All he wanted for Christmas was a little red trike, a little red trike, a little red trike . . . – Twin Cities
‘Tis the season!
And: The kindness of strangers
Deuce of Eagan writes: “Subject: ‘A Holiday Memory of Kindness,’ or ‘No Trike for the Tyke.’
“For many of us, this time of year provides nostalgic thoughts. They are reflected in the holiday songs, illustrated on the greeting cards, and retold at family gatherings. It is not unusual to hear the sentiment ‘It seems just like yesterday’ near the end of those stories.
“My mother enjoyed telling the following story each year (it must have really touched her heart):
“The year was 1943. I was 3 years old. My mother, who did not drive (not unusual for women back then), took me downtown on the streetcar a couple of weeks prior to Christmas. It was my first such ride, as well as my first trip downtown.
“Mom was 22 years old at the time — pretty, quick with a smile, and fun to be with. Our goal on this day was to talk with Santa at the Golden Rule department store. We waited in a long line, and finally it was my turn. I had only one request: I asked this jolly old gentleman for a red tricycle. My mother winced upon hearing my request. It was during World War II, and production had stopped on anything requiring steel or rubber; that all went to the war effort. Mom told of my excitedly talking about the tricycle all the way home. I had no inkling how worried over this she was.
“Although aware of the shortages, she began calling all over the Twin Cities in hopes someone would have one remaining. Ward’s, Sears, Cardozo’s, Ace bicycle shop and others. My young mom cried after each disappointing call. She had only about 10 days to locate one.
“On one of her calls, someone suggested she call the Macalester bike shop in St. Paul. The person who took the call was the owner, and he listened patiently to her dilemma. She was given the same answer: He sympathized with Mom, but had no tricycles in stock. He offered to search through his used parts and see if he had enough to build one. He called her back and told her he could have one constructed by Christmas Eve. On the 24th, he called her back and told her of a delay. He had to find a welding shop willing to repair the damaged frame he was using . . . and on Christmas Eve.
“Mom was broken-hearted. She felt there was no way this nice man could possibly get this done.
“Well, he had it welded, took it back to his shop and painted it. He called Mom and told her the good news. As the paint needed to dry, he would deliver it Christmas morning.
“As promised, he placed it under the tree by 7:30 a.m. I know Mom was just as thrilled as I was: a shiny red tricycle with a bell mounted on the handlebar! To this day, I savor the memory of my loving mom and the wonderful, understanding stranger with such a big heart.”
Supermarket sweet
Dennis from Eagan: “Subject: Desserts is just Stressed in reverse.
“Thanksgiving is over, but I loved Cub bakery’s version of a turkey dinner.
“I probably would’ve unknowingly bought this as the main course during my bachelor days. Thank God for my wife helping me out during the holidays.”
The vision thing
KH of White Bear Lake: “Subject: Layers.
“When the outside temperature is between 0 and -40 degrees, I layer for my walk with three zippered, wind-resistant jackets of varying R-value. Then, depending on temperature, wind, and level of exertion, I can raise or lower any of the jacket zippers to avoid becoming overheated or chilled.
“As I looked out the window this morning at my neighbor’s birch tree, I realized it employs a similar strategy.”
The Permanent Family Record (cont.)
The Gram With a Thousand Rules: “Subject: Epilogue to Thanksgiving 2001.
“It was January of 2002. The holidays were over, and I was about to learn the true meaning of the word ‘adorable.’
“My daughter was back in the classroom, teaching science, so I had the fun of watching 4-year-old Mattie, who was still basking in the glory of her successful run as a turkey on Thanksgiving, when she fooled all of the aunts and uncles and cousins and they all said how adorable she was [Sunday BB, 12/1/2019]. She told me she was planning to be a spider next Halloween. She was hoping that her spider costume would be as great a disguise as her turkey costume was on Thanksgiving, and everyone would once again be wondering where she is. She said: ‘Grandma, you will think I am so adorable.’
“Later in the afternoon, she was impatiently waiting for her mom to pick her up, and she started worrying out loud: ‘I wonder why my mom isn’t here yet. She is usually here at this time. She is just so adorable!’ That sounded pretty off the wall, so I asked her: ‘What did you just say, Mattie?’ She answered: ‘Mom is just so adorable.’ Then she paused, and, seeing my still-confused look, she continued with her explanation: ‘Grandma, adorable is another way to say “I wonder where she is.”’”
Where’ve you gone, Mrs. Malaprop?
Rusty of St. Paul: “One way to more evenly cook a bird is to ‘spatchcock,’ it — removing the spine, then cracking through the breast bone so it lies down flat.
“At our Thanksgiving table, my sister-in-law reported on the turkey from a meal a different wing of the family held. [Bulletin Board interjects: Pun intended?] She said: ‘Marcus spackle rocked it.’
“She freely admits that she is happy to pay for a meal’s ingredients as long as she doesn’t have to cook them.”
Live and learn!
Wednesday, November 27, email from Bloomington Bird Lady: “Subject: You Never Foresee These Episodes.
“Every time it’s my turn at ‘doing Thanksgiving,’ a few weird stories come back vividly. It takes a lot of thought to make everything turn out ready to be served, and concentration is important. The last task is usually making the gravy, with so much distraction from those who want to help and those who just keep asking ‘What can I do?’ At that point, there’s not much time left before sitting down to eat.
“Blithely stirring the drippings and adding the packet of gravy mix into the mixture, hoping for no lumps, I was startled to feel something land on my shoulder. Turned my head to see, and there was our daughter’s Great Dane, dripping tongue hanging, head resting on my shoulder as she pleaded for just a taste. Those dogs are so tall, and I am short, so she was just taking advantage of a good deal. Disconcerting to see that large head, right next to mine. I don’t think she got any tastes — that I know of, anyway.
“They always tell you now: ‘Don’t wash your poultry, as it may splash e coli germs farther than you know.’ An accident can happen even before you take the thawed turkey out of the fridge. We’d allowed the hard-as-a-rock turkey to thaw in the refrigerator as recommended. The right thing to do? Not if you don’t notice that the supposedly leak-proof plastic wrapper is NOT leak-proof. You’d think nothing could escape that wrapper; it’s hard to even open up. Well . . . not so. To my dismay, leakage had happened, and there was pink turkey juice in many places under the bird. We had to take the refrigerator apart — drawers, food and all — and clean the germy drips with soap and water.
“Cleaning the fridge right before Thanksgiving dinner? A lesson learned that I will never forget.
“This year we’ll remember the snowfall: beautiful, but an unexpected headache to shovel and plow. Schools are closed, but Thanksgiving will happen, and you just know that Black Friday will happen no matter what.”
Then & Now
Commerce Division
The Astronomer of Nininger: “Subject: Maxwell Street.
“I grew up in Chicago. Unlike a lot of kids growing up there, my brother and I bypassed some of the typical city life. Instead we spent a lot of time chasing rabbits across open prairies or just exploring vacant fields within the city, along railroad ditches and even on the banks of the Chicago River. We could walk to the railroad and down to the river from our home. These were interesting places in their own right, and oh so many stories could be told by these abandoned and overgrown fields left over from the industry that took place nearby. We always were exploring, finding something new in our surroundings.
“Our home was not found in the best part of the city. Then again, we didn’t know any difference. It was located a couple of miles south of Madison Avenue (the dividing line between north and south) and was part of the near west side. It wasn’t too far from the stockyards, as the aromas which on occasion caught your attention could attest to. But it was a nice neighborhood to grow up in. We had friends; we played ball on the corner. I thought our neighborhood school, to which we walked, was pretty good. We just took our own individual responsibility to grow up, and we did.
“My brother and I recently discussed growing up there. One phenomenon that sticks out in both our minds is our visits to Maxwell Street. Now, anyone who lived in Chicago during the first half of the past century knows what I am talking about. Maxwell Street was a business district, not that far from downtown skyscrapers, possibly a mile in length, started in the mid-1800s by immigrants. Most of them were Jewish people who opened their wares for sale on Sunday mornings. They were joined by others: Polish, German, blacks, whatever. This mile-long ‘flea market’ opened early every Sunday. Our father took us there once or twice a month. We didn’t know how to walk there, and we didn’t have much money anyway. I can recall seeing the card tables along the street or just a blanket spread out on the street next to the curb, with literally anything for sale. There was a man who had an older car, probably a late 1940s Plymouth; he would wax and polish one of the hopeless-looking fenders, aiming to sell that car polish to bystanders. Boy, he made that fender shine like a mirror! He had a microphone to get your attention. A little ways farther, there were some gospel singers. They really had a beat I can still bop to. There were some vendors selling fishing gear. I still have a muskie rod I made from a bamboo blank I bought there about 1950. It didn’t have silk guide windings; I just used mom’s sewing thread. One man was selling pillows. But the fondest memories of the Maxwell Street experience was the true Chicago dog. Dad would break down and buy one — we’d share it amongst the three of us. Absolutely, without a doubt, it was the surprise hot pepper that we remember best. Who would be lucky enough to get it in their first bite?
“Maxwell Street is in many ways like the original flea market. It is gone now, a victim of urban redevelopment. But as I relaxed this past weekend, reading the Pioneer Press, I saw that the Black Friday experience was like this. In many ways, it was not whether you purchased a particular item, but it was the experience, the exploration, the fun, the excitement and maybe even a little hot pepper in a Chicago dog. It is arguable as to the merit or worth of getting up early for a bargain, but it is not the bargain; it is the good times with your family and friends that matter. What is that worth? I suggest it is priceless.”
The verbing of America
The REF in White Bear Lake: “Subject: The awful verbing of America.
“Just heard on the Good Neighbor: an ad for a computer-security product that includes this tagline: ‘Thanks to LifeLock, you don’t have to let cyber-criminals unhappy your holidays.’”
Our times
OTD from NSP: “I now understand why people go to Urgent Care/ER instead of their regular clinic.
“I have what I think is a bad cold. Missed Thanksgiving because I felt so bad. Slept in a recliner for three full nights and part of the last two. Trouble breathing; coughing. Just toughing it out with over-the-counter cold-and-cough stuff.
“Went to SilverSneakers exercise class today and almost passed out, so I thought maybe I should see my regular doctor.
“I could get in to see the person I would normally go to on December 18 — 2-1/2 weeks wait. In that time, I will either be well, dead, or have gone to the ER.”
Hmmmmmmmm
Al B of Hartland: “I was in a bookstore in Juneau, Alaska, when a little boy walked up to me and announced at full volume that he’d just wet his pants. His mother was mortified. What am I supposed to do in a situation like that? Do I give him a high-five, say ‘Way to go,’ or tell him that I just did, too?”
Our times (II)
Kathy S. of St. Paul: “Subject: A prayer for the week.
“I pray that politicians lose an article of clothing each time they lie. And that they don’t run out of clothes.”
Band Name of the Day: The Germy Drips
Gloss