In honor of the holidays I'd like to recall for 'Gemmers a rather memorable Christmas we had. This was quite a few years ago when I wrote a market/financial column that was syndicated on a limited basis. I hope you enjoy it.
I just love it when my editor calls for me. I'll be in the City-Room, schmoozing with my brother reporters and columnists when his mellifuous voice will beckon; usually it's for a pat on the back, sometimes a request to take one of the cub reporters under my wing, maybe help 'em with a story.
So when I hear "Analyst, my office", (I was called the Analyst back then) I figured my editor wanted to give me a year-end bonus, maybe a raise, probably both. I scurried in, giving smile and appropriate deference.
"Know what next week is?" he asked.
"Sure boss" I say, "The Patriots are playing Buffalo with a play-off slot at stake and the market's looking kinda shaky. Don't worry boss, I'm on top of it."
"Not that you chowderhead" he roared, "think."
I scratched my noodle, shuffled my feet, forced a coupla coughs stalling for time. Nothing.
"It's CHRISTMAS" he bellowed. "You've heard of it maybe? Comes around once a year, usually in December?
I nodded.
"Good. Now go knock out a column with a Christmas slant."
"But boss, we didn't do this last year!" I wailed.
"This isn't last year, this is this year." His logic was
impeccable. "And this year I want a column with a Christmas theme. Go, give me Christmas, give me."
There it was.
It happened one Christmas. Suzy's folks came in from Ohio to stay with us for the holidays while they looked for a house. They wanted to move back. OK, no problem.
Maybe it was the animals. Nemsky is gettin kinda old and has trouble moving about and often needs help getting up. Once up she's OK. But she's also got cataracts and often steps into one of the seven or eight bowls of ALPO or the seven or eight bowls of water we have strategically placed so she has a good shot at them. Nemsky often steps into the water bowls so the floor is kinda humid.
"Wear galoshes" I tell Suzy's dad Billy. He does as I suggest. Suzy's mom Clara looks a bit puzzled when I suggest that she wear boots in the house.
"Fruits?" says Clara, badly in need of a hearing-aid. "I don't want any fruits. Billy, what's he talking about?"
Ziggy, a dog we're taking care of for a few months tips in at maybe 140. Solid muscle. But a bit neurotic and always on the wrong side of the door. He wants in, he wants out, he wants in. And when he doesn't get what he wants pronto he barks hard, and loud.
He barks. "Clara, please let Ziggy out" I ask.
"But he just came in!" she wails.
"Yes, but he wants out, I think he wants to go wee-wee."
"What? He hurt his knee?" Clara asks.
"No, he's gonna whiz on your foot!" I holler and Clara scurries to the door landing in a bowl of Nemsky's water. Ziggy bumps past her, but she breaks her fall neatly by landing in a bowl of ALPO.
A moment later one of the cats scampers in with Ziggy is hot pursuit. The cat easily jumps over Clara but Ziggy misjudges his jump and he and Clara both go down in a tangle of arms, legs, paws and ALPO. Ziggy recovers quickly and chases the cat upstairs. Clara heads immediately for her
Valium bottle. She has a nice evening.
Billy felt nature's call at 3:00 a.m. and headed for the bathroom. He opened the door and there was Ziggy sprawled out on a throw rug. This is where Ziggy sleeps. Ziggy lazily opens one eye, looks at Billy.
"Move dog, I gotta go" Billy says to Ziggy.
Ziggy yawns, closes his eye.
"I really gotta go dog" Billy says, grabbing Ziggy by his collar and tugging. Ziggy doesn't move. Billy was furious, but not stupid. He finds the kitchen, grabs the cookie-jar, comes back with an OREO and flaunts it at Ziggy. Ziggy yawns again. Billy hollers at Ziggy to come get the OREO. The hollering brings Clara.
"What are you doing Billy?" she demands.
"What does it look like? I trying to go" he snaps.
"So go already so I can get some sleep" she says.
"But the dog is in the bathroom!" Billy cries.
"I can see that the dog is in the bathroom" Clara says taking a step backward and into a bowl of water, standing in a puddle now.
"I can't go when someone's looking" Billy moans.
"He's not looking, see, his eyes are closed" Clara points out to Billy.
"They may be closed now, but as soon as I try to go they'll open" Bills says and schlepps back to bed.
Next night is Christmas Eve. My daughter Teri is in the bathroom talking to her friends on the phone. The kitchen is very well traveled. My oldest daughter Jodi is baking some funny looking brownies with a couple of her friends. All the dogs and cats are inside 'cause it's very cold out. The stereo is really blasting but it doesn't seem to bother Clara. Billy steps in a bowl of ALPO, but it's OK since he goes nowhere without his galoshes.
"I smell smoke!" cries Clara, "It's coming from upstairs."
"It's just a little grass" I tell her.
"Glass?" she says, "Glass doesn't burn. Billy, go up, see what's burning." Up trudges Billy in his heavy galoshes.
He returns with the Valium bottle, gives it to Clara. She has another nice evening.
Billy had to go again that night. This time he opened the bathroom door carefully and peeked in. Ziggy was snoring and the light was out. Billy has his galoshes on, wears 'em to bed even. But now he decides to take them off, not wanting to wake the deeply asleep Ziggy. His new motto is "Let sleeping dogs lie." He steps very gently over Ziggy. But he shouldn't have stepped on Ziggy's tail. He really shouldn't have. The noise is fearsome and brings Clara on the run...one foot wet with water, the other covered with ALPO and invisible.
"Was that the phone?" she asks Billy.
"No, it was just Ziggy in a lot of pain."
"Rain? What rain? It's not raining. Go back to bed Billy."
Billy ignores her. He's got an idea. He bends down and grabs the edge of the throw-rug that Ziggy returned to and tugs. Ziggy opens a lazy eye as the rug moves a few inches. Billy tugs some more, harder. This goes on awhile until Ziggy is out of the bathroom. Billy is very pleased, until he tries to stand up. He can't. He now resembles a right-angle. Unable to go due to his sudden poor posture he slowly backs out of the bathroom. One foot lands on Ziggy's tail again, the other in a bowl of water. Clara is now standing in a puddle up to her ankles. I sense they're eager to find a house and leave.
I drive them to Logan Airport the next morning, kiss Clara on the cheek and tell her to have a nice flight.
"Bright? It's not bright, it's cloudy" she says.
Billy,still doing a fine impression of a right-angle is told to "Stand up" by Clara. I reached down to shake hands with Billy. His knuckles were scraping the pavement in front of the terminal. I heard Billy groan a few times as he shuffled off, still wearing his galoshes. (Lee)
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