This morning I got my first bout of Holiday Cheer. I was SPRINTING to the bus stop, heeled boots clunking down the sidewalk, extremities flailing, when I heard the bus arrive. I was still a block away, and it couldn't see me as I was running perpendicular to it. RUN FASTER YOU PANSY! Do NOT think about how ridiculous you look! And though I somehow upped the pace, the bus began pulling away and, defeated, I stopped and just stared as it drove away. Damnit.
But as I gazed dejectedly at the retreating form of my transportation, suddenly it's brake lights came on, it slowed down, and then pulled over. My eyes widened and I again was sprinting towards it, even more self-concious now that I KNEW the driver and perhaps even some passengers had seen my heeled-boot run. But it was hard to care when I was so elated at my good fortune.
I stepped on the bus and looked at my savior, a large black man, my Santa Claus. "You are the best." I panted as I tried to draw breath and get out my bus pass at the same time. "Thank you."
"Merry Christmas." He said almost smugly, as if he knew he was my hero. "I saw you stop running and I though, 'What is that girl doing? Why is she just standing there?' After awhile on this job you get good at reading people."
"Thank you so much." I repeated, trying to breathe normally and not sweat on him. How nice of that man, to pull over for someone he saw out of the corner of his eye, a sad little girl in boots. Merry Christmas.
As I sat on the bus staring out at the dreary morning, reflecting on the kindess of strangers, I began thinking about my upcoming Christmas festivities. Recently on my dad's side of the family, the generation above mine have stopped taking responsibility for organizing Christmas and lapsed into lazy passengers, and the burden has fallen on my cousins and I, or, as I like to think of us, "The Wonderkids." Actually it is my oldest cousin Caitlyn, who is married and even has two beautiful children, that wears the pants this year. She is exactly three life milestones ahead of any of the rest of us, and perhaps that gives her the authority to make Christmas Decisions. And as we are all very close in age, it seems that all other family members like to compare "The Wonderkids" against her; at times you can find older family members cornering one of us and asking, "So, gonna follow in Caitlyn's footsteps any time soon?" At which point our eyes glaze over and we smile vacantly until the topic of conversation shifts to something more appropriate, like shooting gophers with 22's, the benefits of campers, or Aggie the three-legged dog.
This is the year of the White Elephant. I am a bit confused as to why it is called a White Elephant, when "Blood-thirsty Gift Exchange" would be just as appropriate, but I suppose it comes down to tradition. In years past we have always just drawn names (there are now 26 people in our family), but this year we decided to try something new. We almost didn't, but I had to put my foot down. "We need an event that is going to force all of us together." I noted thoughtfully. Without some organized gift exchange, it would be just a bunch of people eating and drinking together... which, actually, doesn't sound that bad.
But the idea of making all of us sit in the same room and duke it out for presents sounded even more appealing to me, and I really cannot wait. This is an event we have never done before, I'm pretty excited to see what happens when we mix my family members, alcohol and stealable presents all in the same room. "GO PLAY DONKEY KONG!" My grandma will yell to the younger kids when they try to come see what the noise is all about, "THIS IS WAR!" And there will be an echo of drunken war cries from the rest of us and the kids will roll their eyes and go play Just Dance like winners, because Donkey Kong is so "last generation." Whatever.
Being young and hip, we discussed the plan of the White Elephant with "The Wonderkids" over a group Facebook message (we, unlike our older generations, have the imperative skillz to all communicate at the same time using the highest level of technology, Social Media, which therefore make us the ideal generation). After several messages of, "Stop this, you are all blowing up my phone," planning a mass text to our grandfather at 3:15 on his birthday, and an unstoppable ambush of large kitten stickers, we were able to actually figure out a solid Plan for Christmas. With only one, "I do not accept, I want all the presents" from one cousin ("No one cares what you think, Caralyn," being the general response), we agreed on a White Elephant for adults and a gift exchange for children. And then... I had an idea.
"You know what would be fun?! Energetically suggesting to the younger kids that they put on a Christmas play for us, and have them act out the Grinch. And tell them that we are withholding presents until they thouroughly entertain us. GREAT idea, right?!"
"Ash, I always knew you were brilliant." Cassy replied.
"Yea. And Caralyn could be the director." Kellen added.
"Brayden can be the Grinch, Bridgette can be Cindy Loo-Hoo, and Keylee can be that dog that rides around in a sled with the Grinch." I add helpfully.
"MAX is the dogs name! Ohhhhhhh Maxxx!! This would be my first work in theater." Caralyn replied.
I can see it now. Brayden will be dressed up in an old Santa suit, his face painted green, running around as only 8-year-old boys can, pulling little toddler Keylee (aka Max the dog/reindeer) in a red wagon without so much as a backwards glance at her well-being. We will make Bridgette put her hair up on top of her head, clasp her hands, and sing "Da-Hoo-Dora" as she learned in pre-school (probably), and... I'm out of characters, but really, that would be enough. Daniel and Matthew can be back-up singers. And Caralyn will be the narrator, "And his heart grew three times that day." She will say solemnly, as Brayden misses the steps into the living room, toppling himself and Keylee on the bright orange carpet, and Bridgette will be singing so passionatley that she will not miss a note, ignoring the chaos reigning at her feet.
Damn. I'd pay to watch that. Alright, Caralyn, time to get started.
Merry Christmas!
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