Not Talking Turkey - My Top Ten List

I have a friend who writes a witty letter to send to the far reaches of her family at Christmas time every year. Since I never purposely steal anyone’s idea unless I can do it better or score first blood, I decided to compose an annual Thanksgiving letter instead, so that mine will be done before she gets out her shiny balls and Ho Ho’s. But on further reflection, I don’t want to risk competing with a lady who has enough culture to inquire, “What wine goes with roadkill?”

Therefore, in an act of stubborn cowardice, I have decided instead to present the top ten list of things I’ve learned this year. There’s been a lot of study material.

I learned that Life Lessons are either immensely painful or expensive. And also that one does not exclude the other.

I learned that driving a kidney patient to the hospital requires you to slow down, at least over the railroad tracks.

I learned that kidneys must be emptied more often than pockets at a police station and that the announcement that a patient’s kidneys are about to explode like the planet Alderan under attack from a fully functional Death Star shortens the wait at the Emergency Room immensely.

Transporting the patient home across the same railroad tracks, I learned that men with catheters DO NOT have a sense of humor.

I learned that the insurance company will pay for a bandaid quite cheerfully, but morphine requires an offering of type O positive and Taylor Swift tickets with backstage passes for the daughter of the insurance company’s CEO—and 350 of her closest friends.

I learned that if the kidney patient schedules a physical to see if anything else is wrong; something will be.

I learned that triglycerides are neither a good name for a rock band, nor a circus acrobatic act that revolves around a three-wheeled vehicle.

I learned to appreciate whole grain bread, lean meats, garden vegetables, and fresh fruit.

I learned that “refrigerate after opening” doesn’t necessarily apply to fresh fruit.

I learned that poached, grilled, boiled, and baked fish are still basically fish. Unless corn meal and hot grease are involved, all recipes are the same. Disclaimer: This is just an observation. I like fish. Please do not send me your recipe. I rejected Martha Stewart and I’ll reject you.

I learned that even though Life Lessons are expensive and painful and fraught with adventures that make you late for supper, having a healthy husband makes it all worthwhile. Tomorrow, between the green beans and Splenda-sweetened tea, I'll be putting in a word of thanks for that.

(Of course, that’s 11 things on the list. But when it comes to lessons, I was always an overachiever anyway. Happy Thanksgiving, Honey!)

Naughty is Nice

I’ve found a flaw in this whole Santa thing. Not Santa himself, mind you. He’s all right, living it up at the top of the world, drinking hot chocolate and refereeing reindeer games. It’s the whole being good theory. Quite by accident I found an inconsistency. Kind of like the state of Illinois found in the Governor's office recently, but on a much grander scale. I didn’t want to say anything until I performed conclusive scientific testing in an environment where the integrity of my research could not be skewed by scientists or other cult members, but after several years of receiving actual gifts from Santa, I could hold my silence no longer. See conclusive test results below:

Year One (2006)

I forgot to pay the pastor’s water bill resulting in an untimely discontinuance of water service at the parsonage (although flushing privileges did resume shortly thereafter), I wore dirty socks several days in a row, and I faked a serious bout of semi-consciousness so that Bill would bring Lo Mein for supper.

I should have been sentenced to at least six months of intensive labor as Class Mom in Charge of Cupcakes, but I evaded charges and never even preheated the oven. This course of events could be due to the fact that the teacher was previously acquainted with my cupcake making skills and had a preparedness plan already in place, but for Christmas I received a generous amount of musical CD’s, clothes, and assorted goodies. This incident smacks of loopholes in Santa’s operating procceses.

Year Two (2007)

I bought tickets to the circus with the grocery money, forced my son, “Undeclared Major” to take a job, and ate all the candy that well-wishers brought for the office staff to share. Santa rewarded this display with a foot spa and an attendant elf to refill the water when it got chilled. (Bill Dear still refuses to wear the green elf-support tights, but you can’t beat him as a water bearer. I’m convinced he was born under the wrong sign.) Looks like Santa has a bug in his software, or he’s slipping. What is the mandatory retirement age at the North Pole?

Year 3 (2008)

It was a banner year for naughty at my house. I sideswiped hubby’s car and laid the blame on his lack of parking skills, I tried to pass fried liver off as sirloin on at least one occasion, and I took in another stray dog, thereby breaking the “one more animal in this house and we have to give up a child” dictate.

Santa outdid himself. Such piles of chocolates and treasures surrounded me on Christmas morning, I thought the Jolly Old Man had gone completely off his sleigh bells. He even brought me new pajamas dotted all over with clever pictures of smiling puppies with pink collars. Clearly something has to be done.

I suggest we give Santa a raise.