Chicks' Night Out

I went out to dinner with friends this evening (standing monthly get-together), so I am sneaking my Advent book in under the wire -- which is hilariously ironic, considering that I bragged to one of those very friends that I had been listing Advent books for two whole days without a gap!

Whatever. I had a great time tonight -- thanks, ladies!

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Today's Advent book is The Cricket on the Hearth, by Charles Dickens.  This novella is one of Dickens's five Christmas stories (the most famous, of course, being A Christmas Carol). I always liked this one, which centers on a poor toymaker and his blind daughter.  The plot is very Dickensian -- so you should keep that in mind; you will encounter lots of conniving trickery and misunderstanding on the way to forgiveness and redemption. Of course the miser sees the error of his ways at Christmas time, and true love conquers all -- except for the blind girl. The Victorians wouldn't have stood for that.

This would be a great story to be read aloud (the best way to read any Dickens); I don't know if it will hold the interest of very young children, but the rest of the family will love it.

My best friends know me best . . . .

So not once but twice this year, I have received gifts that were so thoughtful and loving that they made me cry.

During our visit to Rehoboth Beach last October, my college pals gave me this set of Coca-Cola glasses (over the outraged protestations of their urchins, who apparently grew up thinking that the four glasses would be part of their inheritance).

Note all those freaking Jewel Tea dishes . . .

For four years, these friends attended classes with me and hung out at parties with me and ate meals with me -- and they never saw me without a can of Coke in my hand.  And they have good memories.

And then just last month, this one gave me the most loving and lovely gift -- just because!

We were in a restaurant (OK, we were sitting at a bar) when she gave this six-pack of Cokes to me, and I got so teary-eyed I had to ask for an extra napkin.

Do you see what she did?  She attached a message to each bottle of Coke, explaining why she and I will always be best friends.  This six-pack is a keeper, y'all.

And by the way, I really would like to teach the world to sing . . . .

Stroke me, stroke me!

So I am not one of those people who can name her All-Time Top Five Favorite Books, or who keeps a list like, "Books I Would Never Be Without On A Desert Island," or some such exercise in futility. I say this is futile because, while I love to read such compilations made by other people (and mock their choices), the very idea of such a list for myself paralyzes me with indecision.

How could I ever decide, for example, between that funny, tragic, romantically beautiful re-telling of the King Arthur story, The Once and Future King, and my favorite Jane Austen novel, the melancholy love story, Persuasion?

And what about series fiction? Do all of the Little House books count as one big delicious book? I say yes, but then do I bring my beloved Laura Ingalls Wilder books to the island at the expense of the six volumes of the Lymond Chronicles -- filled with Scottish history and gasp-causing intrigue and yearning romance, and written in the most gorgeous prose? NO! -- I couldn't bear it!

Even within one author's works, I could never choose: The Solace of Leaving Early stays on the list because I love the two little girls at the heart of the story so much (Eloise and Madeline, who must change their names to Immaculata and Epiphany), but -- leave the stoic and heroic Cassie Claiborne of Something Rising (Light and Swift) behind? I don't think so!

You see my dilemma.

My book group companions -- and well, really just about every one of my friends -- have seen me get worked up while describing any particularly fabulous book. But I will say that there is one book that has literally caused a "When Harry Met Sally" moment for the people who watched me recommend it.

This one -- let's call her Mary -- was there to witness it. She and I had traveled for the day to the Green Valley Book Fair, which is just as wonderful as it sounds. It has gotten a lot fancier, by which I mean air-conditioned, since she and I went, but the main concept is the same: four times a year, this book fair (really a series of inter-connected barns) opens its doors and lucky book-lovers can wander among thousands and thousands of book titles, and buy books at a bargain, bargain, bargain cost. It's heaven, I'm telling you.

The books are sometimes shelved like at a regular bookstore, but they are also sometimes displayed in piles on tables. Mary and I were standing at opposite sides of a table, on which were stacked about ten copies of Possession, the Booker Prize-winning novel by A.S. Byatt. She casually asked if I had read it.

Had I read it? Oh, my dears.

I immediately and rapturously began to tell her all the ways it is wonderful: it reveals the intertwined stories of two fictional Victorian poets and the modern day researchers who discover a startling relationship between the nineteenth century writers. It's a multi-layered love story, and a witty commentary on the wily ways of modern academic researchers, and it's filled with lush poetry and diary entries that shock the reader and passionate love letters -- all created by Byatt herself . . . . As I rhapsodized about the book, I picked up a copy from the pile on the table. Look how stunning the cover is! I love all the Pre-Raphaelite painters, so the cover makes me cherish the book even more. I gazed at the illustration adoringly as I continued on. Gosh -- it was so pretty! I began to stroke the book lovingly as I talked, and Mary began to smirk as, one by one, the other shoppers in the room (all women) began to take copies of the book for themselves. When I came up for air, I was holding the only remaining copy of the book.

Mary just looked at me, and then held out her hand and said, "I guess I'll buy it then."

Image credit:
"Book List" (2010) by Patricia Mumau

You want "Real Housewives?" I'll give you real housewives . . . .

OK, so I have never watched a single episode of "The Real Housewives of Any City on the Planet" -- and if I have my way, I never will. But unfortunately, I have encountered commercials, clips, and excerpts from this heinous television show, and I feel like my eyeballs should be rinsed in Clorox. Here are just some of the words that come to mind when I consider this television experience: vulgar . . . OK. That's the main word that comes to mind.

But the thing that most irritates me about this show, now based in Washington, D.C., is that these bimbos are foisting themselves off as "Real," as "Housewives," and as actually "from D.C." While Mrs. Bush and Mrs. Obama can both credibly offer themselves as real housewives of D.C., there is nothing real about any of the women on this horrible show, and everything -- EVERYTHING -- they say is a lie, including the words "a," "an," and "the."

So I thought I would introduce you to the REAL real housewives of D.C. Are you ready? I hope your sensibilities will be able to handle the truth:

While the FAKE housewives of D.C. are using biometric locks to keep their daughters away from their precious designer clothes, these real housewives are making clothes for their daughters and for their friends. While the FAKE housewives of D.C. are insulting everyone in the city who doesn't look exactly like them, these real housewives are truly celebrating diversity by making it just one fact of their lives -- not THE fact of their lives.

While The FAKE housewives of D.C. are drinking enough champagne to ensure that they will be unable to speak a coherent sentence, these real housewives are raising their kids, going to church, volunteering at their schools, hospitals, churches, food pantries.

This real housewife homeschools five kids, and has written a hymnal of traditional Latin liturgical songs with her daughters. In her spare time. In Latin. And she throws a kick-ass party.

This real housewife hangs drywall, tiles bathrooms, lays carpet, installs flooring -- and leads three Girl Scout troops, all the while ensuring that her three daughters stay active and engaged -- and that they never miss their weekly trip to the library.

This real housewife works two free-lance jobs and volunteers at her four kids' schools, and she ensured that her grandmother's last days were filled with tranquility and comfort and love. She also knows how to throw a swell party; and not once -- ever -- has one of her guests thrown a drink at anyone.

This real housewife went back to work when money got tight, and then stayed at her job even when it was no longer "necessary," because she knew that the students she worked with needed her. She is also raising three fabulous urchins, and is the queen of the afternoon swirl -- from dance lessons to Boy Scouts to internship site; she rocks a Honda Pilot.

This real housewife is raising four beautiful children; she also militantly advocates for Newborn Screening, turning her own family's tragedy into a cause that has saved countless lives all over the country.

This real housewife is a popular and busy substitute teacher; when she's not subbing, she's volunteering at the school. She's also a Girl Scout leader, a community volunteer, and an active member of her church, plus she does all the bookkeeping for her husband's business. And she's crafty as all get-out, y'all.

This real housewife works full-time for the U.S. Army and still is able to attend her kids' concerts and sporting events, and participate in marathons, 5K and 10K runs, golf tournaments, and breast cancer fund-raising walks. And Perfect Days in Manhattan.

This real housewife has served in the U.S. Army herself, and now works full-time to raise a family while her husband continues to serve. Interestingly, while some FAKE housewives and their husbands crashed a White House state dinner, with no thought or consideration for the fact that their actions had endangered the President of the United States, this real housewife and her husband have spent their entire adult lives defending the President, the nation and the whole idea of freedom. This means that while the FAKE housewives have continually pissed and moaned in order to get even more publicity, this real housewife and her husband have quietly put their very lives on the line -- to make sure that the FAKE housewives have the freedom to live selfish, thoughtless, moronic lives of no meaning.

Well! Now that I have gotten that off my chest, here is my challenge to you: the next time you are tempted to watch this awful, awful television show, why not take that time instead to pick up the phone or sit down at your computer, and thank a REAL housewife of your own hometown for all the ways she makes your community safer, healthier, more vibrant, more educated, more humane.

You'll make someone's day -- and you won't even have to gargle with bleach when you're done!

Party-o-Rama

Before I get to work taking down the Christmas tree ornaments, I just thought I would show you what a party fest the Christmas season is for my family. We hang with a crowd that believes in putting the "merry" in Merry Christmas!

Coleen's family hosted a festive Merry Christmas brunch the day after the Big Snow stopped the entire region in its tracks. All over North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania, terrified motorists abandoned their cars; meanwhile Coleen drove around our neighborhood in her bright red Jeep and picked up all her guests.

She blew right past the fabulous neighbor and his snow-blower. This girl loves a party, people!

Three generations of fabulous!

The tall boy swears that the fashion-forward teens did not call each other ahead of time to coordinate their outfits. Please note the genuine Viking helmet hanging from the ceiling.

My husband and I have thrown a Boxing Day party every year on the day after Christmas. It rocked again this year! Coleen's tall boy clearly agrees with me.

I love this woman.

Here are my three pals: Bossy, Bossier, and Quietly Insistent. I can tell they're cooking up some scheme to boss me around.

My husband bonded with his college pals while the tall boy listened to the jibber-jabber.

The littlest fabulous neighbors only had so much party in them.

Oh, my dears! Look at Coleen's shoes! I need them.

We squeezed the last ounces of glamour and fun from 2009 at a formal New Year's Eve party, hosted by these paragons of elegance.

Check out the glamorous urchins!

Every female in the room coveted this urchin's excellent coat. She almost didn't get to leave with it.

Meanwhile, the teenager glamour was so dazzling I had to put my sunglasses on.

I mean, seriously. This girl, in this dress? It doesn't get any better -- except when I tell you that both her mother and her grandmother wore the same dress when they were teenagers.

And who doesn't love to party with a priest who carries a noisemaker in his breast pocket -- during Mass?

The oldest girl got to bond with her godfather -- which is one of her favorite things about attending this party every year.

I just love the tall boy in a tuxedo.

So does the sunny girl.