Hiking Out of 2020 With Mr. King, Wondering How We Might Channel Legolas & Rey Who Apparently Can Walk Atop the Trees

Disclaimer: Come back here tomorrow for directions for 2021. I never sit still, and this will likely be true this time on January 1st, too.

Yesterday, however, Jessica Baldizon, Chitunga, William King, and I met in Shelton to go for a hike which, I assumed to be an hour, but Tunga led the way so it lasted 3 hours, we climbed up and down hills, traveled to lakes, leaped waterfalls, and shook hands with the Ents. William and I spent most of the time trying to figure out how Jessica and Chitunga's little legs moved so much faster than our own. We walked the same pace, it seemed, but every time we looked up the two of them were further ahead. It was insane. We also wondered, "Why don't they stop to take in all this beauty? It's such a marvelous place to meditate and be one with he outdoor world?"

Nope. We climbed and we ascended....enough so, that I was soaked upon the return. It was a good work out and a great way to tip our hats to the 2020 year. The hardest part of all of this has been not getting together with usual folks The two of them had a rough start with it all, and Tunga and I are pretty much nerds who don't really need to be out in public. So, when the arrangements were made to hike, we were all in.

It also paid off that two nights ago I ordered Italian food in and the portions were enormous. We each are getting 3 meals out of it (and I'm thinking it's economical, as it ends up being cheaper in the long run - like $6 a meal, one head of a delicious meal extended over 3 days). 

And here we are upon the corner of 2020 and 2021, and I can say that once again I've made my resolution of 365 days of daily thinking a success. Hard to believe I'm about to head to the 14th year. At this point, it's sort of customary to blog everyday - it's like breathing and I imagine it's something I won't depart with any time soon.

The link to 2021 can be found here: https://customarycrandall.blogspot.com

Be good to yourselves today. I'm not optimistic about 2021, but it's got to be a happier new year than before.

Because I'm Me, I Thought It'd Be Cool to Document Covid-Bed Head Since March. Um, I Only Nailed 84 Days, But I Tried

To be Bryan Ripley Crandall, one must get obsessed with stupid things like growing one's hair out because one isn't supposed to be out and about and documenting said growth on a daily basis. The trouble is, I couldn't resist hair cuts (had three) and I failed to document all the days of growth during this pandemic. I just got tired of the photos clogging up my I-photo library and wanted to get rid of them. Hence, this post.

Truth is, the 84 pictures were from this year, mostly from morning wake-up bed-head rituals, and they are not in order. When I thought about the labor it would take to put them in chronological order in IMovie I gave up on my own goal. I did, however, meet my vision of semi-documenting the mop atop my head. I wish it grew twice as long, twice as fast, but I'll take the feathers the way they fell. My barber, Jerry, talked me out of cutting the top when he said, "Dude. At your age. Celebrate that hair is still growing on your head."

So, I am. 

So, I do.

I get weirded out about using copy-written material as a musical background so went with Apple's free animal and beach sounds. In some ways, I've been a bird of sorts laughing at the ways my hair falls in the morning.  A couple of times I did groom the entanglement for conference calls and interview recordings, but mostly this is what I looked like when I woke up each day. 

I get myself in the stupidest habits and don't allow myself much wiggle room out of them. This is one that I knew was going to obsess me, and become a nuisance. Why photograph your hair everyday, Crandall? Um, because I can. I could. It gave me mild humor through the crazy pandemic and something I want to remember about 2020. 

And with that, I'm still letting it grow...for now.

But, I'm allowing myself the freedom from "documenting" every day. Time to move on.

Shhh. Don't Tell Anyone. But We Are So Close to Fulfilling a Nerdy Dream I Never Could Have Thought Of as a Kid

I was five years old when the first Star Wars movie came out. Little could I know at the time that the series, of which I was obsessed with, would eventually land that 1st movie as episode 4 in the 9-part trilogy (or that Grogu would debut in The Mandalorian). I did a Google search of R2D2 ceramic lamps, and I can tell you none of them were as cool as the one my mother made for me in ceramics. It lit up my room as if holiday Christmas lights. I loved my toys, too, and some of my earliest memories were playing Star Wars and attacking my sisters' barbie dolls. 

The trash compactor was a tremendous hit, too.

Fast forward 43 years and we have the phenomenon that has been Mt. Pleasant this week. Chitunga and I watched all the Mandalorians together, and I was surprised when he said he wanted to watch all the Star Wars movies so he could understand the story better. Phew. I remember the resurrections of films in the 2000s when I still lived (1999)(2000)(2005) in Kentuckiana. The resurgence began. I felt alive. 2015, 2017, 2019, however, I lived in Connecticut, but went home to Syracuse, to watch the films as they came out.

1977, 1980, and 1983, however, were the films that raised me. My addiction and my imagination. I guess it is safe to say that I'm totally a Star Wars geek. The fulfillment of all the films together, however, belongs to my generation all the way! This was our childhood, early adulthood, and now adulthood. We feel the force within every episode because we were raised with it.

Perhaps this is why the past week has been extra special. With Chitunga off for the holiday, and me always in need of something that can successfully get me to unwind, we ventured to watch all 9 films in order of the story (not their releases). It made for something as magical as the day Bro-in-Law Mike and I did the Lord of the Ring marathon on Pine Grove in Cicero. Another epic series in my life. 

If all goes well, tonight we will complete the back to back series, and I can successfully cross off an item on my bucket list that I didn't know I had.

Loving this mild, yet ever-so-precious week of memories we made. Here's to many more stories in the series yet-to-be-told.

And poor Glamis. She just wants her couch back. 

It's Game Time, Folks: Three of These Photos Are True To My Older Sister & Three Are Made Up (& Fictionalized) - GOOD LUCK

Every year, December 28th, 3 days after the Christmas Hoopla, and 3 Days before a New year, my older sister, Cynderballz, celebrates her birthday. Typically, it is the marker date for when I should return back home from taking time off, but this year the home-stay brought a new way of being.

That being said, however, is not devoid of supermodel photos of my older sister, so readers can guess which ones are the real ones, and which ones are fabricated. She hates any and all photographs of her, so I thought this year I should mix it up and give readers an options to decide which is the coy designed to distract you.

Hint: It's the Birthday Girl. I'll let you decide which one.

Meanwhile, I can attest that Chitunga and I watched episode VI in the Star Wars series and have graduated past the 1970s/1980s versions. I will note, however, that watching Return of the Jedi after the 5 that led up to it, makes the scenes from the original three that much more magical. Bravo on the work and pure joy for us.

And it's a Monday. Happy Birthday to You. Happy Birthday to You, Happy Birthday, Older sister, Happy Birthday to you.

I'm back at my desk today as University work will quadruple in exactly a week, and I want to get ahead a little so I can go into the New Year standing on my feet. 

I wish I was in 'Cuse to have some cake!

Hoping her celebration goes marvelously (even though it won't be a 50th at Hafner's - Phew...who'd of guessed a year ago that this is where we'd be today).

They Were Supposed to Open Them Up at the Same Time, but We Still Can Ask, "Which One Wears It Better?"

I picked up a sweater for Chitunga in Syracuse and my mother said, "Hey, That's the sweater I want to give him." I asked, "Didn't you say you were only giving money this year?" and she responded, "Yes, but if I wasn't I'd give Chitunga that sweater. Your father would look good in it, too."

So, Bryan did what he had to do. He picked one up for Butchy-Roo, as well. Mom posted his picture, so today I'm posting that one next to one with Chitunga (we can pretend we are in the same room). 

I did a Cynderballz yesterday, and sitting around writing this morning, I suddenly thought, "You know what? I'm ready for the Christmas stuff to come down." It's the first time I've been able to chill out in my home in like, EVER, and because I'm in calm space, I have time to clean and not resent it. Besides, Chitunga and I wanted to transform the dining room into office space for the Spring semester (funny that I always will think in terms of semesters, but he's a working man now, so maybe it's just the Spring). Anyway, that's done.

And Pam and I did a food swap in the afternoon, just so we wouldn't get sick of our own leftovers. She made the lasagna that I would have had at Cynde's and I brought her brisket, carrots, and creamed potatoes. I was thinking that families should create such swaps on a weekly basis. I've always thought this. Rotate cooking schedules (and workloads). It would be smart.

It's hard to believe that today is Sunday, but it is what it is. It's also hard to believe that it is the Sunday after Christmas, I'm in my own house, and my decorations are all up, and I can move onto January projects a little earlier. I think I know why, now, people like to unwind and relax in their own homes.  I also see that I, like everyone else, have accrued a lot of shit over the years. SO MUCH STUFF. I think it is time for a purge.

Let There Be Light! I Didn't Know It at the Time, But I've Really Been in the Dark. Chitunga to the Rescue (with a Perfect Christmas Gift)

1. I should say that we are on 24 hours of a Star Wars marathon, watching them not in the order they were made but in the order of the story. It's so comical to get to the "4th" one (when it was originally the 1st). Cinematography has come so far, but the genius behind the entire series is simply epic.

2. The Holiday brunch was a success, as were the brisket sandwiches that came twice, later on (so good with perogies).

3. Tunga and I did the swap in the morning, and I'm beyond delighted by the fact that he had the insight, brilliance, to buy a light for the garage. It's so simple, so necessary, and something I never thought to do since moving into Mt. Pleasant. Instead, I run inside to get my cellphone so I can get a light for the darkness. You'd think I'd do something so easy, but nope. Perhaps that is why getting the light was the perfect gift. Now, I can just flick it on. In fact, I went to the garage often throughout the day to turn the light on and off. Just because I could. 

4. No desserts. 

5. Brisket on rolls with perogies. I'm telling you. 

6. The sunset was delicious last night, and I said to Tunga, "I don't think I've ever chilled out and relaxed so much in my own house. Usually, I'm on the go, go, go, and when I get a break, I'm heading to Syracuse, so I don't ever treat my house like, well, a house. To say I sat almost 14-hours watching Star Wars is something Mt. Pleasant has't experienced before.

7. Phew, Star Wars 1977 was ahead of its time, but so antiquated. It's funny actually, but I know why I had all the Star Wars toys as a child. 

8. I missed my mom's 'fuck yeah' cookies.

9. That sunset, though. 

10. And the holidays are over. Safe, calm, wonderful, and joyous...very thankful to have what I have and to share what I can. Now, it is time to say good-bye to this sabbatical shenanigan I had and to pay attention to the impossible chaos of the work. 

And just like that I'm off again. 

It's All About Mike - Shaking Up a Christmas Tradition During Covid 2020, and Taking Liberty With the Flake Tale That Kicks Things Off

For more than 10 years (maybe less, maybe more, we've kicked off our holiday festivities with a reading of A Flake Like Mike, the story of the original snowflake who was unlike all the others. Then Santa comes, we hit the tree, and the chaos ensues.

This year, because of a distanced gathering (and the fact I didn't have the book), I took liberty to meet Mike's request that I write a book just for him. So, this is how our family ZOOM gathering began. 

Merry Christmas, Everyone. I hope all find themselves safe, with loved ones, and in the spirit of the day.

 

The Good News Is We Don't Have To Spend Several Weeks Planning On Who Is Cooking What. This Year, It's Whatever I Make

I'm ready. I'd say I'm feeding an army, but it's like to only be 3, maybe 4. The brisket is already cooking, as I'm used to the Christmas Eve dinner, rather than the Christmas Day. Usually by then, mom and dad are sound asleep, and Cynde's putting up her decorations. We will definitely miss out on the Barnwell Brunch, though, as there's nothing better than the French Toast casserole, bacon, eggs, etc. Then there are mom's 'fuck yeah' cookies. As Dorothy said to the cookies in the Wizard of Oz, "I will miss you the most."

I spent the day cleaning, too, after being stung by 60 needles for my psoriasis and lucking out at the last minute finding what I've been looking for for days (stupid gift, too). I am laughing, though, because I thought I mastered a way so that Glamis would stop lounging on the couch. Instead, I think I've created an extra comfortable house of pillows for her to fold up like a fox so she can snore. Well, at least until she moves, the dog hair is swept up for a moment. 

Facebook reminded me the last couple of days that for 26 years, I was on the road to Syracuse, either from Louisville or Connecticut. I am thinking of all the neuroticism of Glamis, too, as we tried to fit her in with the packages (Baby was easy...I had a truck then, and she stood in the back like a horse). This year, there's no need for causing Glamis stress, as we are adhering to the socially distanced Holiday.

A ZOOM call at 5 p.m. - Our goal, I believe, is to eat dinner at 6 p.m. after the call. Besides the beef brisket, everything else I'm making is traditional: beans, creamed potatoes, squash, & shrimp. On Christmas Day, I believe the order is lasagna, but I'm not making that. I'm awaiting one to be delivered (as I know what I can master and cannot). 

And with that, it's time to peel the potatoes. Enjoy your ritual(s) - whatever that may be.

We Have Mimi Sue to Thank For Today's Reminder - It's All Blurring Together At This Point. Glamis on the Alter of Christmas

I totally forgot. I got into the routine of home life before the chaos, before realizing there really won't be any chaos this year, unless I create it. Actually, at 6 pm a white truck pulled in the driveway and I first thought, "Oh, Amazon is driving Jeeps now," but it turned out to be Shirles who was driving around Connecticut handing out Christmas cards. She had visited McKenzie, her daughter, and is soon to be a proud grandma.

Shirley also said that Jack was in the car, and I said, "Why not bring him in so the dogs can play?" 

They did. They ran circles around the snow banks, sniffed every inch of the ground together, and even did a smacking bird impression by trying to run through the closed glass door. 

THUD.

I imagine Jack has an egg on his head this morning.

The conversation on the 1st floor caused Chitunga to come downstairs, as it's been so quiet. Mt. Pleasant hasn't seen guests in ages. I'm with everyone else. I can't wait for all this to lift. We want it to be normal, but the reality is it can't be right now, unless we want to roll the die. Better safe than sorry has always worked out for me.

As Shirley left and packed up Jack, Glamis climbed in her window and put on her "How much is the doggie in the window" display. I don't see this too often, as I'm usually inside not paying attention....but to passer-bys and walkers, she really does look majestic. No wonder people pull up before our house and stare. She looks like a holiday display.

Okay, hump day. Time for the humpty dance isn 3...2...1

I would have totally missed today's post; I guess last night I got preoccupied watching the SNL Christmas special that I forgot to log in. In my head, I was still putting plates together....But that was two days ago.

2020 has dissolved into one giant blur.

Dollar Plates To The Neighbors Today (With the Kentucky Cake, and a New Vanilla Sauce for the Top) (with Nectarines)

Found really beautiful, reindeer red glass plates  at Goodwill for a $1 a piece. I bought four, knowing I was going to deliver cake and flowers to my neighbors tomorrow in honor of my first Christmas ever in my very own home. I've been hitting the road for 28 years, heading back to Clay to celebrate with the Homefront of Crandalls, Isgars, and Barnwells. It's usually a dog-fest, too. This year, to be cautious and smart, we have decided it will be a ZOOM holiday and gift drive-by. I left all my gifts in Syracuse while I was there for two weeks. 

Yesterday, I went in for an oil change, and ended up with tire rotation, new brakes, and a new battery. I've got to stop spending on myself so much. Tis the season to be jolly.

And then I came home to create gift plates and organize drop-offs for the neighbors. Chitunga will be thrilled that kitchen is no longer a pile of stuff, but he'll be chagrined it is all resting in the refrigerator for the night.

I also must say, "Hip Hip Hooray," as I finally tasted my first pralines in an exchange with Dr. Beth Boquet (and yes, the Dr. matters. It always has). They are so good! My elderly neighbor also made me a plate of homemade perogies in thanks for doing her driveway, and they were absolutely stellar. Bring on the Covid-Christmas 35. Phew. No more food.

It's time to give things away and clear out the house some.

I hope the neighbors appreciate the cake (but more, the plates). Definitely a reusable gift. And thank you Alexa for providing this year's Christmas music, although I know you are listening to me, because suddenly my Facebook feed was pralines and perogies. Not a coincidence. So creepy. 

Finally, a joke I want to remember. I took my skis to the zoo, so I could ski trails there. I noticed that one of the cages was full of baguettes. I thought it was odd, but then one of the custodians asked me, "Are you looking at those?" and I said I was. He noted, "Oh, they're a crowd favorite. Bread in captivity, in fact."

Ba dum dum Ch. Happy Tuesday. 

It Always Begins With a Squirrel Story. It Doesn't Necessarily End With One, But It Begins With One. Especially Poetic Squirrels

I penned Yucca for 365 days when I was in my mid-twenties. Because I write everyday, I said, "Why not write a novel and see where it takes me?" The end result was a Bambi-like, postmodern squirrel story about a rodent named Nova Scotia who fell in love with an albino squirrel named Snow (inspired by the many white squirrels on U of L's campus). I never did anything with the novel  because it was quirky, odd, and silly. I got into short stories that I enjoyed more and worked on those. But, I always think I should look at that novel simply to see what it says about me and who I was at the time.  Who knows? there might be something enlightening in it.

I forget how it began, but Tiana French, ol' student from KY and lifelong friend, has a sister who is petrified of squirrels. All I remember is there was a story about a squirrel tail and her horror of the creatures, so for years, whenever I was out running and came across a random squirrel tail, I would mail them so she could give to her sister. There are more squirrel tails lying about than one would imagine. Or maybe it's just me. I always run into them.

But then someone sent me a picture of a squirrel who apparently was electrocuted while running with a nut (see above) and the caption was, "At least he died happy." I saved the image and from time to time I send it to someone. I should of known that when I sent it to Suzie Q in Florida, she'd send me a book "that I had to read." 

Flora & Ulysses. I've read other Kate DiCamillo books and loved them all. I loved this one, too, although I finished scratching my head wondering, "Is there something more I'm supposed to be getting here?" I mean, it was fantastic: odd, quirky, unusual, and fun, but I kept thinking there must be some deep-rooted psychological conundrum I was missing. I mean, after all, William Spiver is a character for the ages. He goes blind after a family crisis, and he's such a wonderfully whimsical kid (I have to admit, too. Flora, pictured on the cover, looks like a child-version of Sue McV. That was the first thing I noticed)(and it was an instant hook to find out who this Flora-girl was). I did fledgling cynics. Doubt adults. They're terrible creatures. Always.

And, who won't love Ulysses? Any squirrel that writes poetry is a squirrel I can get into. I loved his artistic, superhero ways. As for the lamp and chain-smoking mom (and the dad who is pleased to meet me on every other page), I simply wondered, "Is this a story to help kids get through divorce?" 

I think so. It's a story for any kid who lives in their head, who is sketpical of what adults offer them, and who prefer rodents to actual people.

And I have to be thankful for Glamis the Wonder Dog for being my reading companion. She wanted to walk, but after I found a few more hours to ski, I was too tired to go back out in the cold.

Today. I will walk her...

...and if I find any squirrel parts, I know I will mail them (although Tiana sent me a note saying her house is no longer accepting them, even if her sons would love them). 

My Thighs Are On Fire, and I Should Have Known They Would Be (But It's a Good Fire and I Have No Regrets)

Drats. It's supposed to drizzle today and then go up to the 50s this week, wiping away the snow paths I built for the last two days on Milford Beach. I went out for an hour on day one and 1.5 hours on day 2, and I can even say I didn't wipe out while flying down the hill this time (as I did the first time, because I didn't want to fly onto the road where there was no snow). I was glad, too, to see my trails kept and it was much easier to move fast and to even push further. 

When I finished, I said, "Oof. You're going too hurt tomorrow." 

Today, I hurt.

The day started by making Chitunga a huge breakfast as he had more CPA exams, and then I ski'd before receiving a text that the new people in my old home had the pajamas for me. They didn't speak much English, but they were very, very nice. I brought them a gift bag of goodies and thanked them for being honest and good people. I was thrilled to see my mother's birthday gifts in my home. 

At night, I waited for Chitunga who said he wanted sea food, and he found this restaurant called The Blue Goose in Stratford, which was like a set of The Golden Girls. We ate at the bar, and it was excellent. Best clam chowder I ever had, and the crusted sea bass was out of this world. He had stuffed salmon. It was delicious, but my thighs and a full stomach simply wanted to find a pillow and go to bed.

I do know, however, that when the weather gets all wintery in Connecticut, there's a reason to be excited, as my skis will save the day. The air was so clean, the aquatic birds were amazing, and the ocean view simply remarkable. I kept saying to myself, "Who'd of thought one day you'd be cross country skiing at the beach? That's one way to pack CNY with ya."

And, I'm simply relieved that the pajamas showed up. It always seems my life always has to be a complicated conundrum like this, and I guess I'm used to it. You'd think it would simply be easy, but there always has to be some kind of twist in the plot. 

Regardless it all turned out well, and I'm thankful, indeed. 

Well, Mom, It's a 2020 Covid Year & I Tried, but @Kohls & @FedEx Did Us Wrong. So, You Get This Blog Post Instead. Happy Birthday, Anyway

Dear Mom,

As you know, I came to Syracuse the last day of November, so I could be of assistance to you and Dad as you, like most of the nation, contend and battle with Covid. It's a crazy year, and most of us are used to everything being upside down and backwards. Today, it is your birthday, and I need to explain why you won't have a present from me (the first time ever). 

I tried. Really, I did, but my attempt has traveled with the black cloud that this year is. 

For 20 years I've been sending you new pajamas for your birthday and we've sort of hit the Taj Mahal with the ones I buy for you from Kohls. In a normal year, I pick them up wherever I live and I mail them to you via the U.S. Postal system. We've never had a problem. You get them. It's usually gold. This year, however, since our in-store shopping isn't necessarily a reality, I was smart and I went online EARLY to order them so they'd be delivered to you in time for birthday. I think you know this, because I was at your house taking care of you at the time, making your lunches and dinners, doing your laundry, and shopping while you and dad recovered. I kept telling you that the package for you birthday would arrive any day, and we waited for two weeks and it didn't arrive.

I then said, "Well, according to the website, the package is being sent via FedEx and will arrive Wednesday, December 16th. Just hold onto it for your birthday." 

I called you and you said it never arrived. 

So, I went online to find out what was going on. According to Kohl's, who prompted me to check with FedEx, the package was delivered at exactly 10:45 a.m. and left on the front porch. There was no photograph...just the online confirmation. The first thing I did was contact FedEx who told me that they did, indeed, deliver the package, but they didn't have photo-proof. They also said that they were not responsible and I needed to call Kohl's. I went back online and saw that the package was last seen in a Connecticut warehouse, so I thought, "Maybe they sent it to my address by mistake." I checked the front porch. It wasn't there.

The package was sent as a gift and I filled out your address - the address of the birthday girl, and I paid right away. At the time, the delivery was supposed to be a couple of days, so when it didn't come to your home, and I had to leave, I grew nervous. I know the entire nation is shopping online, and I wanted to be ahead of the curve.

There was no package delivered to you or to me. So, I went online again. 

That is when I learned from FedEx that they delivered the package at 10:45 a.m. to an old address....not yours, not mine, but one that I lived at 7 years ago. I have no idea why. I checked my online Kohl's account and all my addresses are up to date, so if they didn't send it to you (which they should have), then it should have come to me (which they didn't).

Now, you also know that we had a coastal storm on Thursday. Everything is snow. It's a mess. But a beautiful, white mess.

So, on our snow day I played Sherlock Holmes and spent the entire day on the phone with Kohls and FedEx with their customer service departments. I got nowhere. 

By Friday, I learned that the package was left at the address from 7 years ago. I have no idea why, but my determination kicked in, and I actually got int he car and drove to the house to see if I might find someone living there to see if the package arrived. Phew. There was no evidence of anyone living in the house, as the snow was packed to the brim and there were no cars. So, I drove all the way home and wrote a letter to the inhabitants of that old address, asking them to give me a call if they received a package from FedEx with your birthday pajamas. I left my number and said I was willing to come back to pick them up. I mailed it to them, but so far, no good.

No one called. The phone has been silent.

Meanwhile, I did talk to a Kohl's representative and he did look into this situation showing tremendous concern. He wanted me to know, however, that I should contact FedEx and not Kohl's. He said, "It is FedEx's problem." When I told him I already did and they couldn't do anything so I should contact Kohl's, he replied, "Thank you, Mr. Crandall. Is there anything else we can do for you today?"

Well, I informed him that he could make a report about the IT department and find out (a) why the address I sent the pajamas to didn't take (your address), and (b) why they sent the pajamas to one of my old addresses, when the addresses where I've live now have been updated for years?

He said, okay. 

Then asked, "Is there anything else we can do for you?" and I said, "Yes, I'd like to talk to a manager to find out what actually occurred." At that point, he disappeared for a while (I should also say this was probably my 5th hour on the phone waiting for a human being to pick up), and when he returned he said, "I tried to find the pajamas to resend to you, but it turns out that they are out of stock for the season. I will reimburse your account for the cost of the pajamas." 

That was nice, and I was thankful, but I really wanted you to have your birthday jammies as is the holiday tradition of many years. I'd also like the people who live at my old address to call me and say, "Mr. Crandall, we got your lovely note in our mailbox and we are so sorry your mother will not be getting her birthday pajamas this year. Please. Come to our house and we will give you the FedEx box." 

In that case, I would get the pajamas, and immediately drive to my local Kohl's and explain that I wanted to pay for the pajamas that Kohl's and FedEx sent to the wrong house. I simply want the pajamas to be in your possession for your birthday. I'm good for the cash.

But this is 2020. Why would anything like that happen like it normally would? 

Instead, this is your birthday present. I'm sorry it's so tacky and non-physical, but I did make you a picture of what you would have looked like in your pajamas, if they were actually sent to your house as they should have been). I did, though, embellish the hats. Those would not have come with the pajamas. Cynde or Casey would have to provide those.

Kohl's did reimburse the money, so I now have an alternative plan. I'm just sorry that the joy of new pajamas won't be with you today for your celebration. I'm hoping this explanation and post will suffice. My good intentions were definitely on some other road this year. 

I love you. I hope your day is spectacular. I will get you new pajamas somehow...someday. And I will call to sing HAPPY BIRTHDAY very soon. 

Your well-intended son,

Bryan

PS: So, no. I'm wasn't able to put on the pajamas to model for you, so you could see what they would look like when they eventually made it to your home. Perhaps the inhabitants in my old, old house are dancing around in new jammies this morning singing, "We got these for freeeeee. We got these for freeeeee." I guess we will never know. 

"Let It Grow," My Barber Said. "If You Have Hair at Your Age, Celebrate It." Okay. But My Bones Aren't Growing. They're Aching.

I woke up to see Edem shoveling the driveway (a feat), all while it was still coming down (phew! We could be Binghamton). He gave up when it came to the end of the driveway where the plows left their street dump. I went out to the garage, and (it's magic), the snow plow that my father found on the side of the road and gave to me while I lived in Cicero doing my doctorate - the one that is rusted, 30 years old, and in horrible shape - started on the first pull. 

Again.

I have a gem in this antique. And she went to work for four hours, as I cleaned up my driveway, and did those of my aged neighbors. Usually they scream and fight with me, but this year they simply pounded their windows and mouthed, "Thank you."

More difficult was the shovel work, which I did on my own driveway and theirs. I also did the back patio for Glamis. How did I celebrate the workout? WITH MY NEW SKIS!!! I had to try them, and I went out for a couple of hours making trails in the park next to my home. Last night, when I finished writing at 9:30, I said, "Crandall, you are going to pay in the a.m.. Your body will collapse." 

Meanwhile, I took a shower and didn't pull my hair back in a man bun. It's getting long, and I am definitely living my midlife crisis. I went to the barber to cut it all off and he said (from his Hatian, balding perspective), "Nope. You have hair. Grow it out. You can. You know how many men would love to have hair again."

And look at that. I'm in my Binghamton t-shirt that I've cut up to run in, but am hiding underneath a flannel. Looks like I'm channeling 1990-1994, and 1994-1998 right now. That's when I established my postmodern hippie tendencies. Let them return, even if the hair is growing out gray.

At least I still have it.

And I have skis. I'm heading to the beach today to try them out there.

And After 9 Years in Connecticut, I Finally (FINALLY) Found Cross Country Skis & They Are in My House Ready to Contend with This Storm

When we were early teens, Butch and Sue purchased cross country skis for all of us, and for several years, our winter months were spent in the neighborhood and on groomed courses, doing out thing. I brought my set to Kentucky (actually my father's, as my feet grew), but sadly we never had snowfalls significant enough to get much use. 

For several years now, I've reacted after a snowfall with a desire to get a new set for myself. Upon my return from Syracuse, knowing they are calling for 16 inches, I went on a two-day OCD-fest to find a pair of skis. I failed on Tuesday, but then found a store outside of East Haven/Branford, that said they had my shoe size and ski size in the store. So, the store opened at 10 a.m. and I was there at 9:30 a.m. - Lord forbid that someone who wanted MY skis get to them before I did.

I got them. 

With snow falling 3 inches an hour over night, I know my first step is to snowplow the driveway (update - don't have to....Edem shoveled). Tunga's car is inside the garage and the plow is behind it.  I'll spend the morning pushing snow to the side and then the afternoon (and weekend) putting my new skis to work. I know that my Covid-19 15 (or 20) has got to go. I am blaming it on the peanut butter cup cookies from Big Y. I also know that my running has subsided to walking, because my joints are ridiculously middle-age. Hoping the slide and glide of skis will be a nice fix for the winter months.

I'm laughing, too, because the photo I took is still Fall-like, but that is changing quickly. 

The ski-boots are high tops and futuristic (nicest pair of shoes I ever bought). I am thinking of my navy blue and white low-tops of my earlier years and how cold my feet used to get. I apologize now for the skiing posts to come. I'm pretty sure I might get a little obsessed. 

And with that...it's time to head outdoors.

Bring on the Blizzard. Why Not, 2020? Couple It With the Computer That Just Crashed & Won't Restart. Paralyze How I Roll.

For the 2nd time this sabbatical, my university-sanctioned MacBook Pro has decided to die. What this means to those who don't work on campuses, is that I am screwed until I can get someone to look at this, and this requires going to campus which is not easy, especially as everyone works from home. I've sent emails and received no replies. So, I wait. 

It came on suddenly. I was working upstairs and thought, "Why is my battery so low?" as it charged all night. Within seconds it died, and now, even when charged, it won't start. As I've written before...I live on my laptop and everything is saved there...

...well, on Dropbox, which I can't access. That's what I have to solve. Lucky for me, CWP's gone from a full-time assistant, to a part-time assistant, to a graduate student, to no-one at all. So, In addition to my job as faculty, and as the Director, I now do all the clerical work, too. I have that laptop in my house and it is working. I just need to get it to line-up with my files online.

Here's the rub. I saw the storm coming and there were two things I set as a goal: to get a haircut, and to revisit my teens/twenties by buying cross country skis. I'm determined I can make it happen, and am willing to sacrifice getting to campus to fix the computer in order to get skis so that on Thursday, when 16 inches arrive, I can take the day off and ski to the beach and back. I have priorities.

I can say, I wrapped up my kayak yesterday at the beach and it is now stored on Pam's patio. It is out of her garage so she can park inside. Now I have to do the same with my own garage. One of us are going to get inside...not sure who...I'm guessing Chitunga.

Phew. If 2020 wasn't so 2020, I'd have steam coming out of my ears right now, but it seems that 2020 is the gift that keeps on giving. And I'm allowing it to be my giving tree.

Update: And my mom's birthday gifts, which are already a week behind the scheduled delivery, are arriving to my house - I just found this out. Although it was gifted to her address, the schmucks sent the gifts to me. They will arrive today (which does no good, as they're seasonal and need to be in upstate New York). Uck to the Fay.

This too shall pass.

Just a Post to Share How Thankful I Am for @bookdealerSusan - She's Not Only a The Book Dealer...She's a Giver and I Appreciate It

For a few years now, Dr. Susan James of Pensacola has been my right hand everything. We met in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and bonded over a love of young adult literature and a passion for writing instruction. We simply hit it off, and when she got a National Writing Project site up and running in Western Florida, I became a big brother, and she became another sister. It's not only been academia for us, and leadership, it's been the life thing, too: family, hope, over-committing, the drive to please as many as we can, and the innate tendency to always be on the lookout for others.

This time, Susan was on the lookout for me. 

When I returned from Syracuse, Tunga said, "Suz sent a large package," and I responded, "It's probably for you." Actually, it was for us - a lifetime supply of Moose Munch. Dang. That stuff is lethal. She sent David's cookies for Tunga's 25th, and also made sure I got copies of two books she said, you need to read. Of course, I also had to get the Frog reading to frog sculpture for the phone - that was a birthday gift a few years back. Coming home to this instantly put joy into the air....

...hope...

...love...

...which also came with my research assistant who has not left my side... 

...Glamis... 

She follows me wherever I go and peers over my computer screen all day long to make sure I'm not going anywhere and won't leave again. It's sort of funny, even if it is a little annoying. I always feel guilty that I'm neglecting her during the day as I write, edit, process data, and formalize. Her set of eyes are always overlooking my shoulder...(well, computer screen)...

...sort of like my Pelican friend in Florida.

We need reminders in our daily lives that we are loved from afar, as much as we are loved within our homes.

And so I'm writing this today to simply say, "Dr. James...you quickly became VIP to me over the years, helping me to stay sane when I feel like I'm on the brink of insanity."

Thank you. 

Today's another day with new challenges and the potential for even crazier. I know, however, that when it hits, I have a redheaded friend a phone-call or text message away.

I am the Goober, always, and you are the Doobie-Doo. We have the Great Whatever that made that possible.

Elephant Shoe.

Hang in there.

I'm Back in Connecticut, But Am Looking to the Skies to Give Me Grace and Possibilities. Hoping the Best for Everyone

This morning, I am the fortunate recipient of more dental work, and once again I can say my mouth is worth more than I am. I left Syracuse at 10 a.m. and made great time finishing more audio books and thinking about childhood, college, Kentucky, and my life now in Connecticut. I figured the drive was going to be more emotional than it was, but it was somewhat calming - even hearing Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer again and feeling sort of thankful. When I left, Dad wasn't feeling very well, and I anticipated he'd have a day of sleeping...which he did, although he reported feeling better at night.

Now, I need to lay back for two weeks in CT, just in case. 

Chitunga and I went for a long walk, and then decided we'd also walk to get dinner. This followed with a bonfire he put together which carried us into the later hours of the evening. He's such a recluse, and I know that when he wants to be together it's important to be together. I love the kid to the n-teenth degree. 

Glamis was also super excited to have me home, and I didn't think she was ever going to leave my side. Wherever I was, she wanted to be in my lap, although she did take temporary breaks on the dog bed which I returned from Syracuse - one I left there earlier in the year. 

Edem had the night off and I got to catch up with the Amazon-crazy of the holiday season, and simply to enjoy my tree and lights. Of all things, I had clam chowder at the local restaurant (as it was the special) and it was outstanding. I only wish I could mail a bowl to my dad, as that seemed to have been his go to lunch meal the past 14 days. 

All in all, it's looking up to the sky in hopes of calm, ease, and serenity. When Chitunga and I finished our walk, we looked up and said, "Wow. The sky is on fire." Neighbors were out photographing it, too. "Ah," I said to Chitunga, "But you didn't see the night that Syracuse actually saw blue sky and a little sun. I captured that, too." 

Phew. It feels good to be home, but that's where I've been for the last couple of weeks, as well. My heart is in both places.

And Then, There Are Moments That Simply Present Themselves, and You Realize, "Yup. It's Important to Hang Onto This One." Thanks, Rudolph.

Saturday morning began with an invitation to dad to run to Price Chopper to get three items on my mother's list. I figured Dad needed the fresh air and a love for saying hello to every employee at Price Chopper. He does okay. Getting in and out of my car isn't as tough as we anticipated, and we shop well together. He throws everything he sees into the cart, and I wait a couple of seconds, and take it out. "Mom said this is what she wanted," I say. He doesn't notice when his items are removed. He can be quite random with his merchandise. He has a thing with Pepsi, hamburger, strawberry Jelly, donuts, potato chips, and soups.  

We made it through the line, and fellow customers didn't quite understand how important it is that he talk with the girl at the register (no matter how much time it took). He also talks to the employees at the register to the left of us, and the register to the right. Disgruntled customers didn't get the fact that we had over 35 items in a 15 or less line, either (he chose the line). They don't understand that it's assistive coaching, guidance, and son-love. Let it go. It's important to give him out-of-the-house space.

Dad and I checked out and headed home. At one point he said, "Let's see what Mike and Cynde are doing," but then he complained that my radio sounded off. I pretended to hit a few dials and then he said, "That's much better." I didn't touch a thing. 

Rudolph, the Red Nose Reindeer came on and he said, "Can you believe a country singer made this famous? Who would of thought this?" I didn't know that. I always sang it, but learned it was Gene Autry.

Then my father began to sing along. Well, he sort of sang, missing most of the words, but coming pretty close, and he was as happy as a child. In his head, he was on stage at a school assembly. So I joined him. My father and I sang Rudolph, the Red Nose Reindeer from Price Chopper to all the way Amalfi Drive. I admit,  I teared up and wanted to record the moment, but simply let the music absorb into my soul. Later on, when telling my mom about the moment, I called on

Alexis, who played Gene Autry once again. Sure enough, my father sang in pure, child-like bliss. And I recorded his singing this time for my sisters. I sent it to them so they could experience it, too. The song is forever change as an imprint on my heart. I think I will always tear up when I hear it.

And right before bed, my mother said, "I want the video, too. Send it to me," and I did.  My dad, singing Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer is what Christmas 2020 is all about. 

It's Love. It's  a crazy year. It's hope, and simply the best.  

 

Man Cannot Live on Grapes Alone - Okay, My Father Can. Perhaps a Bag a Day. Maybe Even Two If We'll Let Him

One day the man can eat two bowls of goulash swearing it is the best thing he's ever had in his life, and 24 hours later he spits it out and says, "This is terrible. Take it away." I tell him, "But you devoured it yesterday," in which he replies, "I just don't think it tastes very good."

This from a man who found me downstairs while while I was knee deep in tools, wood, and screws to say, "Nobody made me lunch. Why isn't anyone making me lunch?" I figured with Casey and Mom upstairs they had it covered, but Casey ran to the store, so he came searching for me. "Can you make me lunch?" I asked, "Do you want some tomato soup?" in which he replied with nasty faces and gagging noises. I took that as a no. "How about clam chowder?"

That worked. With some toasted Italian Bread (and I learned when Casey returned he wanted a BLT, too). 

Otherwise it's all grapes. Grapes grapes grapes grapes grapes. If he doesn't have them in a palm, he has them in a bowl, or he's standing over the in the kitchen popping them like popcorn. I'm talking a bag of grapes a day. He devours them.

And for dinner this was a traditional CNY Friday fish-fry at the American Legion (pick-up only). I absolutely love it, but then my stomach aches for days. I think it might be the fish that is fried, the onion rings that are fried, and the french fries that are (you guessed it) fried. That's a lot of grease. 

To go with the grapes. And his Pepsis. The Great Whatever replaced Budweiser cans with Pepsi ones. 

The serenity, calm, and joy that comes from his new vice is just enjoyable to watch...and I'm sorry Glamis isn't beside him for the afternoon and evening cuddles, but this time, she was better in CT. Next time, she'll come, indeed.

Oh, Maude. Glad You & Harold Rescued That Tree, But Now That I'm Older, I Realize You Probably Shouldn't Have Been Driving

My father has always driven rather conspicuously. Most of my childhood was spent in the backseat with Cynde and Casey, while he sat up front with his Lucky Strikes and a 6-pack of beer. It was especially horrifying as we pulled into Cherry Heights. He would take his foot off the gas and simply let the 2 mph resting state drive us all the way to our home. As an adult driver now, I wonder how he could tolerate the car going that slow....how we did...my sisters, my mom, and me.

In my teen years, I remember my sisters and I wondering if he'd make it home safely from the Clam Bar in North Syracuse, especially on later afternoons after a shift at Hancock International Airport. Years later, I would learn from my father's drinking buddy, also my high school history teacher, that "the secret of post-Clam Bar driving is to wait for the junior high school late buses to leave in the afternoon and to follow them with a focus on the yellow block in front of you. Buses drive slow and follow all laws, making it easier to control your own driving."

Great advice. Education is all-encompassing.

For over the past decade, whenever I returned home, I'd do the driving. He'd hand me the keys, even when went to Chubby's, the water hole for his later years. He drank less and less, and sometimes only had a Pepsi, but would still drive as slow as a snail. That's just the way he traveled. When in town, he'd let me take the wheel.

We've been aware of the danger of senior driving, especially when Grandma Vera started fading in her capacity to control a car. She'd change several lanes without looking in rearview or side mirrors, and eventually would get in an accident by hitting the gas as if it was the break. Her friend was hurt badly, and this is when it was decided it's probably not a good idea that she has a set of keys in her purse anymore.

History repeats itself. The debate over driving has occurred conversationally for the past 5 years, and a diagnosis of dementia quickened a decision needing to be made (although it came at the speed of my father's driving....very, very, very slow). In fact, two and a half years later, a calls been made.

Perhaps this is why, while I walked yesterday, I shook my head as my father pulled up in his red, Toyota Rav, to see if I wanted a ride and to get a beer. 

I would love that. Always have loved that. 

But, now it's time for him to be the passenger, and for Cynde, Casey, and I be in the driver's seat. That's just the way the circle of life goes. If any trees are to be rescued, Maude will simply have to be a passenger who enjoys the ride.

It is Possible. You Can Channel Calm within the Chaos and Tune Out All the Noise When Necessary...That Is, Until You're on ZOOM and Unmute

With a writing deadline quickly approaching, I knew I needed to spend a chunk of Wednesday tuning, rewriting, restructuring, and re-envisioning an invited piece. I got up early, drank some coffee, then put on the headsets my sister gave my father so he could listen to things on the Internet while my Mom watched Days of Our Lives. I noticed my mom uses the headphones now, too, while my father is watching sports, so I took them in the morning while the two of them watched hours of morning News and Game shows.

I actually listened to 6-hours of Korean 'deep forest rain' noise on YouTube, shy 4 hours of the 8-hours uploaded. It actually worked. I was able to drown out the screaming of The View, Today, Days of Our Lives, and my mom yelling at my father, while attending to the editing needing to be done. I also silenced Casey when she arrived with ghoulash for lunch, giving me extra time to attend to the work needing to be done. I only stopped when, at 3 p..m. I needed to attend the lawyer training for the University about accountability and academic protections.

It was all good, until someone on ZOOM asked me a question and I had to go off mute. I forgot that even if my headphones keep me secluded to what I'm listening to online, my microphone picks up all the sounds around me. I answered the question and went back to mute, but then heard, "Who's Butch? Who was that screaming at him? What were those casino noises? I'm afraid we couldn't hear you, Bryan, because there was a lot of static from the televisions around you."

All good. I explained the situation and it was quickly understood. I didn't realize a MacBook Pro internal microphone was that powerful. 

I returned to the YouTube rain noise in the evening and edited some more, but not before I did a mini-tutorial of the TV I bought them last year and showed them it actually has online features so they can watch old movies and other programs, should they choose. They started with Babes in Toyland, then decided quickly, "This is stupid." Mom wanted Rachel Maddow and Dad wanted to watch The Andy Griffith Show. I let them figure it out as I worked some more. 

It's funny, because I pride my ability to read and concentrate despite any noise and obstacles before me, simply because of my childhood on Amalfi Drive. TVs were always on, and screaming was natural. I, however, could read. Since the volume on everything has turned up over the years to full capacity, I needed white noise to focus. It actually worked and I will likely use it more if I have to. 

Here's all 8-hours if you need it. 

Going Through the Mid-Life Change...No, Not, Man-o-pause...The Coins All Over My Childhood Home. They're Tucked Away Everywhere.

Something told me that if I got coin rollers and started dumping the cans of nickels, dimes, quarters, and pennies, I would likely be surprised by how much was chucked away in all the storage spaces of my parent's home. I was right. It took me a morning and part of an afternoon, but I got the coins rolled and now I need to find the bank that will be willing to cash in all that I bring to them. I am thinking I might need to borrow the bed of my brother-in-law's truck to carry all the change  to the bank, but suddenly 5388 feels a little lighter (and a bit wealthier).

I'm also celebrating the fact that last night's dinner was a success, although both parental units ate slow and chewed like they were disgusted by what they were tasting. Turns out, they were savoring the flavors and enjoying every moment of the restaurant-like flavors. They simply didn't want to rush through the experience. They were savoring them. And they ate hefty: pulled chicken, sautéed green beans, cranberries, and pine nuts, home-made coleslaw, and pirogies. 

I had to run from the dinner table, though. Another recording of The Write Time was on deck, and more laundry needed to be put into the dryer. 

Today, however, I need to write. I'm close to a finished product, but need to tune the content (for a couple of days. I'm never satisfied). And Lamar Giles has me thinking about all the short stories I wrote for high school students in Kentucky. I want to revisit them. Not yet. I have this week's writing project to get through first.

Okay, I believe it is another hump day, which will inevitably lead to another hump day. It's all good. Today,  was extremely calm...smooth sailing, actually (Phew). 

And we have leftovers.

Week #2 On The Home-Front. I Have Complete Control of Helping Out and Being of Assistance at the End of 2020 Where Everything is Normal (Not)

I'm not even sure what yesterday was, but know it was Monday. There was a flooded laundry room. The trash needed to be brought out, but dad brought out leaves. Dad wanted to take mom for a drive, and the remote control on the Cable Box needed to be replaced. I tried, but failed every step of the way (actually, I succeeded, but realized there's no winning in these times). 

The cable box is fixed. Groceries are bought. Every one is safe, and even if I get yelled at and upside down is right side up, I believe everything is rectified for today. 

The Voice played at night. Mom watched her news shows. Dad went to bed with medicine and calm. Every one was fed. We're all breathing, inhaling, and exhaling.

But the fact that nothing makes sense, but is supposed to...well, that is where we all are. 

Phew

This Post is for My Mom. I Put New Protective Screens on Her iPad, and the Images Will Be Clearer. She Can Lick the Screen Safely.

Nah. My mom doesn't lick windows. 

But she might, when she sees I've posted Perry's Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup Ice-cream on my blog. It's one of her vices, that I will argue trumps the potato chips and chocolates she keeps by her chair. Ice-cream always wins when it is available.

And I purchased her some this week, which she's enjoyed, especially while watching the Hallmark movies where girl has nasty break up, girl goes home, girl meets boy, boy likes girl, but girl is occupied by break up, then snow comes, they kiss, and every one lives happily ever after until Stefano Dimera kidnaps them to some Island and Marlena needs to call Roman.

Last night, it was Cameron Diaz movies, which is fine - she is a beautiful woman, and if falling in love with Jack Black in England is important, then you have a Christmas movie. I am amazed that I might

watch 1-hour of television a week, but when I come home I encounter all the wonderful things I've missed out on. I had no idea such movies were an American cult, normalized, and so ubiquitous that they have an entire station dedicated just to them. 

I know audience is important. Obviously there's a tremendous audience for such texts. 

I am staying an additional week in Cuse, and it looks like it will be the first Christmas spent away. All will be good. That's the way the story rolls some times. And it's the chapter that gets written. We just read 'em as they come along.

For now, it's snowflakes, first kisses, chocolate ice cream, laundry, dishes, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and sleep. 

Jeronicus and Journey Jangle are Definitely in for the Crandall Holiday Tradition. So Glad I Watched. The Magic of Willy Wonka, Grinch, Steam Punk & Emmet Otter

...with a lot of WIZ. First of all, I never really pay attention to costuming because I don't get fashion, but the one thing that struck me about Jingle Jangle was the absolutely fabulous, Afro-punk-esque costumes as the new Christmas tradition brought forward new music, new rhythms, old school musical styles, and most of all - GOOD OL' CHRISTMAS MAGIC.

Believe. Hope. 

The square root of impossible is possible in me...because we believe.

I was sold. 

My mother wasn't as enthused, but it was a Saturday night and it could have been the Days of Our Lives season finale and she would have been bored and fallen asleep. Bah Humbug on her.

Shuri has met the holiday traditions. All love for lil' Journey and her brilliance. Not only is she intelligent, but she's a healer, a connector, and a bridge. We need more of those young people.

And I loved hearing Mrs. Huxtable tell the grandchildren the entire tale, and then the jump into puppetry, history, possibility, tomorrow, and another story we can share with the children of the world to hold science, invention, dreams, and magic at the forefront. 

The magic isn't what you lost; it is in what you still have. 

There's always a criminal, a need for change, an importance of reinvention, and the beauty of animation. In the end, however, the authentic wins. All that is fake disappears (Poof. Bye Bye). Truth wins. Dreams win. Love wins. That is the history of the world, no matter how many monsters want to take it away. 

And, culturally, this was extra-spectacular. I got the the same feeling when viewing the musicals Hamilton & The Color Purple. This will be on my radar as 'that which should be viewed' yearly (I don't get too much, but I will get to this). I now see what the hype was about. 

I can't wait to rewatch...sing along...and perhaps even dance.

Every thing that was stolen. Every thing that was stolen. Every thing that was stolen.

It will take more than magic. It will taken intelligence and heart.

Well, Peter Cottontail, I Know It's 2020 and Everything is Upside Down, But NO, Your Season Isn't Until the Spring. Sorry

I was called to pick up my father's vehicle, and trying to figure out a way to return the vehicle without a curiosity of keys was top priority on the agenda. Mom slept most of the day, and wasn't awake for surveillance, and I was unsure how the Dylan pick-up and return of the RAV 4 was going to go down. Even so, I went downstairs awaiting the pickup hoping to arouse little to no suspicion. 

That's when I noticed Mr. Cottontail was under the front bush preparing to deliver Easter Eggs. I though, "Seriously, Peter. The last of our turkey was just finished, and most of us are wondering how the @#$@ we are supposed to do the Christmas holidays and here you are at our front doorstep. I think think you've come too soon." 

He wasn't amused and darted into a neighbor's yard, not before extinguishing a cigarette in the front porch, totally Tiffany's, plastic Folger's coffee container. As I wafted his exhaled smoke, I yelled to him, "We still love you, but now is not the time for Jellybeans! Let us survive the stable's childbirth miracle before we celebrate the resurrection from death and stone. We can only take so much right now."

Then I got the car, went to Price Chopper (Prithe Thopper) and got mom the bathroom soap she needed and dad the proper apple fritters, after learning that Wegman's fritters don't cut it. I returned home, mom was still sleeping, and dad was digesting his bowl of mushrooms (aka as tomato soup). I should note, however, that while picking up the RAV 4, dad locked me out of the house for some reason. It's all good. The car had a garage door opener that he couldn't here. I entered the house, put groceries away, and there was little to no drama...

...that is, until I decided to take a solicitor's phone call for a little entertainment and my dad grew perplexed as to who I could be talking to...

She was a nice girl...I'm guessing from Puerto Rico...who was paid to ask me about my newspaper consumption habits. Sure the interview was almost 90 minutes but she said she'd send me a $10 bill and I really was engaged with her questions: Do you read newspapers? Do you read the Danbury Daily? Do you read the Connecticut Post? Do you read the Stamford Advocate? Do you read the New York Times? How often are you online? Do you read newspapers online? Do you read the Danbury Daily online? Do you read the Connecticut Post online? Do you read the Stamford Advocate online?

I really enjoyed the engaged conversation and reciprocity of the phone solicitor. She was really engaging to talk to and seemed really interested in what I enjoyed reading.

That is, until the Easter Bunny suddenly jumped on the call and told her I tried to kill him by making him run into traffic. Then the red-headed doll that freaks the hell out of Chitunga ran into my room and bit me on the ankle. I yelled ouch and she said, "Where did you put his keys? Where are his keys?"

That was my Friday.