Fat Friday (french for "the day after Thanksgiving")

What better way to celebrate Black Friday than to lounge in yoga pants (better known as "pajamas"), laugh with family, and eat the food of the gods (peanut M&M's) out of a holiday dish for the good part of an entire day?  If there is a more perfect method of cultural rebellion, I don't know what it is.  Retail warfare can kiss my ever-widening ham hocks - there is no doorbuster in America that can beat a quiet morning in the woods and hiding snug under a warm quilt past eight.

C and I are visiting with my in-laws at their lake house in the Adirondacks of New York, a place which practically hums with hospitality and radiates with cozy goodness.  The solitude of this small town along with the perfectly quiet atmosphere (no TV buzzing, no stereo cranking, no logging trucks releasing their air brakes) pairs seamlessly with the clarity of the cool blue lake, transparent window panes and as of Wednesday, the delicate layer of snow garnishing the not-quite frozen ground.  Think Call of the Wild meets the North Pole workshop meets HGTV's Dream Cabin.  It's brilliant.

I took a little walk with my mother-in-law this afternoon up the road a bit to a snow-covered beach.  The sun was so warm that we could've comfortably worn short-sleeves, while the snow crunched under our shoes as we stomped down the shoreline, picking up pieces of beaver wood and enjoying the sound of water lapping on the sand.  There is something astonishing about the collection of sounds, smells and sights that define this brief marriage of fall and winter.  It's especially stunning because I know that by the time that C and I get home, the bears will have already built their ice huts and the neighbors will be crawling into their dens to hibernate until June.  It's just another reason to savor these moments before we fall off of that proverbial cliff known as winter.

I hope that your day was as beautiful and inviting as ours was, but honestly, I doubt it was.  Better luck next year.  

I guess if you really think your day was better than ours, you can just go ahead and tell me off in the comments section.  I'll read it. 

Someday.

November, You're O.K

 Here's why:

It may be gorgeous, but I'm not ready.

• From where I am sitting right now, I cannot see a puff of snow anywhere on the ground.  And I can see a lot of ground from here, so this is a proof-positive miracle from heaven.  Thank you.
• Tomorrow morning in our county, there will be dozens of hunters’ breakfasts hosted by supermarkets, camps, outdoor outfitters, and snowmobile clubs.  Do you think that they would let me attend?  I’d be the girl wearing a kitten t-shirt under her camo fleece and masking a [not-so] slight aversion to guns by smiling awkwardly and making pistol gestures with my hands.  Can’t you hear my high-pitched shots?  Peuw… peuw… peuw-peuw!  Blow those guns out, hot shot!!  I’d fit right in.
• November is the month of my sister’s second-favorite candy holiday, The Day After Halloween, as well as Thanksgiving (I am waiting for stuffing like a turkey for a pardon), my niece’s fifth birthday, and an upcoming trip-to-die-for to the equator with my sister and mom.  I’m on the verge of making a paper chain to help me count down the days before the madness begins. 

On top of being adorable, my niece has killer moves.

• Black Friday.  My joy in Black Friday has nothing at all to do with joining the masses as they assault salespeople and destroy retail fixtures across the land.  This is the first year in a little while that I won’t be the smiling elf on the other side of that register counter, and unless you have ever been that elf, you have no idea how excited I am for this day.  I might stay home.  I might go out.  I might shop online.  I might hole up at a cabin in the woods and not cross the threshold for anything except some glazed doughnuts and a walk in the woods.   And I will not wear a sparkly headband with antlers.
• My first fall has come and winter is almost upon us, and I still do not own a camouflaged fleece.   In fact, I don’t own anything in camo, except some incredibly thick Smartwool socks I bought a couple years back.  You were right to doubt me in the second paragraph – I totally lied when I wrote that description.  Well, not totally.  I do have a kitten t-shirt (two, actually), and I love pistol hands. 

Peuw… peuw.  

Fight or Flight

Each Halloween when we were kids, my sister and I, along with millions of fellow gremlins, would stage our annual burn-and-pillage of the neighborhood candy-supply.  Most children seemed to return home with their bounty splitting the seams of a king size pillowcases, but not us.  She and I would barrel in the door with our loot swishing around at the halfway mark of a department store jack-o-lantern pail.  And those were the good years.  Don’t begin to let yourself feel sorry for our miniature plunder; it was more than enough to feed the fires of a benign preadolescent buzz. Like our juvenile counterparts around the country, the hit we got from those eyeball jawbreakers and rainbow Skittles was strong enough to sustain our excitement during the 162 days it would take to reach Easter. 

www.bodyshockprogram.com

I know I shouldn’t be using up a Halloween tale in March, but this story is funny, and really – you only live once, right? 

Unlike some kids, my sister and I didn’t usually start the costume process until around the day of, at 3pm, and in general, our final products betrayed our lack of planning.   I think, because of where we grew up, we lacked the competition that would make us better trick-or-treaters. Our staples were the following:  

1. Gymnast / Dancer – Both my sister and I had taken dance lessons for a while, and had moved on to gymnastics.  These costumes were the easiest and fastest to produce, thus the most frequent.
2. Egyptian Princess – I’m not sure why, but for some reason, if we put on one of our mom’s silky nightshirts, a big belt, some necklaces, a scarf and a lot of eye shadow, we transformed from two awkward preteens into Cleopatra and Bathsheba. 
3. Hobo – As socially and politically incorrect as it is, we did it, wearing flannel shirts and carrying stuffed bandanas on a stick.  I probably also ate a can of pinto beans before setting out, just to - you know - be in character.
4. Japanese Princess – Mom had this gorgeous navy and white kimono that we would swaddle ourselves in.  It made you feel perfectly regal.  But you had to get pulled in a wagon, because walking was just not an option.
5. African Princess – Mom also had a Liberian dress we’d steal.  This outfit as a costume seems particularly wrong to me in hindsight, but don’t throw stones until you’ve done it. 

Other costumes would make an appearance on occasion.  One year I was a cow.  Another, a ghost.  During college I was a German yodeler/Minnie Mouse.  But the highlight of my collective Halloween memory took place when I was probably 7 and my sister 9.  She had decided to wear my dad’s flight suit from his days in the Air Force.  Imagine a 50-inch fourth grader wearing a jumpsuit sized for an average male in his mid twenties, helmet and breathing hose included.  No tailor could have made this work.

But the results were awesome.

So on this particular holiday, she and I were wrapping up our 10 house circuit culminating with our godparents’ home, which traditionally came last, probably because they had been out earlier with their kids [filling actual pillowcases].  We didn’t live in an area where you could trick or treat by foot, unless you wanted to start early that morning and pack tuna salad sandwiches for lunch and dinner.  So we get to our friends’ door, ring the bell and recite our line in an enthusiastic off-key singsong.  They reward our efforts with caramel-apple lollipops (a longstanding personal favorite) and Sugardaddies (my sister’s golden goose), and we say our goodbyes.  We start off down their walkway toward the car.  I hopped in the seat behind my Dad and shut the door behind me, pawing in the darkness at my treasure, running my fingers through the crisp wrappers, lost in a gluttonous trance and paying no attention to my surroundings.  As we are rolling down the long driveway, I break concentration and suddenly realize that I’m alone in the backseat.  And I shouldn’t be.  The car door to my right is half open, and I can see the olive green of my father’s flight suit flickering as my sister’s arms flail at the car door.  What is she doing?!!

We probably made it halfway down the dirt driveway with my sister dragging beside the car, air hose and all.  It took me a second after seeing her for me to start howling for Dad to stop the car, that she wasn’t technically riding with us.  She must have had a hard time finding the seat with that visor over her eyes.  Regardless, she turned out fine, and even more disappointing at the time was the fact that she was indeed going to be alive to maintain ownership of her jack-o-lantern.  Maybe next year. 

www.costume-place.com

What my sister should have worn.

via the Aerospace Museum of California

It was a dragging thing of beauty.

You might think I’m a monster for highlighting this story as the pinnacle of my entire Halloween repertoire.  But if it were you in my seat, with your hand in your bucket and your eyes on that helmet clanging on the car door, you’d be no different. 

The O.S. : It Was the Night Before the Day After Easter...

Another post from the Other Sister:

www.zanyholidays.com

I passed the seasonal aisle the other night in my rush through the grocery store.  Right now it is a pastel-colored, candy wonderland.  Jellybeans abound in so many varieties it makes your eyes hurt.  It reminded me that we are quickly approaching one of my favorite holidays.  Wait for it....... that’s right, the day after Easter. (Insert a mental picture of me jumping up and down squealing like a piglet with a baby monkey trying to ride on its back.  Yes, I'm that excited.)  Its uglier, more awkward cousin, the day after Halloween, comes in at a close second.  Unfortunately, chocolate doesn't really do it for me, but if it weren't for that, both of these day-after-holiday holidays would run hand in hand over the finish line to my heart.  Or my hips.  You choose.

Why do I consider these as holidays, you ask?  This is a silly question, but I’ll indulge you.  

                                          Half.  

                                                          Price.  

                                                                            Candy.  

Have you ever witnessed a grocery store right before a news-hyped weather catastrophe?  Mass chaos, right?  People run around like headless chickens, glaring over their carefully guarded carts full of precariously balanced gallon jugs of water.  Because this will definitely be the time we run out of water......forever.  The people who, on any other day, you would happily carry on small talk with are now viewed like Sauron, not after the One Ring, but after your Precious [water].  It’s very primal, really.

Well, picture that random psycho, only with my face and a cart full of sugary goodness. Add some Peeps, which are sugary but not goodness, for my favorite sister.  (And, yes.  I only have one sister.)  How can one go wrong with Nerds Bumpy jellybeans or the Sour Patch Kid variety.  I have not seen the latter yet, but please do be so kind as to tell me if any of you have seen them in your travels.  

Have wheels, will drive.  

www.ihasafunny.com

If they stopped making my precious jellybeans, I just might cry or throw a tantrum in the middle of the candy aisle.  Trust me, you do NOT want to see that.  Though, now that I think of it, I do have a friend who manages a grocery store, and I would love to see how the administration would react to this kind of  behavior.  I may do it just for fun.  I'll report back later.

If you too are out to celebrate this hidden holiday, I suggest that you might want to wait until two days after Easter, lest you encounter me in the aisle and I start throwing chocolate bunnies and Cadbury Creme Eggs at you in an attempt to scare you off.  I may not eat those things, but they sure do make a fantastic weapon, and the eggs make an even greater mess.

So saddle up your pig, preferably backwards, and get excited.  The day after Easter only comes once a year, and you don’t want to miss it.  But remember, watch your back.  I may be lurking in the next aisle.

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For anyone looking to get the O.S. Lurker a holiday gift, here's some gold. You're welcome.  -M