These "Tale Spinner" episodes are brought to you courtesy of one of our Canadian friends, Jean Sansum. You can thank her by eMail at
THE TALE SPINNER
Vol. VIII No. 51-ehDecember 21, 2002
IN THIS ISSUE
CHRISTMAS GREETINGS
Charles King ( chasking@sympatico.ca) writes:
Just to tell you (and the authors) how thoroughly we enjoyed Margaret Manning´s soliloquy on the contents of a woman´s purse, and Gerrit de Leeuw´s recipe for a stuffed turkey. It was worth the price of a year´s subscription (!) for just those two.
And a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you and all concerned!
***
Margaret Manning ( eric.man@xtra.co.nz) adds her greetings:
I would like to wish all Tale Spinner readers and contributors a Very Pleasant and Peaceful Christmas and a Great New Year. I have very much appreciated the encouraging messages that various Tale Spinnerers (!) have sent me. Those of us who try to write something interesting know only too well how hard it is to write consistently. It is all too easy to look at a blank screen for far too long and I need a lot of "jollying along" to keep writing. My beloved Eric, and dear Jean have encouraged me to keep writing. I feel it is through their support of my work that I have managed to send away lots of other stuff too and been successful in having work accepted in USA, Australia and the UK during this past year.
Thank you all very much and my best wishes.
CORRESPONDENCE
Ernest Blaschke ( eblaschke@sympatico.ca) comments on Zvonko Springer´s mistaking tomatoes for potatoes:
Reminds me of a stop at a small restaurant in a village in Italy. Not knowing any Italian, and seeing "pomodores" on the menu, it sounded like the French "pommes des terre" or potatoes. To my surprise, what I got was a huge plate full of tomatoes. Live and learn....
Verda Cook ( gardenserenity@hotmail.com) writes:
When I began reading Dilys Buchan´s cold remedy in this latest edition, I thought she was about to give the one I recall and am surprised no one has mentioned it.
When we were children and had a chest cold, we were treated with a mustard plaster. A paste of goose grease (or lard), and mustard was made. This was spread onto a piece of flannel cloth or brown butcher paper and placed on your chest. It produced a type of "heat" on the chest and actually did work in loosening a congested cough. There was a dangerous side effect to this. If not timed for duration of application, a burn similar to a sunburn, could occur.
Another remedy, never used by my mother but often recommended to "draw the fever out of the body inflicted with a cold", was to tie a raw onion to the soles of the feet with a woolen sock. (This to be used in cases where fever accompanied a cold).
Hope none of your readers has the misfortune of suffering with a cold over the holidays.
Jo Johnson ( MarkieMark@aol.com) faces a common dilemma while
CHRISTMAS SHOPPING
Have you ever driven through an old neighborhood and suddenly not known where you are? Everything looks new and unfamiliar. Now that´s frightening. I know from experience that if I drove a few more blocks, recognition would come back. On some days, it seems as though my car has a mind of its own. Every day I drive either to the Y or to the library. When I want to drive somewhere different, say, to mail a package, or go to the grocery store, I actually have to wrestle with the steering wheel to get the car to go to the new location. As I pass the exit I should have taken, I realized I had been day dreaming again. Not paying attention.
As I sat there scratching my head, I thought, now why was I on the road this time? I remembered then as the East Town Shopping complex came into view. I was out to buy toys for our new grandchild. I checked my watch. This would be a breeze. I gave myself 10 minutes to get into and out of the store. A clerk greeted me and pushed a huge shopping cart toward me. I refused. "Only one item," I said.
"Sure," she said, and laughed. Did she know something I didn´t? I thought an educational toy without batteries would be a good idea. Up and down the aisles I went. Every toy on the shelves had a battery of some sort in it. In a clearance aisle way in the back, I found blocks, Legos, spinning tops, and pull toys.
At the cash register, there was a long line waiting to check out. On a weekday! It wound, single file, through various parts of the store with the last person designated to hold a bouquet of balloons to show the end. I think it was a marketing ploy.
I wound my way from one aisle to the next, resisting impulse buying. My foolproof way in the past of shortening a line was by hacking and coughing, especially in the flu season. However, it didn´t work. People were determined and had a football mentality. They were practicing the two-minute warning of the last quarter of shopping. Everyone knows in regular shopping if you don´t find what you want at first, there is always time to shop tomorrow. But not during Christmas time. No one was willing to put up with those lines more than once. Time was running out. Twenty minutes of waiting reminded me why I frequently order out of the catalogue.
Back home, I wanted to start wrapping immediately. Unlike other projects I could put off, I learned quickly to wrap newly purchased items to keep curious hands out of them. I went to the basement, an endless cavern of homeless objects that was so large I should have sold storage space to the neighbors. I picked up some staples for supper, and made a mental note to get back to the growing laundry pile. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, I was sure there had been something else I had come down for. I whacked my head to joggle the dying brain cells. Oh yeah...wrapping paper. Back upstairs, I listened to Christmas music as I wrapped gifts and practiced my "Ho Ho Hos".
Was I too late for Christmas cards? Would I put a message in the letter this year? Does anyone really read those things? How would I start? Dear Family and Faithful Friends? Or, "Dear Immediate and Extended Family, Faithful Friends, and Close Acquaintances." That should cover everyone, but it sounded like a business letter. With my memory, I would be lucky to remember a few major events of the past month.
I thought hard as I fingered one wrapped present. Good gosh, I couldn´t even remember what was inside. Unwrapping would be the quick solution but then I would have to wrap it again and days later, would I be any further ahead? I really must pay attention.
Anyway, I´m writing to wish you a Merry Christmas and a happy New Year.
It´s worth repeating this article sent to us by Carol Shoemaker ( ciharbor1@msn.com):
SANTA IS A WOMAN
I hate to be the one to defy sacred myth, but I believe he´s a she. Think about it. Christmas is a big, organized, warm, fuzzy, nurturing, social deal, and I have a tough time believing a guy could possibly pull it all off!
For starters, the vast majority of men don´t even think about selecting gifts until Christmas Eve. Once at the mall, they always seem surprised to find only Ronco products, socket wrench sets, and mood rings left on the shelves. On this count alone, I´m convinced Santa is a woman.
Surely, if he were a man, everyone in the universe would wake up Christmas morning to find a rotating musical Chia Pet under the tree, still in the shopping bag.
Another problem for a he-Santa would be getting there. First of all, there would be no reindeer because they would all be dead, gutted and strapped on to the rear bumper of the sleigh amid wide-eyed, desperate claims that buck season had been extended. Blitzen´s rack would already be on the way to the taxidermist.
Even if the male Santa DID still have reindeer, he´d also have the transportation problems because he would inevitably get lost up there in the snow and clouds and then refuse to stop and ask for directions.
Other reasons why Santa can´t possibly be a man:
- Men can´t pack a bag.
- Men would rather be dead than caught wearing red velvet.
- Men would feel their masculinity is threatened... having to be seen with all those elves.
- Men don´t answer their mail.
- Men would refuse to allow their physique to be described, even in jest, as anything remotely resembling a "bowl full of jelly."
- Men aren´t interested in stockings unless somebody´s wearing them.
- Having to do the Ho Ho Ho thing would seriously inhibit their ability to pick up women.
- Finally, being responsible for Christmas would require a commitment.
-I can buy the fact other mythical holiday characters are men:
Father Time shows up once a year unshaven and looking ominous. Definite guy.
Cupid flies around carrying weapons.
Uncle Sam is a politician who likes to point fingers.
Any one of these individuals could pass the testosterone screening test.
But not Santa!!!
Bruce Galway ( bruce@encode.com) sends
A WOMAN´S VERSION OF THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the kitchen
I was cooking and baking and moanin' and bitchin'.
I've been here for hours, I can't stop to rest.
This room's a disaster, just look at this mess!
Tomorrow I've got thirty people to feed.
They expect all the trimmings. Who cares what I need!
My feet are both blistered, I've got cramps in my legs.
The cat just knocked over a bowl full of eggs.
There's a knock at the door and the telephone's ringing.
Frosting drips on the counter as the microwave's dinging.
Two pies in the oven, dessert's almost done;
My cookbook is soiled with butter and crumbs.
I've had all I can stand, I can't take anymore;
Then in walks my husband, spilling rum on the floor.
He weaves and he wobbles, his balance unsteady;
Then grins as he chuckles, "The egg nog is ready!"
He looks all around and with total regret,
says, "What's taking so long...aren't you through in here yet?"
As quick as a flash I reach for a knife;
He loses an earlobe; I wanted his life!
He flees from the room in terror and pain
and screams, "MY GOD WOMAN, YOU'RE GOING INSANE!!"
Now what was I doing, and what is that smell?
Oh darn, it's the pies! They're burned all to hell!
I hate to admit when I make a mistake,
but I put them on BROIL instead of on BAKE.
What else can go wrong? Is there still more ahead?
If this is good living, I'd rather be dead.
Lord, don't get me wrong, I love holidays;
It just leaves me exhausted, all shaky and dazed.
But I promise you one thing, If I live 'til next year,
You won't find me pulling my hair out in here.
I'll hire a maid, a cook, and a waiter;
and if that doesn't work, I'LL HAVE IT ALL CATERED!
Parodies ot The Night Before Christmas are popular (and probably easy to write). Rafiki ( rafiki@gate-way.net) sends this one:
THE NIGHT AFTER CHRISTMAS
Twas the night after Christmas, but I just couldn´t sleep.
I tried counting backwards, I tried counting sheep.
The leftovers beckoned, the dark meat and white.
But I fought the temptation with all of my might.
Tossing and turning with anticipation,
The thought of a snack became infatuation.
So I raced to the kitchen, flung open the door,
And gazed at the fridge full of goodies galore.
I gobbled up turkey and buttered potatoes,
Pickles and carrots, beans and tomatoes.
I felt myself swelling so plump and so round,
Till all of a sudden, I rose off the ground!
I crashed through the ceiling, floating into the sky,
With a mouthful of pudding and a handful of pie.
But, I managed to yell as I soared past the trees...
Happy Eating to All! Pass the cranberries, please!
Tom Williamson ( twilliamson@telus.net) sends this winner:
CHRISTMAS WITH LOUISE
This is an article submitted to a 1999 Louisville Sentinel contest to find out who had the wildest Christmas dinner. This won first prize.
As a joke, my brother used to hang a pair of panty hose over his fireplace before Christmas. He said all he wanted was for Santa to fill them. What they say about Santa checking the list twice must be true because every Christmas morning, although Jay´s kids´ stockings were overflowed, his poor pantyhose hung sadly empty.
One year I decided to make his dream come true. I put on sunglasses and went in search of an inflatable love doll. They don´t sell those things at Walmart. I had to go to an adult bookstore downtown. If you´ve never been in an X-rated store, don´t go. You´ll only confuse yourself. I was there an hour saying things like, "What does this do?" "You´re kidding me!" "Who would buy that?" Finally, I made it to the inflatable doll section. I wanted to buy a standard, uncomplicated doll that could also substitute as a passenger in my truck so I could use the car pool lane during rush hour.
Finding what I wanted was difficult. Love dolls come in many different models. The top of the line, according to the side of the box, could do things I´d only seen in a book on animal husbandry. I settled for "Lovable Louise." She was at the bottom of the price scale. To call Louise a "doll" took a huge leap of imagination.
On Christmas Eve, with the help of an old bicycle pump, Louise came to life. My sister-in-law was in on the plan and let me in during the wee morning hours, long after Santa had come and gone. I filled the dangling pantyhose with Louise´s pliant legs and bottom. I also ate some cookies and drank what remained of a glass of milk on a nearby tray. I went home, and giggled for a couple of hours.
The next morning my brother called to say that Santa had been to his house and left a present that had made him VERY happy but had left the dog confused. She would bark, start to walk away, then come back and bark some more. We all agreed that Louise should remain in herpanty hose so the rest of the family could admire her when they came over for the traditional Christmas dinner.
My grandmother noticed Louise the moment she walked in the door. "What the hell is that?" she asked. My brother quickly explained, "It´s a doll." "Who would play with something like that?" Granny snapped. I had several candidates in mind, but kept my mouth shut. "Where are her clothes?" We steered her into the dining room. But Granny was relentless. "Why doesn´t she have any teeth?" Again, I could have answered, but why would I? It was Christmas and no one wanted to ride in the back of the ambulance saying, "Hang on Granny! Hang on!"
My grandfather, a delightful old man with poor eyesight, sidled up to me and said, "Hey, who´s the naked gal by the fireplace?" I told him she was Jay´s friend. A few minutes later I noticed ! Grandpa by the mantel, talking to Louise. Not just talking, but actually flirting. It was then that we realized this might be Grandpa´s last Christmas at home.
The dinner went well. We made the usual small talk about who had died, who was dying, and who should be killed, when suddenly Louise made a noise that sounded a lot like my father in the bathroom in the morning. Then she lurched from the pantyhose, flew around the room twice, and fell in a heap in front of the sofa. The cat screamed. I passed cranberry sauce through my nose, and Grandpa ran across the room, fell to his knees, and began administering mouth to mouth resuscitation. My brother fell back over his chair and wet his pants and Granny threw down her napkin, stomped out of the room, and sat in the car.
It was indeed a Christmas to treasure and remember. Later in my brother´s garage, we conducted a thorough examination to decided the cause of Louise´s collapse. We discovered that Louise had suffered from a hot ember to the back of her right thigh. Fortunately, thanks to a wonder drug called duct tape, we restored her to perfect health.
Louise went on to star in several bachelor party movies. I think Grandpa still calls her whenever he can get out of the house.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Keith Elliott ( remedy@ionsys.com) and Bruce Galway ( bruce@encode.com) both send the following story, so it must be doing the rounds of the net:
BIRTH OF A TRADITION
One particular Christmas season a long time ago, Santa was getting ready for his annual trip, but there were problems everywhere. Four of his elves got sick, and the trainee elves did not produce the toys as fast as the regular ones, so Santa was beginning to feel the pressure of being behind schedule.
Then Mrs. Claus told Santa that her mom was coming to visit. This stressed Santa even more.
When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two had jumped the fence and were out, heaven knows where. More stress. Then when he began to load the sleigh one of the boards cracked, and the toy bag fell to the ground and scattered the toys.
So, frustrated, Santa went into the house for a cup of apple cider and a shot of rum. When he went to the cupboard, he discovered that the elves had hidden the liquor, and there was nothing to drink. In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the cider pot, and it broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found that mice had eaten the straw end of the broom. Just then the doorbell rang, and irritable Santa trudged to the door. He opened the door, and there was a little angel with a great big Christmas tree.
The angel said, very cheerfully, "Merry Christmas, Santa. Isn´t it a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me to stick it?"
Thus began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree.
This cheerful snowman is lifted from Tom Kyle´s Christmas edition of his newsletter, Silver Threads. You can subscribe to it by writing to Tom attfk@oldguy.ca, or check out his Christmas greeting at www.mts.net/~oldguy/christmas02.html
S N O W M A N
I made myself a snowman
As perfect as could be.
I thought I´d keep it as a pet
And let it sleep with me.
I made it some pajamas
And a pillow for its head.
Then, last night it ran away.
But first - it wet the bed!
Artist and author unknown.
This had been accompanied by some clever text graphics--but, sigh, it was too much trouble to convert them to display on this Web page. Sorry! -- the Webmaster
THE EDITOR´S CHRISTMAS CARD IS WAITING FOR YOU!
Just click on the following Internet address, or if that doesn´t work for you, copy and paste the address onto your browser´s address box.
http://www.123greetings.com/view/BG21221231728626
