A Very Jersey Christmas

Food, glorious food. I've had a lot of it in the last week. In fact, a tin of mom's Christmas cookies are staring at me now, with their puppy dog eyes, wondering why the hell I'm having a banana for breakfast.

Christmas in Jersey was a great time. I got a headstart on the overeating on Saturday night at Avenue in Long Branch, the restaurant where my friend is the chef. First of all, the restaurant is right on the beach. I don't normally make it down to the shore in the winter so I sort of forget that it's still there making waves in December. Winter at the ocean is a very cool thing. Literally and figuratively. My friends, brother and I had one of those meals that I'll remember for a long time. Everything we had was delicious. Short ribs that were so full of flavor that a tear of gratitude comes to my eye just thinking about it. The steak tartar...wow. Even the side of brussel sprouts was a little bowl of tasty magic. And the wine. I know nothing about wine but I love when people who do suggest wines that will go with my meal. The reality is that most types would probably taste good to me. But I like to think that I do actually taste those oak undertones that pair nicely with the pappardelle. Or something like that.

My parents and I saw Sweeney Todd on Sunday. Loved it. Absolutely loved it. First of all, it became apparent to me that I have most of the show memorized. I saw it when I was in high school and then must've listened to the soundtrack more than I remember. The movie stayed very true to the show so I was able to sing along (in my head) with most of it. I thought Johnny's lack of singing skills might ruin it, but he was great. And Helena made an excellent Mrs. Lovett. The story is so fantastic in a Shakesperean tragedy sorta way. Tim Burton did a great job of creating just the type of dingy, creepy London town where one would tend to find a murderous barber and his sketchy pals.

The family Christmas Eve and Christmas Day festivities were a grand 'ol time. The usual blend of overeating, overexplaining the Yankee Swap gift exchange game and then screwing it up anyway, competitive billiards, and just the general hilarity ensues when you throw my family in a room together. If you haven't seen it in action, it's hard to explain. There's the comedy that happens because we all think we're hilarious, but then there's the real comedy that ensues because we're ridiculous.

Christmas morning began with my parents, two of my brothers, and I watching at least three hours of the Dog Whisperer. I'd never seen the show before but am now a huge fan. It made me want to get a dog just so I could try out Cesar's training techniques. Then my other bro, sis-in-law and nieces showed up, bearing Guitar Hero. I can't quite figure out why it's so addictive but even now, I really wish I was perfecting my skillz on "Hit Me With Your Best Shot." I think if I just played it for about 4 hours straight, I might be able to get up to the medium level.

Now I'm listening to my brother's annual CD compilation of some of his favorite songs from the past year. Good one, Joe. I really dig the Spoon tune.

I better go. I have a lot of Christmas cookies to eat before it's time to make a resolution to not eat so many cookies.

In the air there's a feeling of chaos

Working at non-profits often means chaos at the holiday season. Now I'm in a fairly quiet desk job in which holiday chaos is minimal. There were about 6 years in a row where I had to work every major holiday. At the time, I was a little resentful of that fact, but now, in a very sick way, I miss it.

In my former job as a professional friend to the elderly, the holiday season was the busiest time of year. On Thanksgiving day volunteers delivered turkey dinners and flowers to over 500 elderly. Christmas was the same routine with the addition of personalized gifts. Plus there were holiday parties for the elders, cards sent out and a general tizzy that buzzed through the air from October to December.

The holiday season officially started on October first with the addition of the Holiday Assistant, Bea. "Welcome to LB!" Bea yelled, as she walked in the front door. She yelled this every morning. Bea can't help but make an entrance. Her southern charm, biting honesty and general sassiness were the final ingredients in the recipe for the holiday season at LB.

Giving personalized gifts meant finding out the Christmas wishes of over 500 elderly. This was Bea's primary job and one that no one else could do as well. Some people's graciousness caused them to act as if they didn't want anything for Christmas. This is where Bea's sales experience shined. "Oh, come on, Mildred! Don't tell me you don't want ANYTHING!" Sometimes she'd suggest an item to be paired with the gift they received from us the previous year. "I see here you received a pink robe last Christmas. How did that work out? Could you use a pair of nice white slippers to go with that?" When really grasping for ideas, Bea always presented the same choice. "Can I interest you in a small bedside radio or maybe some See's candies?" If a customer decided to settle on the See's candy, Bea always followed up with the question, "Soft-centered or nut chews?" When I laughed at these options, Bea straightened me out. "Some of these folks ain't got but one tooth! They need something soft!"

There were a fair amount of elders being visited that did not speak English. Ideally, this meant finding volunteers who spoke their native language, to call the elders and ask them what they wanted for Christmas. Or, it meant, Bea screaming into the phone, slowly. "I SAID....SMALL BEDSIDE RADIO? SEE'S CANDY?" Eventually she'd hang up and just make a decision. "I think Mr. Wu would really enjoy a Wallgreen's gift card."

The other side of that Christmas gift process was finding 500 people to fulfill these wishes. Thanks to the graciousness of our fellow man and woman, it was not that hard to find people interested in getting a gift for an elder. Keeping it all organized was another story. The phone rang all day long. Elders confirming their visits and making requests like, "I usually go out to get the paper at 10 so if the volunteer comes at that time, please tell them to wait for me." Then gift givers called with detailed questions. "Hi...I'm getting the gift for Rosemary who's 86. It says that she'd like a medium sized robe. Do you think she'd prefer terrycloth or silk?" Contrary to popular belief, I had not memorized the wishes and needs of the over 500 elderly who would be receiving gifts, but I got great at making these decisions on the fly. "Oh, Rosemary! She's kookoo for terrycloth! Happy Holidays and thanks!" Meanwhile I've got Fred on the other line. Fred lived down the street from the office and would show up and/or call at least every other day to bitch about something.

Fred: Mary. I need to change my Christmas gift request.
Me: Sorry, Fred. It's too late. Santa's elves have been given their orders and are already at the shop.
Fred: Jesus, Mary. Can't you do this for me? What the hell? I'm asking you for one favor.
Me: Ya know what, Fred? Gift giving really loses its luster when the recipient is so freaking demanding. Santa will not screw you over. Have a great day!
Fred: (Angry mumbling).

We hang up. The phone rings immediately.

Fred: Hey Mary. When I was born I was so ugly that the doctor slapped my mother. Have a great day!

The real irony was that Fred had asked for a basic gift and wanted to switch it to something equally as basic, but we had already decided to give him a new bed, because his was a piece of crap. He cried when it was delivered. He made the staff go over to his apartment and take pictures when he put his comforter on it. Sometimes I miss that grumpy old pain in my ass.

Bob, another old guy who lived right by the office, was Fred's opposite. He was very appreciative and always positively gay. And by gay I mean cheerful. And he liked dudes. His thick accent made it clear that he was from Boston, but San Francisco was his one true love. When I asked him if he missed the east coast, he said in his high-pitched raspy voice, "Not really. San Francisco is my city of liberation!" One year Bob requested a cd player for Christmas. He liked to walk around the neighborhood and hang out at the coffee shop, so we got him a discman. One afternoon a co-worker and I met Bob for coffee, and he sat across from us, sipping his coffee, with his brand-new GIGANTIC headphones plastered to his head, and grinned from ear to ear. "Ya know what?!", Bob shouted, after some silence. "On My Own was the only good song that Celine Dion EVER sang!!!"

Another aspect of holiday season at LB was the donations that rolled in. And by rolled in, I mean those that I, and my co-worker Cristin, picked up from various locations around the city. It was a total crapshoot on whether the things were usable or not. One day we did a pick-up at a church in the outer reaches of the Sunset District. About 14 gigantic garbage bags full of donations. Garbage bags were the appropriate container for most of these items. My favorite item was a magnet that said, "Mary's Central Shrine." Because I don't have magnetic pants, I put it on the filing cabinet next to my desk. The stained mirror was another gem of a donation. It was, of course, broken in many pieces by the time we got back to the office, thereby ruining a perfectly good bag of used make-up and dirty clothes.

And let us not forget the hundreds of emails that would come in each day, many from people interested in volunteering for the holidays. Some would give a bit of unsolicited background on their interests and what led them to contact our organization. For example:

Hi. There is a possibility I may not be here for Christmas, but if I am, I would really like to volunteer to visit with some elderly people. When I was younger I had a couple of very tame pet goats that I used to bring to nursing homes for visits. I also used to take my dogs to visit troubled teens. Please contact me. Thanks, Cheri, age 31.

The preparations for Christmas Day were intense but the actual day was a beautiful case of well-organized chaos. On Christmas Eve, volunteers wrapped and organized gifts, carved turkeys, and helped set-up the gigantic room where the Christmas Day festivities took place. On Christmas morning, volunteers arrived at the crack of dawn to begin making the meals. Other volunteers took charge of the volunteer snack station. The same guy showed up every year in his Santa suit to spread cheer to the masses and help direct incoming volunteers to the right location. Many families made volunteering just a regular part of their Christmas Day. Then at about 10am, the visiting volunteers began arriving to pick out an elder or two to visit. They'd go through the stations, get the gift, the flower, the food, and then be on their way. Everyone was in a great mood. Music played. People that got to know each other just from volunteering together every Christmas reconnected and caught up on each other's lives. I felt lucky to be a part of it all.

Then the calls would start coming in.

"Hi...I was assigned Roger Smith. My young daughter and I showed up at his apartment and he answered the door without pants on. There was porn spread out on his bed." Whoopsy daisy! Gotta amend Roger's record in the database when I get back to the office!

Then we had the "emergencies" like, "MARY! There is no cream cheese at the volunteer food station! We've got hundreds of bagels and no one knows where the cream cheese is!!" Suddenly I was giving a random volunteer the keys to my car and the directions to the nearest grocery store.

Aside from a handful of panicked calls, and a number of fake emergencies, most of the visits went off without a hitch. The large majority of the elders were extremely grateful and many sent frilly little hand-written thank you notes saying so. Volunteers all pitched in to clean the place up, and I'd scoot right off to the airport to catch a flight to New Jersey. It was a little sad to miss the festivities with my family on Christmas Eve, but I liked traveling on Christmas Day. Everyone is always so friendly and the flights are never crowded. After a long day of work and travel, I'd always arrive to the festivities at my parents' house, a little tired and overwhelmed, but very grateful.

This year I'll be heading to Jersey on the 22nd. No rushing from coast to coast on Christmas Day. I feel lucky to be able to enjoy a few solid days of festivities with my family, but there's a part of me that will miss being in the thick of LB holiday chaos. I wonder if Roger will wear pants this year.

A Different Old Lang Syne

On Friday night, I volunteered at the Old Town School's 9th annual "Songs of Good Cheer" concert, a fundraiser for the Chicago Tribune Holiday Giving program. It was good old fashion fun. Until they made me bawl like a baby.

Eric Zorn and Mary Schmich, both writers for the Tribune, host the event every year, and lead a happy and talented crew of Old Town teachers and a couple other random musicians. The audience gets songbooks and it's one giant holiday sing-along. I'm a sucker for crap like that so I had a grand 'ol time. Then Eric told the story of Kevin Lambeck, a soldier who died in Iraq at age 26. His father wrote a letter to President Bush and Bush never responded, so last March, Eric posted the letter in his column.

Eric gave a really nice, sincere tribute to Kevin, talking about him as a soldier, son, brother, husband, and friend. I was already getting choked up at this point. Then he brings Kevin's parents and sister on stage. We toast to Kevin. And then we all sing Auld Lang Syne. Wow. Just when I got myself together, I looked at the 70-something man next to me, and saw that he was crying. I devised an immediate backstory about the friends this kind looking gentleman lost when he served in the Korean war. That put me over the edge.

The next day, I googled the letter that Kevin Lambeck's dad wrote to President Bush. Reading the letter broke my heart even more.

My obvious response was to learn how to play "Same Old Lang Syne" by Dan Fogelberg on guitar. Auld Lang Syne made me think, "Same Old Lang Syne"....now THAT is a treasure of the 70s. I learned the song in the way that I learn songs (I gloss over those tricky bar chords and just sing louder during those parts) and thought, "That Dan Fogelberg...what a gem." I mean, really. These lyrics?

She said she'd married her an architect,
Who kept her warm and safe and dry,
She would have liked to say she loved the man,
But she didn't like to lie.

Seriously, Fogelberg. That is GOOD.

That was definitely the most I'd ever thought about Dan Fogelberg in my entire life. All in one sitting. I listened to bits of his other songs on itunes. It was at least an hour of DF and nothing but DF.

Then, this morning, I found out that he died yesterday. He was only 56. It's so sad...just when we were getting to know each other. And now it seems like "Same Old Lang Syne" is my new signature holiday song because Dan just died. But Dan died on Sunday and he and I go way back to Saturday.

Either way, it's a bummer. Here's to you, Mr. Fogelberg. You totally get me.

Worth the Weight

I've become one of those people that can listen to the same song or album over and over. It used to drive me crazy when a former co-worker did that (in her defense she kept her music very quiet but the mere idea of her listening to the same song on repeat for an hour drove me a little nuts). But...I've found solace in The Shins "Wincing the Night Away" and can not stop listening to it. It matches the cold, dark, wet mood of the season but then kicks it up a notch with some happiness.

I can't wait until December 21st, where we reach the peak of shortening days and start down the other side.

I've never been much of a fan of gyms. I prefer just doing stuff outside on my own. This does not include team sports. I just don't have enough competitiveness to make them fun. Other people's competitiveness gets on my nerves. But who wants the chick on the softball team saying, "Come on, guys! It's just a game! Why bother keeping score?!" So...seeing how the season has arrived for Chicago to be covered in no less than a thin sheet of ice, running outside becomes tricky. I have no will power or desire to limit the amounts of delicious holiday foods presented to me. If I want to get/stay in somewhat decent shape, it seems fairly obvious that I should get some exercise. I reluctantly joined a gym.

I am in love with this place. Galter Life Center. It's truly amazing. It's got all the standard ingredients for a good gym experience. Nice equipment, a bright and spacious set-up, clean locker rooms, towel service, great classes, two pools, an indoor track, friendly staff and on and on. But...there are a few things that make it extra special. 1)It doesn't smell like gym. 2)The lockers are such that you set a code and it locks. You type in that code and it unlocks. GENIUS. Leave those 7th grade annoying little locks at home! 3)The people are amazing. An eclectic crew of all ages and abilities. My first time in the locker room, an old Korean woman and I smiled at each other. She said, "Today is special day!" I said, "Oh, really?! Why?" I figured it was her birthday or some such holiday. She said, "I exercise today!" She giggled uncontrollably and I joined her.

Then I was on the tread mill enjoying the cable I don't have at home, and two dorky dudes rolled a ping pong table out into the open area in the center of the room. I love ping pong! What a GREAT workout!

Perhaps the best thing about Galter is that the boy section of the gym is not intimidating. Every gym I've ever been to has this boy section. I suppose it's technically the "free weight section." I wouldn't really know though because I never step foot in it. It's always just full of guys, being serious, and occasionally accompanying their reps with disgusting grunts. I tend to avoid that section like the plague. I'm here to say that I actually WALKED THROUGH the boy section at Galter and didn't feel intimidated AND didn't hear any grunting! Free weights annoy me so I don't see myself actually using the equipment in there, but it's not because I don't feel welcome to do so!

Project Runway is on tonight and I don't get Bravo at home. Guess I better go to the gym.