Category: Commentary

True Story

  

I keep my blog fairly free of political posts. Oh, occasionally I’ll get riled up about something and spout off, but for the most part Praying For Eyebrowz is a peace-filled zone.

My Facebook feed is just the opposite in a schizophrenic sort of way. It’s filled with dozens of political memes along with a smattering of cat videos. I tried to go without posting political stuff on my feed, but I’m almost addicted. 

A few days ago I posted this meme. I think it’s hysterical and makes light of the whole wacky far right’s insistence that the President is a Muslim in cahoots with radical jihadists. 

 

In my comments section I found a nifty conversation between two extreme right wing conspiracy theorists who waxed eloquently about the evils of the current administration bringing about a New World  Order. On and on they went using ridiculously inflammatory language intended to get a reaction from me or my friends. And a beautiful thing happened:

We ignored them.

No one responded to these two. It was beautiful. We could’ve gotten all righteous and gone on the attack, but decided to let it go, and the conspiracy theory nut jobs played out like a couple of dud firecrackers. 

To celebrate this lesson learned I am going to declare my Facebook page and my blog  politics free zones for the next two weeks. That’s my Christmas gift to friends and family. Yes, among other things I’m a bit of a cheapskate.

I’ll leave you with a cute Christmas cat video:

http://youtu.be/Sh4wJD3Noq4

Is There A Reason My Wife’s Posts Aren’t Showing Up In The Reader?

I believe the title says it all. Studly wants to know…. 

 

And Just What Do YOU Do?

 
I saw this meme on Facebook today and had to giggle. For one thing, it’s the kind of offhand remark I’m inclined to make and then get embarrassed by. Often my mouth and my brain operate from completely different game plans.

But this meme also reminded me of a time during Parent/Teacher conferences back when I was teaching seventh grade. We taught in teams of four teachers: math, social studies, science, and English. And when conference time rolled around we met with parents as a team. 

I greatly enjoyed this team concept approach because we learned much more about our students and their parents than we might have otherwise. Sometimes we might have learned a bit too much.

We were chatting with one parent and one of my co-teachers kept saying, “I feel like I should know you. You look so familiar.”

Finally the parent said, “You must recognize me from work.”

“I’m sure that’s it,” replied the teacher. “Where do you work?”

“At the XXX Toy Box on Elm,” said the parent.

My good Christian co-worker went bright red and completely silent. We never let her live that down.

Peace, people!

Let It Snow (Somewhere Else) 

I love snow in theory. Newly fallen snow is indescribably lovely, draping the world in peaceful beauty. Even day two can be nice if one doesn’t have to scrape snow and ice off of car windows or shovel the heavy stuff off of sidewalks and driveways. By day three, though, the majesty has worn off. 

Studly Doright, our two children, and I lived in North Dakota for three years and had quite enough of the frozen precipitation. Snow would begin falling around October 31, and didn’t stop until late March. Sometimes snow was still on the ground in April and May. Brrrrr! 

Now that Studly and I live in north Florida I occasionally find myself romanticizing the idea of snow. Not enough that I want to actually experience it in person, mind you, but I miss being able to watch it fall softly from the comfort of my home.

Fortunately I can find it on the Internet. 

Dean Martin sings Let It Snow and I melt. Ironic, right? (There’s a brief commercial at the beginning…)

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=mN7LW0Y00kE#

 

Peace, people!

Skewed Priorities

I’ve mentioned before that I have a tendency toward hypochondria. Any splotch becomes a melanoma, every cough a case of pneumonia, a brief lapse in memory is perceived as senility. My mind is my worst enemy. 

So this afternoon when I had two weird twinges in my chest I immediately turned to Studly Doright and announced that I was having a heart attack. I’ve already survived one fake heart attack, so I know all the symptoms. 

Neither one of us got too upset, until I realized that if I had a heart attack for real it might put me in danger of missing opening weekend for Star Wars The Force Awakens! I refuse to even consider that occurrence, so any heart attacks, real or imagined, have to wait until after the Star Wars franchise has run its course. I might live forever. 

May the Force be with you. And me. 

Peace, people.

  

Slay Bells: Sort of a Review of Krampus

I saw Krampus last weekend. (Cue evil laugh.)

  
What a fun, frightening, good old-fashioned horror film! 

The cast, led by Toni Collette and Adam Scott, is perfect in this holiday from hell. Their family’s upscale Christmas celebration is first darkened by the arrival of the perpetually down on their luck relatives who are more than just a little reminiscent of Randy Quaid and Miriam Flynn’s characters in Christmas Vacation. But obnoxious relatives become the least of this family’s worries.

Remember in Christmas Vacation the chaos that ensued when in lieu of a hefty Christmas bonus Clark Griswold received a crappy fruitcake from his clueless boss? The family in Krampus would have welcomed the fruitcake. Instead, they receive a visit from Santa’s “shadow” after their young son’s Christmas wish goes horribly wrong. Or perhaps horribly right. Perspective is everything.

I haven’t enjoyed a horror film this much in years. The slasher films leave me cold–all blood and guts with no real story. Krampus has some of the blood and a few of the guts, a heap of great suspenseful moments, what with a blackout blizzard and evil creatures hiding in dark, swirly places, and a bit of a story. Maybe there’s a moral tucked in there, as well. “Be careful child, for what you wish.”

  
Peace, people!

First World Problems

Studly Doright handed me a catalog for a local store that carries a myriad of manly man implements and tools. Like a small child he’d gone through the catalog page by page and circled things he’d like to receive for Christmas. In red crayon. Seriously.

“What do you want?” He then asked.

“World peace, stricter gun laws, an end to hunger, equal pay for equal work, paid leave for all new parents, a $15 living wage, single payer health care, fully funded Planned Parenthood, a case of Shiner Bock, and a bottle of Cakebread merlot.”

“Ok,” he said. “I’ll vote for Bernie Sanders and give you a gift card for the booze.”

  
Now that’s a shopping list, right?

Peace, people!

Presenting the Finished Tree

   
It’s not going to make it into the pages of Better Homes and Gardens or Southern Living. Martha Stewart isn’t going to copy my decorating technique, but it’s done. Or perhaps overdone. 

A couple of times I tried to stop hanging ornaments, but it was as if some one or some thing made me keep going until the tree itself was barely visible underneath the eclectic mix of Christmas tchotchkies. Must be the true spirit of Christmas at work right here in Doright Manor.

In the process of decorating the evergreen I managed to break not one, not two, but three ornaments: Dancer of eight tiny reindeer fame, Mickey Mouse dressed as Scrooge, and a random snowman. Now I’m down to just six reindeer, having never acquired Vixen. 

Maybe if I have another glass of wine this evening the tree will begin to look less cluttered and more classy. What goes best with kitsch? Cabernet Sauvignon or Merlot?

Peace, people!

Angels 

Studly Doright and I married on July 30, 1976. We were young, in love, and profoundly broke. I hadn’t really noticed just how broke we were until our first Christmas rolled around.

We managed to buy a sad little tree, but we had no ornaments. I know now there existed women who could whip up some crafty ornaments using a mixture of baking soda, grape jelly, and crushed leaves, but I was not one of those women. And this was way before Pinterest. 

My mother came to the rescue. She bought me two kits of do-it-yourself felt ornaments. At first I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t, and still can’t, sew, but I began working on the ornaments a little bit every evening, hanging them on the tree as I finished. 

 
In the beginning there were twelve ornaments, but after 16 moves in 39 years of marriage a couple have gone missing. One wreath shaped ornament was last seen being tossed around by our Siamese cat, aptly named Holly. Said wreath had a decidedly bedraggled air before it disappeared for good around 1996. The other missing ornament just went A.W.O.L. one year, perhaps fearing it would meet a death similar to that of the mangled wreath.

My favorite of the lot are the scarecrow and the angel.

  
Poor scarecrow is holding on, but just barely. He is missing an eye and his hat has undergone drastic alterations, but he continues to smile. I feel like scarecrow is my spirit animal. 

  
The angel has fared better than the rest of the crew. All but one of her sequins remain intact. She’s still praying for peace, and she means it. 

After my mom passed away I began collecting angels. Some are intricately carved, others beautifully crafted. A few were quite expensive. But this little felt angel, given to me that first Christmas of my marriage by my mother and sewn imperfectly by me, is the one I cherish most.

Peace, people.