"The line waiting to see Santa Claus stretched all the way back to Terre Haute. And I was at the end of it."

Compared to those of previous years, this year's Christmas break was uneventful. Joseph didn't throw up during the pageant. I didn't get any major appliance stuck to my head. The only event that might be of any interest was of a slightly different nature.

Some background: Christmas is always a difficult time for my family. My father passed away January 2, 1999, so not only is he not around for the holidays, but the date of his death occurs not long after. As a result, there's been an air of melancholy (definitely had to look up that spelling) around my house during Christmas every year since. Whether spoken or unspoken, acknowledged or ignored, a fear, an anger, a doubt, a repression and depression hang in the air. Add to this a newly deaf cat :( who "speaks" (because she meows so constantly it's like speech) in such loud tones that you can't help but become frustrated. The most common phrase around my house is, "Oreo, be quiet!" Now, I know what you're thinking: 1. She's a cat; she doesn't understand English and 2. She's deaf; even if she did understand English, she still couldn't hear you. Well, if that was what you're thinking, you have a valid point. If it wasn't what you were thinking, well, then I can't speak to anything else and you may or may not have a valid point on your chosen subject. Regardless, we still talk to her as if she can hear and understand us. Remember: the odds are about 9:1 that I'll become a crazy old woman with lots of cats.

Some further background: When it comes to cleaning up after cooking, there are probably far more than two schools of thought, but my mother and I fit neatly into two categories. She washes the dishes, pans, utensils she uses as she goes along; I leave them 'til the end if there are other tasks I can be doing during that time. Our styles are less like water and oil and more like . . . gun powder and flint--destined for an explosion when brought together with energy.

On Christmas Eve Day, I offered to make mashed potatoes (a kind that you make the day before and then heat in the oven the day of) and pita chips while she took a nap since she had gotten about four hours of sleep the preceding night. After her nap, she came downstairs to discover a sink full of dishes, hand-mixer attachments, and other measuring utensils and me elbow-deep in pita chips that I had made incorrectly. And so began the fight about cleaning up. After a minute or so of bickering, I finally convinced her to get out of the kitchen and to come back when the product, as it were, was finished. I'm sure we were both subconsciously looking for a fight to release some of the unrelated pent-up emotions. Anyway, my mother left the room crying and went into our living room. About ten seconds later, I hear, "Nell, get in here right away!" She was sitting on the couch laughing. Dory Previn's Mythical Kings and Iguanas and Reflections in a Mud Puddle was playing on the CD player. "I came into the room," she said, "and the very first thing that I hear is, 'Dad is dead.'"

In the past, this event might have been fodder for a multiple-hour cry. Somehow it had the opposite effect this time. We both started laughing and couldn't stop for a good five minutes. This random song lyric had put our argument into perspective; yes, I realize I'm contradicting myself here in that I previously said that the argument was occuring on a subconsious level, but I was also truly ticked off that I had been cooking for two hours and that effort was subordinate to the mess I had made. I can't explain any better than this why this was so funny, but it just was. It was what we had really needed and felt like my dad was telling us to spend the holiday in laughter and love rather than petty spats.

Now that the above gag-fest is over, I'll share some things that made me laugh recently that have a wider appeal. Both of these clips aired on "Saturday Night Live" several weeks back. I saw the first of the two live and only saw the second of the two on-line after its link was forwarded to me.

• State Spelling Bee Finals (I've often hoped that one of the children in the National Spelling Bee would become confused or just develop a prominent sense-of-humor and ask the moderator to spell the word. The first half of this skit still has not failed to make me laugh out loud, even though I've probably seen it seven or eight times now. I'm not really a Tenacious D fan, so I skip the second half of the video.)
• Lazy Sunday Digital Short (The Chronicles of Narnia Rap)

As an homage-of-sorts to the line from A Christmas Story that I've used as the title of this post, I have one last quick little story to relate. When I was two, I had been walking and talking in full sentences for many months. Yes, I was that little kid who's equal parts entertainment and annoyance. I have a panoply of "Nell said" stories in my arsenal that I'll bore you with some other day. This particular one takes place during the Christmas season of 1983--coincidentally, the same year that A Christmas Story was released. After waiting in line for hours to meet Santa Clausd and have my picture taken with him at Macy's, I finally got my chance to go into the house and meet the man himself. My dad and I stepped through the door, I looked up, and bolted back out of Santa's Village into the store. Before leaving, though, I managed to yell at the top of my lungs, "GET THAT BIG, FAT MAN AWAY FROM ME!" The real kicker is that I had still managed to get a "Macy's Santa Knows" ring that alternated between that phrase and a picture of the big guy depending on the angle at which you held your head relative to the ring's face. For the next week or so, I wore my ring proudly and told anyone who would listen, "I met Santa Clause." I guess I was still a little too young to know the word "berated."