What do I want for Christmas? Peace on Earth and good will toward men. Now stop asking! It’s that time of year when family starts calling. Starts emailing. Starts prodding. Starts employing ESP on us. All in order to spirit away gift ideas, mainly for the resident 5-year-old.
Time to take the new K-9 plunge
I guess it’s time. Who really knows when it’s time? Or why? There’s no magical pop-up turkey timer to tell you. There’s no kit you can buy at the pharmacy — like a pregnancy test! — that will give you a digital thumbs up. It’s just a gut feeling, I guess. Or when you think enough time has passed. Or you stop feeling guilty for even considering the thought. Like you’re some kind of traitorous, treasonous two-timer. Apologizing to thin air for even considering, much less petting, another dog.
Defrosted turkeys and all to be thankful for
So much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. So few words to write it in. Yet, I shall try … I’m thankful that the turkey defrosted in time — Thank you, thank you, thank you … As the Thanksgiving cook in my family, I spend literally months worrying about this. The nightmares begin in September. I leap out of bed in the middle of the night drenched in sweat screaming, “It’s time to take the turkey out of the freezer! I have to take the turkey out of the freezer!”
Supervisity … and the kindergarten field trip chaperone
“Field trip chaperone,” read the yellow sticker slapped on my shirt. It represented power … authority … responsibility … supervisity. (Sure, kindergarten chaperones shouldn’t be making up words, but the little yellow sticker left me drunk with power.) It was my second run at “the big show” — a kindergarten expedition off the reservation.
Readying for the 20th high school reunion
For some wild and unexplainable reason I agreed to go. Even though I pledged I never would. That it wasn’t important to me. That you could drop wild badgers down my shorts and I would still resist. Then a friend sent an email. It started out, “Alright guys it has been 20 years,” and went on to say he wanted to get “the crew back together.” The venue? Tampa Prep’s 20th high school reunion for the class of 1991.
Life in a Nutshell wins Florida Press Club commentary award
Brian Thompson’s “Life in a Nutshell” column, which runs weekly in the St. Augustine Record, won a first place award in the Florida Press Club’s 2011 Excellence in Journalism Competition for commentary writing in class C, which is daily newspapers with less than 40,000 circulation. This is the third year in a row the column has won an award in the commentary category, and the fourth Press Club award for it. The three columns that won were: • Things you Never … EVER … Do with a Kid in the Room • Every Moment Now Precious for a Dog with Cancer • Answering the call of the ice cream truck
Weddings, snowball fights and Disney World Syndrome … only in Manhattan
I was in New York City this week. My sister-in-law got married. The ceremony was held at Central Park’s Belvedere Castle. It was beautiful and romantic and so cold I’m still thawing out the ’ole hindquarters.
The joy of a homemade Halloween costume
In my house they’re busy with the sewing machine. Bobbins are flying about as witches’ capes are readied. I’m dodging sewing needles and thread shooting from the machine like spider’s webs. It’s a homemade Halloween hootenanny. And I love it.
The heart of an artiste … while sketching stick-figure cats
I went to dinner the other night with my mother and daughter. As most of these occasions turn out, I was the babysitter. Telling them both to keep their voices down. Not to color on the table. Asking if they had gone to the bathroom since lunch, or if they needed to wash their hands. Generally playing the peacemaker. “Mom, I’ve told you, do not argue with a 5-year-old … especially when you’re wrong.”
Oh, you spicy little datil pepper
Here’s what I know about the datil pepper … They can be nasty little buggers — the Tazmanian devil of the pepper family. They will singe your teeth and make hair grow on your ears like Spanish moss. As far as I can tell, they are mainly grown in St. Augustine and are a favorite of Minorcans — a daredevil group who switched to the spicy pepper when consuming food that was still on fire grew boring.