I hate your Christmas Present, So I Melted It

SO and I don't exchange Christmas gifts anymore; we haven't for years.  Let's be honest:  More stuff tends to clutter life, not improve it.
But there was a time when we did exchange gifts.  Gifts would typically be something of moderate value on Christmas Eve, with much smaller things (fruit, candy, small hobby supplies, etc.) in stockings on Christmas morning.
Somewhere between 15 and 20 years ago, one of the items I put in SO's stocking was a cooking spoon.  It was hard plastic and slotted with a figure-8 in it.  At some point a short time after that Christmas morning, I handed that spoon to SO while we were making dinner.  She commented something like, "Not that one, I hate that spoon."  I laughed and reminded her it was a Christmas present, and that has become a long running joke ever since.
"I need a spoon from the utensil drawer."
"Do you want the one you hate?"

I'm trying to remember what I did last year around the end of the year.  I had a few extra days off after I finished deer hunting, and there are always the days off around Christmas and New Years.  Cabin fever usually sets in towards the end of the year.
I keep a running list of all the books I read - it serves as a good reminder so I don't inadvertently get the same book at the library twice.  It also helps when I'm trying to think of a particular book or author to recommend to someone, and the list sometimes helps me remember what I was doing at a certain time by correlating events with what I happened to be reading.  Looking back at late 2016, I wasn't reading very much so that was not helpful.  Although I seem to recall rereading several books around that time.  The spreadsheet I use to keep track of my work vacation time didn't add any perspective either.  Emails from around then are similarly unhelpful.  Sometimes even what I've written here may spark a reminder.  Looking back at the end of 2016 appears like looking into a foggy mirror.

It makes me worried that I wasted a lot of time at the end of last year.

I hate wasting time.  Time is the one commodity that is absolutely fixed.  Once a minute is gone, it is gone forever.  But then again maybe not.  Big mistakes seem to live on in perpetuity.  That sounds too negative - many good events take on a life of their own as well.  But not like the blunders do.

SO made toffee a short time ago on a day she had off of work.  I also noticed three new wooden spoons in the utensil drawer.  Wooden spoons have their place, but they can also absorb stuff while cooking.  The last wooden spoon was thrown away when mice somehow found it and ate a large percentage of it.  The mice in the old house would often make their presence known.  If the new house has mice, I've never noticed any evidence of them except in the garage on rare occasions.
I asked SO about the wooden spoons, only because there were three of them.  A wooden spoon might ber a useful utensil to have around.  But three? "I melted one of the plastic spoons when I made toffee."  This should not have been unexpected.  "I should probably throw the toffee away, I think there is still some plastic in it."
"One of the cheap fat plastic spoons?"  I asked.
"No."
"The one you hate?"
"Yes."

The Politics of the Office Gift Exchange

Several years ago there was there was a Christmas white elephant gift exchange in the department I was working in at the time.  I had a spare copy of Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs and thought about using that.  I didn't but wish I would have.
"Tasteful, useable(sic) gifts please." 

I've never worked anywhere that had a secret santa gift exchange, and I'm very glad about that.  I would probably opt to not participate in that.  The pitfalls associated with secret Santas are just too awful to contemplate.
But opting out of office social theatrics can be just as dangerous as participation.  A dentist visit may be wiser.  Or quitting.

Most places I've worked, outside of the ones that do thankfully nothing, have a white elephant gift exchange.  These can be humorous as various rules during the actual exchange mean highly desirable gifts are exchanged and sought after.  Sometimes what is sought after is inexplicable.

Where I currently work, the suggestion is for something between $5 and $10.  Several political phenomena can be observed:

• The bottle of wine - everybody wants it, if only to dull the pain.  But nobody can look too much like they want it, lest they be labeled the office lush.
• The regift - I recall an amaryllis given one year where, on opening the box, the recipient pulled out a plant that had sprouted and grown in complete darkness.  Living its whole life without light, it looked like a cave fish - giving away the fact that it was a year old.
• The big spender - the gift obviously over the suggested amount, where the giver doesn't want to be revealed but really does want to be known.
• The cheap spender - post-it notes and office pens.  Is that theft?
• The last minuter - something ... anything from the gas station on the way into the office in the morning.
• The home made present - often thoughtful, but almost too personal for work.  And the last thing most of us need is more stuff to sit on a shelf.

This year I gave Duke's Original Recipe Smoked Sausage.  Smack dap in the middle of the price range at just over $7.  As food, it isn't something that will have to stick around too long.  My only hope was that the office vegan would somehow end up with it.  The horror.  The horror.  Never get out of the boat.

"Never apologize.  Never explain." - Hunter S Thompson

The most sought after items were a couple bottles of wine that must have been determined to be better than average.  The Big Spender's large box of craft beers were also sought after with vigor.

I ended up with two utility lighters.  These have some usefulness, but I already have two of them.  I may now have a lifetime supply of them - although the igniters typically give out long before the butane is exhausted.

As it turned out, the Big Spender opened the package of sausages.  The face she made was not very pleasant.  I didn't follow the movement to know if she ended up with it or not.

The highest level manager at the soiree announced his intention to leave his gift as "tip for the wait staff."  I contemplated how that may be perceived by the person who brought that one in.
I suppose the politics follow the receiver as well as the giver.

No, Virginia, There Is No Santa Claus

Dear Editor:  I am 40-something years old.
Some of my colleagues say there is no Santa Claus.
The Boss says, ‘If it is on the Internet it’s so.’
Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

Dude, your colleagues are right.  They have been given insight, which is not a product of education per se, but a result of critical skepticism.  Facts are a result of what can be seen, what can be measured.  Humans have been given the gift of rational thought, which allows us to understand what we see and in some cases learn what we cannot directly see.  In this great universe, our planet is one of only billions of planets.  But no intelligent person has ever seen Santa Claus, neither direct nor indirect evidence of him.

No, Dude, there is no Santa Claus.  He does not exist.  This is actually good, because there are, in fact, enough good people in the world to make up for 100s of mythical benefactors.  The world is a better place because there is no Santa Claus.  It is better because there are people who can think, maybe even like you, Dude.  The world is also made better by people who excel in the arts, making things like Santa Claus exist noisily only in the world of fiction.  People should be enlightened early on the difference between reality and fiction, while still enjoying both of them in the appropriate setting.

No, you should not believe in Santa Claus.  You should also know that the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, goblins and Care Bears do not exist.  It is impossible to prove the negative, but over the course of all human history, no one has ever observed Santa Claus and controlled studies giving evidence have never produced data suggesting his existence.  Yes, following the scientific method, we are able to consistently show that the theory of Santa Claus is unquestionably incorrect.  Do not be sad in this, for this frees up time and energy to spend observing some of the real wonders of the world:  From Quantum Mechanics to Chemistry to Astronomy to Geology to Biology; the world is a wonderful place.

We can tear apart the car's transmission to see how it works.   And while there is a veil covering everything, that veil can be made more transparent and eventually lifted through learning.  But still, do not forget faith, poetry, love, literature, music are also available to open up a uniquely different part of life.  Is this other part real?  Yes, it is real in that it exists for everyone to enjoy, Dude, but do not confuse myth and legend with what is fact!

No, Dude, there is no Santa Claus.  And Thank goodness!  He may forever remain mythical.  And your presents – and happiness – come from friends and family members who you interact with every day.

Dad's Christmas Cookies

For at least the last decade, Dad always sent Christmas Cookies.  These were large cookies decorated with copious amounts of frosting to look like Santa Claus, at least mostly like Santa Claus.  While the gesture was nice, most were never eaten - something I always felt a little guilty about.

Dad was diagnosed early in 2015 with pancreatic cancer.  He had some unusual issues, and after a few misdiagnoses, late stage four pancreatic cancer was confirmed.  I knew pancreatic cancer wasn't "a good one" to get, but until doing some reading, I didn't understand the degree of badness to this, especially at the stage he was at.

Dad was always a rock.  He was never flashy, never flamboyant or loud, or boisterous.  There were prayers for the miracle-cure which wasn't to come; my Dad and his wife said those prayers were answered in thousands of small miracles after his diagnosis, which was yet another lesson I needed to learn from that man.

In the classic sense, I guess we weren't close.  Our interests were very different.  I usually (only) saw him once or twice a year.  I communicated with him 10-20 times a year in addition to our visits - yet his diagnosis and the realization that his life would likely end, and soon, from pancreatic cancer hit me like a boulder.
All of my Dad's kids got together about a month after his diagnosis for a rally-around-Dad weekend.  On one evening, Dad showed a slide show of 35mm slides from our youth on his father's very antique slide projector.  Dad assumed this would be, at best, tolerated.  It was probably one of the highlights of my year.  We all really enjoyed watching the pictures and reliving childhood memories - creating new memories in the process.
We all had a great time that entire weekend - and it wasn't until the drive home that I realized why his diagnosis hit so hard.
Time spent thinking and putting thoughts to paper helped me put into words how with a strong foundation, Dad was able to help raise five interesting kids that were able to develop freely into their own very unique and independent selves.  I ultimately sent this to him for Father's Day - almost too late - and read it at his funeral.

I saw Dad a few more times over the spring and summer, watched the ever-healthy man deteriorate.  He never complained, never lost faith.  Just like his whole life, he was accepting and enjoyed every single positive second.  Early on, there was a lot of communication, but that waned as his condition worsened.  Updates, both good and bad, came mostly from his wife - a woman who showed the strength of Samson and compassion of Mother Teresa.

Dad died on Father's Day.  Maybe because I saw him the day before, I see his death on a day to honor dads as inexplicably non-negative.  His funeral really was a celebration of his life, as well as a roller-coaster of emotions since there were many people there who I hadn't seen in years.

Since Dad's death, I miss him in ways I never could have imagined.
I miss how he would read something I would post on Facebook, and then email me about it.  I'm not sure if his lack of Facebook comments was that he didn't totally get it, or his deference to my being a somewhat private person.
I miss how he would always have some reason to email me after I saw him, and asked if I made it home OK.
I miss how he would always send me a really cheesy online birthday card.
I miss realizing that my habits and mannerisms had grown to match his more than I was comfortable with.
I miss just knowing ... he is there.

And I miss those Christmas Cookies I didn't eat.
To be honest, I have a hard time seeing Dad make and decorate cookies; there is a lot I learned about him in his last few months that is difficult to picture.  But the cookies would come every year, very near, sometimes shortly after, Christmas, when my taste for sweets of any kind was diminishing.  There would always be an email preceding the cookies that "something was coming" for me.  A rumpled box would then show up, with cookies wrapped in cellophane and bubble wrap.
It hurts a little knowing that that box will never show up again, and I will still feel guilty about not eating those cookies.  Maybe this year, I will make some cookies, and I will frost them to look like Santa.  But I will not eat them - because whether it is Christmas, or Father's Day or any time in between, when I think about my Dad, I don't ever want it to be without a little bit of ache.

The Best Christmas Gift

Christmas Day, 2014.
I got the best gift ever this year:  Nothing.
No, I wasn't bad (maybe I was).
No, I'm not destitute (maybe I could become so).
Nothing is the best gift because I don't need anything.

I guess there are things I might think I want.  But if they were things I realistically could use, I likely would have bought them already.  I might sometimes say I want a Ferrari or 150 acres of perfect prime hunting land, but those come with other significant expenses built in (maintenance, and taxes and insurance).  Those things are also fantasy, and real life is always more interesting than fantasy.
More stuff tends to clutter life, not improve it.

It is actually kind of hard to think back and remember any specific Christmas; It is a bit surprising that I can't think of anything terribly memorable even about Christmas 2013.
I can remember minor events of past Christmases and even sometimes put those pieces together with the actual year.  Mostly this has to do with what else might have been going on around the same time.

The weather this year has been more typical of late December weather.  Cold rain, resulting in ice and mud.  I'm sure snow is coming, but there is no magic in a white Christmas.  Christmas morning came first at around 2:00 AM.  Thankfully, I was able to sleep a few more hours before getting up, reading for a bit and going on a long, if slightly damp dog walk.
Which, is about as good as Christmas gets.

So maybe a dog walk is something, or maybe it is nothing.
But, nothing equals contentment, which might really be the best present.