Ho! Ho! Ho!

By NAN BROWN
As published Dec. 19, 2007

There, I said it. It may be politically incorrect to do so in places like Australia, but as far as I’m concerned it’s perfectly fine to utter jolly old St. Nick’s famous words.

I could not believe my ears when I heard the news report about Australia putting the skids to the use of those three little words. All the Santas down under are now required to say Ha! Ha! Ha! Well, the joke’s on them as far as I’m concerned.

I don’t know who ever came up with the idea of political correctness in the first place. It’s the few who feel the need to be that have raised such a ruckus to the point where we all have to tiptoe around what we’re trying to say without tripping over our tongues.

Before I get down off my soapbox and on to merrier Christmas tidings, I was glad to hear a report that many large retailers have done an about-face and are now allowing their employees to again say, “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays.” That was good news indeed.

I always enjoy our Christmas preparations each year. I especially like sending cards. I’m a “card person” anyway, but I really do derive joy from sending and receiving Christmas cards.

A couple of years ago I engaged Jack’s help in addressing our cards due to increasing problems with arthritis in my fingers. I write a note inside each and sign our names while Jack addresses the envelopes.

Our cards have been mailed, our shopping is done, and I’ve been gift wrapping to my heart’s content. We’ve even shipped out a total of eight packages to all of the out-of-towners on our list.

By the time you read this, our Christmas cookies will be baked and our traditional spiced pecans will be made, both of which will be shared with friends and neighbors. There’s still gift wrapping to be done, but I think all in all we’re in pretty good shape.

Christmas is a very quiet day for the two of us and has been ever since my mom passed away in 2000. We had certain traditions with her for many years. I drove from Mt. Airy to Gaithersburg to pick her up in the afternoon on Christmas Eve and then she and I would meet Jack for pizza later on back in Mt. Airy at J&P Pizza.

Jack and I would go to the 11 p.m. Christmas Eve service at church while Mom stayed behind to make her delicious cranberry/walnut Jell-O mold that was always a part of our Christmas Day feast.

Before going to bed, I would set up the coffee maker on timer to come on no earlier than 7 a.m. Christmas morning (Mom’s rule), as she refused to get up any earlier and definitely wouldn’t budge until she smelled the coffee brewing.

Christmas Day was laid back and comfy. We always took our time opening gifts. Later in the day was reserved for making calls to family members and, of course, cooking up Christmas dinner.

We took Mom back home Christmas night although on occasion she would stay until the day after. Jack and I both have many warm memories from Christmases past spent with my mother. I always miss her, but even more so at this time of year.

Christmas Day here in the Brown household continues to be pretty quiet. We still take our time opening gifts, but I can’t say the same of the dogs. They have gifts that we wrap and put in their Christmas stockings, and we have to let one dog at a time take a turn at fishing their gifts out and tearing them open. If all three went at once it would be utter chaos.

Whenever Christmas rolls around I always have fond memories of my Aunt Martha (Mart for short). The first couple of years Jack and I were married the two of us, along with Mom, spent Christmas at Aunt Mart’s house in Fairfax, Virginia.

She was like a kid in a candy store when it came to opening gifts, and she always had a childlike sense of excitement and expectation. She didn’t waste any time opening them, although she did so rather methodically and neatly so she could save the wrapping paper and iron it for reuse the following year.

Aunt Mart passed away many years ago and now Mom’s gone, too. Every year Jack and I still eat pizza on Christmas Eve, go to the late church service, and set the timer on the coffee maker.

I hope you and yours enjoy your traditions this year. Merry Christmas - Ho! Ho! Ho!

The Life of Riley
Chapter 4 – Daddy’s Boy

By NAN BROWN
As published Dec. 5, 2007

Chapter 3 of this continuing series found our adorable Cocker Spaniel puppy Riley growing and taking over our lives. I reported he had reached 24½ pounds and summed up the third installment on our precious boy by saying, “…realistically there’s never a dull moment as our pup continues to grow and change.

Long gone is the pitter patter of little paws. Now he gallops through life on those big paws of his while running roughshod over all of us in the process.”

Running roughshod is putting it mildly. A more apt description would be “Riley Rules!” His “big boy” full grown weight at 18 months of age is now 27 pounds, and every ounce of his being is dedicated to my hubby Jack – his “daddy.” Jack is Riley’s #1 fan, too, so there’s definitely a mutual admiration thing going on here, with the two of them being exclusive members.

Don’t get me wrong – I fit in somewhere, too, but I get this nagging feeling that for the most part I’m on the outside looking in. As far as Riley’s concerned, I’m good to have around to snuggle, provide petting, offer protection from scary thunderstorms, and mooch goodies off of at mealtime, but when daddy is around, I’m relegated to second class citizen.

The two of them have bonded so much so that when Jack is home but out of Riley’s sight our big pup whines and paces around until daddy is back in view. I can’t say I have that effect on Riley, or even Jack for that matter.

He seems to realize that when Jack goes to work he’s going to be gone for the day, and that’s okay. Riley’s satisfied just hanging out with me, Shelby and Cody, but when 4:50 p.m. rolls around and he hears the garage door open signaling daddy’s triumphant return home, he’s beside himself with joy.

The two of them have a ritual when Jack gets home. He picks Riley up under his front legs, hoists him up to shoulder level then Riley puts his paws around Jack’s neck. They stand there like a father holding his toddler son, with Jack cooing to him and asking him if he’s been a good boy today. It really is a sight to behold.

Jack also has heart-to-heart talks with Riley. While seated in his green recliner in the corner of the family room, Jack grabs our doggie under his front legs and lifts him up onto his lap sitting him on his knee. Riley faces daddy who is still holding him up by his front legs, and the conversation, although pretty much one-sided, begins.

Riley stares contentedly into Jack’s eyes while being talked to and, from time to time, offers his two cents worth by slapping Jack in the face with his paw or leaning forward to give him a big, sloppy kiss.

Then there’s the family ritual that takes place every evening, weather and time permitting, when we all head outside for a play session. The first thing Riley does is stand at the base of the patio table and whine because his three outdoor toys are kept on the tabletop.

Jack throws the toys one by one, and Riley dashes after them, bounding through the yard with his galloping gait. He’s really quite good at retrieving as he brings each toy back and drops it at daddy’s feet, that is unless he’s sidetracked by Cody who loves to chase him around the yard at top speed.

Riley and his older brother are a hoot together. Cody, being about half Riley’s size, has a shorter stride, and although he’s as quick as lightning, he can’t quite catch Riley while in hot pursuit. This goes on for two or three loops around the yard, and every so often Cody lets out a little growl in frustration at his inability to catch Riley. Eventually he gives up only to be enticed into the chase again a few minutes later.

During this play time, Riley’s jealous streak rears its ugly head as he can’t stand for Cody or Shelby to get their paws on his toys. And heaven help us all if we fuss over either of the other two because Riley throws himself in the mix always eager for all the attention to be showered on him.

So as you can probably tell, I’m not exaggerating when I say Riley rules the roost here in the Brown home. He is definitely spoiled rotten but actually, in all honesty, we wouldn’t have it any other way – after all, he is daddy’s boy.