd guy: I don’t know.
3rd guy: Hey, I have a brilliant idea, why don’t we take this stuff, wrap it in a little bag, and shove it up the turkey’s backside so we can irritate folks during what’s supposed to be a warm family time?

They thought they could succeed with this evil plot, but NOOOO, some twisted culinary geniuses just had to go and get creative on us. “Aren’t you going to prepare giblet gravy?” Not until I know what a “giblet” is!

Our family ritual is probably much like that of many other families. We get up in the morning, realize we bought the turkey slightly too late so we have to thaw it in cold water. Meanwhile, we watch the parade, oohing and ahhing over the large balloons that take a cast of hundreds to tether.

Do you ever wonder, “Did the Pilgrims do this?” Of course not, because they didn’t have television with an overabundance of bowl games. What did they do while the turkey was cooking? Admire one another’s funky hats and shoes? Were the kids just as nasty? “No, it’s your turn to set the table, dorkwad!”

Did the young women get initiated into domestic goddess hood in a similar fashion? I thought I had it bad just sticking my hand in the turkey’s “body cavity.” They had to remove giblets not neatly packaged in a bag. And how did they know when the bird was fully cooked as they did not have the modern invention of that little timer that pops out at supposedly just the right moment? There was no bickering over whole or jellied cranberries. However, they had to pick their own cranberries from a bog. I have never visited a bog, but I envision a rather nasty, mucky place. I’d much rather open a can.

At least they didn’t have to ponder the age-old question “Stovetop stuffing or mashed potatoes?”

Supporting Women in the Arts

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The arts work together as a whole. Visual art, dance, music, comedy, music production, theater, radio and film all compliment each other and merge together in various aspects. Women in these industries need a way to network together, work together, ask for and give support and advice and help build each others careers. Indie means much more than independent songwriters. Indie means Independence to take your career where you want it to go. It is in this independence that a community of professional women need to circle around each other and give and offer support and work together on projects. ~ Vicki Blankenship

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