The Resident Fan Boy donned the YakTrax he found in his stocking, and stepping gingerly into the sheeted ice sidewalks, picked his way to the local snooty Anglican church which is a fifteen-minute mince away (as opposed to his regular church which is downtown and takes about fifty to sixty minutes of trudging)in this still bus-struck city.
Elder daughter is upstairs watching I'm Not There, a surprise gift in her stocking (Santa was taking advantage of a two-for-one type dealie at HMV and wants to watch it himself, but figured elder daughter would like it for Christian Bale and the late Heath Ledger.)
Younger daughter is in her bedroom with the bunny she requested in her Christmas letter. She's been crowning him with the crimson slinky that also appeared in her stocking, while wrestling a rainbow of new hairbands. As I write this, bunny is warbling "I Don't Need Anyone But You" from Annie in a duet with a mouse puppet.
And me? I've been pigging out on comestibles from Purdy's, which, forget Rogers' Chocolates, forget Ganong, for gawd's sake forget Pot of Gold, are simply the best chocolates to be had in Canada. And this year, Santa got me a long lovely box of Turkish Delight, also from Purdy's. I've loved Turkish Delight ever since reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
when I was eight, but getting the good stuff is a challenge. This is the kind of stuff Edmund would have betrayed his family for. Ooh dear, not a very Christmassy sentiment, was that?
Speaking of not-quite-Christmassy, elder daughter got a bewildering love offering from Demeter-Santa, a double bottle of Axe Bullet essence with a note: "Read the instructions and BE CAREFUL! For emergency only. Not for fun." Uh, the instructions read: "Designed to be carried in your pocket and sprayed at a moment's notice, because there are only two types of guys in the mating game: the quick and the lonely." Self defense for date rapists? It sounds like a creepy sort of compassion, doesn't it? In Demeter's defence, she has had cataract surgery to only one eye and that was the one with retinal damage and she is not due to have the second eye done until Epiphany. (She also mutes commercials.) Now, I suppose elder daughter could use it as a defence spray; the instructions also say to avoid the eyes, but the problem is, this stuff reeks even in the plastic packaging. It seems every generation of guys has a commercial scent that's supposed to make them irresistible to sexy girls. Anyone remember Hai Karate? That stunk too...
However, our stockings also brimmed with the ancient favourites: socks, teas from Murchies, hot chocolate powders from Cadbury's (a sort of Ovaltine variation this year), the orange in the toe, the chocolate orange and the heel, and most indispensable of all, chocolate coins. When elder daughter was six, she was delighted to get "frankincense" in her stocking --- the chocolate coins that year had republique française inscribed on the tin foil...
So our morning has begun with successful stockings. When (and if) Resident Fan Boy returns from church, we'll have a light lunch and see what is under the tree. Maybe, if we're very good, some kind-hearted soul will have illegally uploaded the Christmas Doctor Who up to YouTube after dinner. If not, we'll just have to wait for the Second Day of Christmas. Hope your day is also relaxed and lovely...
Ottawa Genealogy Double-Header
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On Saturday, settle in for BIFHSGO and OGS Ottawa Branch meetings. BIFHSGO
has a hybrid meeting, starting at 9 am with I’m Sorry—We Don’t Have Your
Grand...
6 hours ago
1 comment:
yes, one of my presents for christmas will be the illegal uploading of the DW Christmas show... it is now our Boxing Day tradition. starting the year off as criminals.
stockings are my favorite things and i always leave mine until just before midnight, because once it's open, christmas day is over. it used to make me sad, but now i celebrate the *twelve* days of christmas and it makes me feel much better! sounds like you and the family have your own wonderful holiday traditions.
hope the RFB gets back all right.
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