Little Ms Two Speeds

Let's face it, I've always been poky. Somehow my internal clock runs a leetle bit slower than Real Time, and I continuously operate under the delusion that I have more time to get things done than I truly do.

When I was younger, my mom put it another way. "Suzie," she'd say to me in frustration, "you have two speeds: Slow and Reverse."

Never has this statement been more true. Here it is five days after Christmas, and I'm still working on the last of two handmade gifts that weren't completed in time to be given on Christmas Day. Oh, they'll be worth waiting for -- they're warm and snuggly, and the colors are fantastic if I do say so myself -- but the point is that the recipients shouldn't have had to wait for them in the first place. But that's Little Ms Two Speeds for you.

Maybe I should just put it into Reverse and gun it?

Greetings from faraway lands

OK, Utah probably doesn't count as a faraway land. Nonetheless, I am here... and up typing on my sister's computer because, even though I should be asleep, I have a hacking cough and insomnia and was lying awake making snerty barking noises. It was even less exciting than it sounds.

It's cold here, and the snow is still thick on the ground. It's supposed to snow more tonight. My little nieces are wild with delight, one of them because she is eager to go sledding first thing in the morning.

This weekend my mom is putting together the shindig of shindigs -- the full Swedish smörgåsbord. It's been a Christmas tradition in my mother's family since before I was born. My maternal grandfather was Swedish and was trained as a butcher in Sweden, which also involved being able to prepare and display all the goodies in a full-service Swedish delicatessen. When he came to America, he brought the smörgåsbord tradition with him. I love nearly everything, from the pickled herring to the dilled cucumbers to the tiny meatballs to the wonderful bullar bread that my cousin Tom makes. I love helping to put everything together, arranging the cold plates the way my grandpa used to do it. I enjoy chatting with family over the food, and watching the kids run wild through the house, just the way we did when we were younger.

I've felt rushed and nervous this season, always a little short on time. It hasn't felt like Christmas, not really. Now I'm finally starting to feel it.

Please to remember the twelfth of December

Well, today is the day. I usually let it go by without comment, but for some reason our culture considers 25-year anniversaries to be significant. And it's been a long enough time now that I don't ache or cry; it's just a quiet, numb sort of remembrance.

25 years ago tonight, my brothers and sisters and I were sitting on the living room floor, watching Christmas cartoons on TV. It was a Saturday night. Christmas was coming, my grandparents from Indiana were coming to visit, Mom was making dinner, and we were waiting for Dad to get home from his in-betweener job of painting Christmas windows for businesses. The phone rang, but none of us moved to answer it -- since Dad ran a graphic design business from our home, it was usually for him or Mom. So Mom got the phone. None of us heard what she said, or saw how she gripped the counter, how she stood there for a minute after she'd hung up, silently praying for strength to do what had to be done.

We did notice when she came into the living room and turned off the TV. Loud protests, in fact. Then Mom sat down on the piano bench and said, "Please listen to me. This is probably the hardest thing I will ever have to tell you."

Then she told us that on the way home, Dad had been killed in a car accident.

I was twelve years old when my father died. I've lived more than twice as many years without him as with him in my life. I do feel fortunate that I was old enough that I still have clear memories of Dad. I have an idea of his face, his personality, his likes and dislikes, the various expressions of his voice. My youngest sisters don't have that, and I know I should be grateful for what I have. But there's one thing I still miss, even 25 years on. I miss the opportunity of getting to know him as an adult. I've come to know my mother, adult to adult as well as mother to child, and it's a good relationship. I don't have that with my dad. I can't ask him for pointers about how to get my calligraphy straight, or show him my goofy little origami cards, or even pop by with a DVD copy of That's Entertainment and watch it with him (how he would have loved the technology allowing him to see movies whenever he wanted -- the VCR was just coming onto the market when he died, and he was hungry for one).

That's what I miss: not being able to be a fellow grownup with my dad. Is that strange?

Jiminy Christmas!

Well, there's another life experience under my belt. I don't think I ever need to repeat the questionable delights of catching pinkeye, thanks.

Now that I can see again, it's time to share the joy! Many goodies have been coming here in the mail as of late: some Christmas cards, two huge and delightful bundles of yarn for making gifties (I hereby promise this will not turn into a knitting blog), and a luscious parcel from the UK.

Thank you, thank you, a thousand thanks to Gretel! I love my "Three Kings" cards, and ate up the Schoolgirls' Adventure Library comic (it's a Nancy Drew-style story set in a '50s-era English public school for girls, and yes, our spunky heroines save the day). Too much fun.

Gretel was also kind enough to send me a set of upside-down cards from the "triple bugger in a marmalade sandwich" print run, and since she mentioned she was curious to see what I'd do with them, I hereby present a quick before-and-after photo:

On the back of each one will be the following verbiage, giving proper credit where it's due:

"Three Kings" by Gretel Parker
courtesy of Red Flannel Elephant Cards
www.redflannelelephant.com

Hope that'll work. I'm thinking about mounting each one on a different-colored background, just to see how the focal colors of the artwork change.

Now I've got to be crazy busy. Christmas approacheth post haste, and I got essentially NOTHING done while I had pinkeye (not even the bills, alas). Time to play a frantic game of catch-up.