A Christmas Carol-ish

Background

I hate being cold. Really, I do. I’m very delicate that way. But what I hate even more is having a $900 heating bill for one month, which I had one winter. It wasn’t even unusually cold that year, not for Chicago, but prices for natural gas were even more through the roof than usual.

So of course, I’m very conscious of the need to keep the heat at reasonable, i.e. low, temperatures. Or rather, at least the 66-68 as dictated by the city, since I have a tenant, Kathleen, and for some reason the politicians won’t let me freeze people out, dammit. But even with having an adjustable thermostat and keeping the temps down, I still wind up with heating bills that are $500+ a month during the winter. Which sucks.

And while Kathleen is a great tenant, she’s also the type of person who is always cold. Always. So I stopped letting the temperature adjust down, and just keep it at a constant 68-70 these days, which is highway robbery in my book, but it’s the most I’m willing to do. Oh, I know Kathleen still thinks it’s cold, but I’m not made of money here.
Present day

The Kone and I are snuggled on the couch, having our ‘nog and bonbons, when there’s a knock on the door.

“Harrumph,” I mutter, “who pray tell could that be?”

Kathleen, at the door looking all shivery like a wee street urchin: Hi, umm, it’s pretty cold out there tonight, about 14 degrees, and windy, and it’s kind of cold upstai….
Me: ‘Tis a fine excuse for picking a man’s pocket every December!

(I find it helpful to transition into Dickensian speak at such times.)

Kathleen: But……you’re……not…..
Me: Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses??
Kathleen: Bu….
Me: Bah! A humbug I say! A humbug!
Kathleen: But…..
Me: Good day!
Kathleen: But it’s not da….
Me: I said, GOOD DAY!

Slam!

I look at the thermostat and drop the temp down a notch, just because. Hmph.

Even later that evening

The Kone has wandered off for his nightly ablutions, and when he comes back, he as usual insists I move over so he can have my spot on the couch.

Me: Koney, you’re such a sillums, my little Chunkers, you…….wait……what’s this?

Kona is maneuvering so he’s buried under the blankie, and now, he’s trying to nestle his head under there as well.

Me, horrified: Koney! Are you cold? Is my poor little monkey-chunky a bit chillums? No no nonononono……….this cannot stand! This will not stand!

I run to the back of the house, make sure the heating element back there is cranked up, then dash back to the front and turn the little space heater on. Then, the coup d’grace, I beeline to the thermostat and crank that puppy up. Then pile more blankets on The Kone so he doesn’t get a chill, and so he defrosts from the block of ice he had surely turned into. Poor baby.

And so, as The Kone and I snuggle on the couch with the furnace blasting, heating bills be damned, and I wonder how we can get that really big turkey to Bob Cratchit on Christmas morning for his poor wife to slave over plucking and cooking as if she doesn’t have enough to do with the blasted Christmas pudding….the words of Tiny Tim come to mind.

“Papa, you hold old mistah Scrooge down while I kick ‘em!”

Okay okay, not those. Not from when Scrooge was still in his pre-ghostly-visitation Republican let-them-eat-cake phase. But the later ones.

“God bless us, every one!”

Yeah, those.

Merry Christmas to all…..

The cup (of alcohol) runneth over

So Grandma and I managed to make it through the Thanksgiving holiday relatively unscathed, as we went to Normal Brother’s place and had a cheerful, gala sort of day with him and his family. That was actually the one fly in the ointment, so to speak: Grandma isn’t happy unless she has something to complain about. But Andrew cooked up a feast, everything was perfect, Crystal and Scarlett were helpful, and even the dogs were well-behaved.

The only time that Grandma could show that her methods of doing things are far superior was when Andrew’s wife Angela was trying to crush some almonds for the stuffing version she was making, and she was doing so by putting them in a plastic bag and pounding on them. Grandma was having none of it, and took over the task, using a knife to chop up the almonds.

But other than that, seamless.

This presented a problem though when I was driving Grandma back to her place. Normally, this would be an hour+ drive of one lament after another – but now? Poor Baba had nothing to work with. Oh, she tried. She certainly did try:

Baba: ....як вона там с оріхамі..... (what she was doing with the nuts)….

Then she’d lapse into silence. Then 10 minutes later, the same thing, then more silence. She was completely stymied by Normal Brother and his family’s competence.

It was almost sad.

Then the day before I was leaving California, I craftily decided that Baba and I and her friend Rosemary would go to dinner, so that I could pay for Rosemary as a thank you for picking me up from and taking me to the airport. But first, we had to decide on a place.

Me: I don’t care, where do you guys want to go?
Baba: You decide.
Me: Okay, is there a good fish place around?
Baba: Kentucky Fried Chicken!
Me, patiently: Okay, we are NOT going to KFC. Seafood maybe?
Baba: Marie Callender’s!
Me: Okay, fine.

So off we head to Marie Callender’s, which I had never been to as an actual restaurant, though I’ve seen their frozen food in the stores. And apparently Rosemary and my grandma had been there enough times to know what they served, so this seemed like a good choice.

Until we got to the restaurant.

Me: Baba, what do you want to have?
Baba: I don’t know! I have what you have.
Me: You won't like what I have. Look, they have everything. Chicken pie, pot roast, beef stroganoff.
Baba: I don’t know!
Me: Baba, how in the world can you not know what you like??
Rosemary: You once had the fried chicken, right?
Baba: Kentucky Fried Chicken!

They then lament that the KFC that used to be nearby is no longer there.

Me: Okay, they have fried chicken, do you want that?
Baba: Hamburger!
Rosemary: What’s that place across the street, The Islands or something, where we’ve gone before for burgers?
Baba: Yes, hamburgers!
Rosemary: But theirs are less expensive. We should have gone there – we could have gotten less expensive burgers.
Me: Baba, do you want a hamburger?
Baba: I don’t know!
Waitress: Hi, and welcome to Marie Callender’s! Can I start any of you off with a…..
Me: YES, please, for the love of god, just bring me a mojito as quickly as possible……

Several mojitos later, we were all having a lovely time, even as my grandmother and Rosemary continued to discuss the demise of KFC, and what a fine establishment that was. Then the check came, which I grabbed up. Rosemary was having none of it.

Me:….but you have to let me pay! You do so much…
Rosemary: If you pay I’ll just leave this $20 as a tip.
Me: But I’ve already left a tip. That’s silly!
Rosemary: I’m leaving the $20 as we speak, see?
Me, to waitress: Can I get another drink? Maybe to go?

Joy to the world!

As one of the earliest advocates of health care reform once proclaimed in a moment of figgy-pudding induced rapture:

“God bless us, every one!”

- Tiny Tim