I just returned from Buffalo where we celebrated the American Thanksgiving with my Mom, my sister, and her family. The newest addition to the group is Nadia, the two month-old baby daughter of my oldest nephew and his wife. Hands down, the most energetic member of the family, and the one with the best lungs, is Samantha, the now-toddling 18 month-old daughter of my younger nephew and his wife. Last Thanksgiving, I posted a photo of Samantha and her dad, posing with my dad. My mother’s house is full of rare and fragile china, and almost everything had to be moved to a higher level when Samantha, the little whirling dervish, spun through the house like the Tasmanian Devil. I actually caught one rather valuable piece of glass as it was capriciously flung through the air. Thanksgiving dinner was bittersweet as our patriarch, my father, was conspicuously absent for the first time ever. We decided to commemorate him by laying his silly red Cornell sherpa hat across his chair at the head of the table. I had the benefit of his presence for fifty-three Thanksgivings, and he gave great toasts. He couldn’t carve a bird to save his life, but boy did he have a way with words. There have always been three generations at our Thanksgiving table, and this year was no exception. With Samantha and Nadia at one end of the table, and my Mom at the other end, there was plenty reason for joy and laughter. The circle of life continues. As I have often said, Thanksgiving is by far my favorite holiday of the year, and I realize that I have plenty for which to be thankful. I prefer holidays that have nothing to do with religion, and this is the one holiday every year when my family gathers together. It’s also when I choose to re-connect with friends and relatives I might not speak to during the rest of the year.
As I write this entry, I have just returned from court in Sundridge, Ontario, where I was subpoenaed as a witness in an assault case. Last May, the guy who was hired to plow our driveway last year assaulted and injured one of our employees, at our home, when we disputed one of his overcharges. Not only did he charge too much, but he always came to plow at the end of the day, long after we needed his services. After delaying several court dates, and after making every attempt to manipulate the system, he was finally forced to face the music. Shauna and I had witnessed the assault, and this guy was claiming our employee initiated the fight. Nothing could have been further from the truth, and I was worried that the charges, brought by the police, not us, would be dropped if we did not pursue the matter. As it turned out, the schmuck ended up having to sit in the court room for over an hour, along with his skanky girlfriend, waiting while the court scrambled to find a court recorder. I think that, having to sit there for an hour, and seeing the three of us, prepared to testify against him, was enough to give him and his attorney pause. Had he testified to what he’d said in his police report, he would likely have been forced to perjure himself on the stand. Anyhow, he caved and pled guilty, and now he will spend the next six months under house arrest, after which he will be on probation and likely attend anger management classes. Merry Christmas! What a hoser.
Yes it’s once again that time of year, when little people all over the world dress up like elves and endure the indignity of capitalism gone mad. It should be a better year for the beleaguered retailers than it was last year, and you should look for my holiday suggestions in the coming weeks. If you crave visions of sugar plums dancing in your holiday-addled heads, nothing says “I’m a holiday-induced nutcase” like Jamie’s famous “High velocity 151 Eggnog”. Hide the car keys and prepare to get naked in front of complete strangers, we’re gonna break dance under the mistletoe tonight. You won’t know what hit you, but make sure someone has a camera. Nobody says celebrating has to be pretty.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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