A Christmas Memory

I’ll bet you’re thinking that I’m going to have some sappy-ass story with a title like “A Christmas Memory.”

Well, you’d be wrong then.

I was thinking about my gram recently. She passed away in 2008, but I still think of her often. Gram had a lot of grandchildren and not a lot of money, so she would usually buy us each one thing off of our Christmas list.

My Christmas list sophomore year of college included the following: Coffee maker, blender, and a backpack with lots of pockets. I was lucky, and managed to get all three from various sources. Gram got me  the backpack. It was a really nice backpack; it had everything I wanted in a backpack.

When I opened it up at Gram’s house I got really really excited. I opened all of the pockets, examined the quality workmanship, and planned out my strategy.

My dad, clever dad that he was, leaned over to me and asked, “Does your grandmother knowwhy she got you a backpack for Christmas?”

“Because I’m a proper college student and needed a backpack to put books in, Daddy.” I said with a sugary sweet voice.

“Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter, Christine.”

I grinned. While my Gram believed that she was helping her studious granddaughter, my dad knew better. He knew that the backpack would never hold a book in its life (unless it was The Bartender’s Guide to Brilliance.) The backpack would become my Bar Bag of Joy. The pockets were to hold cups, stirrers, snacks, and garnishes. The bag was for the booze and mixers (usually vodka and Diet 7Up. Maybe a few Coronas.)

For the record, the coffee maker was to make coffee (so that I could have Bailey’s and coffee before class) and the blender was to make vodka slushies and mudslides. We didn’t mess around in those days.

Happy Holidays! It’s only going to get more festive around here. Get ready for it.

Christmas Tree

Author’s Note: I’ve decided to try this out a new theme segment. Let me know your thoughts on Monday Memories to Make You Laugh. More so, let me know if you’re interested in participating… I’ll even create a fun button!

Don’t forgot this is the last week to let me know if you want a Christmas card from Brian and I! We’ll be sending them out next week. If you would like one, send your information to quirkychrissy@gmail.com. I’m pretty excited about them.

Also (last thing today, I promise!), if you like my blog, please click below to vote for me on Picket Fence Blogs!

 

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Wordless Wednesday: Baby Chrissy

Baby Chrissy Swimming

 


Life as we know it by Paula

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Snacky Snacky Joy Joy

Until quite recently, I hadn’t eaten anything with ranch since I was about seven years old.

It doesn’t matter how light the taste was, I could taste it in any recipe, and I would get physically ill. Blue cheese, garden veggie, Caesar dressing or dip, I’d eat, but never ranch. Friends teased me about it for years, but I just couldn’t bring myself to consume the stuff.

I used to spend a lot of time at my gram’s house. Whenever my grandpa was out of town, I would stay over and have a slumber party with Gram. We’d stay up late watching TV and reading. I would play Barbie, put puzzles together, and color-all in my favorite chair, a brown leather high back chair with a matching ottoman (this now resides in my home). We would watch Mr. Bean (for Gram), Rainbow Brite (for me), and Wheel of Fortune (for both of us) while Molly, the devil dog–a tiny ball of black and white fluff who ate barbies like they were milk bones, would attack my toys.

The thing about being at Gram’s was that she loved to feed us, all of the cousins. As the oldest cousin within frequent visiting distance, I seem to have gotten the bulk of the snacks and just about anything else I wanted. She always had three different kinds of cereal, a variety of different cheeses (my cousin and I used to fight over who was the bigger “cheese-aholic,”) black olives, and many other snack food that we kids enjoyed.

Bread with melted cheese in the microwave. Cream cheese and green olives on Ritz crackers (one of my faves). Cracklin’ Oat Bran. Green Jello. Tamales. An ever-full candy jar. (And candy dish, and candy bags…)Mixed nuts. Crunch n’ Munch. Gram showed her love with food. So, when I wanted to eat chips and dip, she let me.

The better portion of a bag of Ruffles and a container of full fat sour cream with Hidden Valley Ranch seasoning later, I never wanted to eat another thing again. As evident by the fact that I remained a pudgy child, clearly “never eating again” didn’t last, but I certainly wanted nothing to do with ranch, that’s for sure. It too almost two decades to get me to consume ranch. Of course, there was still plenty to snack on at Gram’s house. Man, I loved my grandma.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!