Christmas Musings

It's pretty quiet here at the Casa de Ginley. Mr. is still snuggled safely in his bed. The chili is snuggled safely in the crock pot. The cranberries are gurgling on the stove. And the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the scents of cooking food to create a pleasant aroma.

Christmas 1966

The weather outside is dismal. But at least folks won't have to drive through a raging snowstorm to share the holidays with loved ones. (Assuming COVID hasn't shot down their holiday plans.)

As I enjoy the quiet of this Christmas morning, I look back on other, noisier mornings of years past. In my childhood, my parents piled us kids into the car to attend church at 6 a.m. Wriggling all the way through mass, the specter of gifts under the tree was stronger, alas, than the birth of a child millennia ago. Savior of the world or no, the presents held a more immediate allure that no amount of dirty looks from my parents could assuage. My sadistic parents would make us change out of our "good" clothes, brew themselves a cup of coffee and settle in before the wrapping paper rip-fest began.

Then there were the years with Joe in the house. Waking up early, waiting in anticipation to see how he would like his gifts. I guess it's a good sign that he wasn't greedy, but it was also a little unnerving that our kid would open one gift at a time, examine it and want to go play with it before opening the other packages. Not sure where he got that from.

Flash forward to this quiet morning. I finally put up the tree a couple of nights ago. There are a few things in Mr. Ginley's stocking. I renewed some subscriptions for him and bought myself three Alice Guy Blaché DVDs. And the gifts from the exchange yesterday with Joe and Jill are sitting in their pretty gift bag under the tree.

Today I'll watch a few Christmas movies, imbibe some hot chocolate and take it easy. If I'm lucky, Maggie Cat will sit on my lap. 

I hope all of you enjoy a wonderful, safe, healthy holiday season, however you choose to celebrate. Or not. 

Be it Christmas or Hanukkah (belatedly) or Festivus (for the rest of us).

Perusing Thomas the Tank Engine Storybook

Addictions

I don't know if it's due to genetics, upbringing or past-life experiences, but I don't appear to have any harmful addictive tendencies.

Last one before its demise

It may have something to do with the fact that my body doesn't tolerate mass quantities of alcohol. I've never been tempted to smoke. And I'm leery of taking painkillers. 

On the other hand, put me in front of a plate of Christmas goodies, and watch out. 

I suppose I've always known this about myself, but it became obvious last weekend at my family's holiday gathering.

With Diane driving, I was en route to Denise's home, where the festivities were to take place. I was cloistered in the back seat of her car with the twin tea rings she had baked the night before. I admit to getting high on the aroma of yeast and sugar. It was all I could do not to rip off the plastic covering and stick my face in it. Still, I prevailed, and both tea rings made it to their destination intact (although they didn't stay that way for long).

Later, after Denise pulled thumbprint cookies out of the oven and placed the plate within reaching distance, I was compelled to gobble some of those, too. 

In between the two incidents, there was other food, which I sort of remember. Pulled pork, mac 'n cheese, etc. But it's the classic desserts that reel me in every time.

Some of it is surely nostalgia. Tea rings and cookies were mandatory Christmas treats in our house, and when I see them again, they bring back mom...and boxes of cookies of various kinds, the Hershey's miniature countdown wreath, live Christmas tree and fake fireplace.

This time of year is when I feel most acutely the absence of my parents. When I gobble the goodies, I suppose it's my way of remembering and celebrating holidays past.

So, thanks, Denise for hosting. And Diane & John for putting me up. (And putting up with me.)

And may you all find a measure of happiness in the weeks to come. Let's hope next year brings the good kind of surprises.

Speaking of surprises, my brother boasted that he has some tea ring in his freezer. Maybe I'll show up on his doorstep one of these mornings to see if there's any left. 

I'm sure he won't mind...

Snitches Get Stitches

Am I the only one who thinks the whole Elf on the Shelf thing is just creepy?

public domain image

For the benefit of those who are childless or who have been living under a rock for the past several years, here's the skinny on Elf on the Shelf.

Some sadistic soul thought it would be a great idea to invent a stuffed elf, place him around the house and tell their kids that they'd better behave because the elf was watching them. Each night leading up to December 25th, parents are supposed to wait until Junior heads off to dreamland, then move the elf to a different location. The point of this exercise is to keep junior on his toes. If the kid screws up, the Elf rats him out and Junior's going to have a lousy Christmas.

I envision an awful lot of future therapy sessions for people traumatized by this red-suited buttinski who mysteriously turned up in random places around the house, ready to snitch on them for any transgression they may have committed. 

Trying to swipe an extra cookie? Sneak a peek at the presents Mom stashed in the closet? Watch a little more TV than you're allowed? Watch out, cause there's a blabbermouth in the house.

Honestly, growing up, we never needed a stupid Elf because Mom was on the job. She could smell cookies on our breath, hear the rustle of wrapping paper at 50 paces and knew when it was time to throw us out in the cold to get some fresh air away from the television screen. 

Anyone who has watched Bewitched knows that Gladys Kravitz was not a sympathetic character. Nobody likes to be spied on. As far as I'm concerned, Elf on the Shelf is just a big old snitch. 

And, like that old chestnut goes, "Snitches Get Stitches."

I thought I was being original, but to my chagrin I discovered there is actually a shirt that features this saying with a black-and-blue Elf.

Suffice it to say, there'll be no elf on any shelf in the Casa de Ginley. It's not that I've been naughty, mind you. 

I just don't want any elf up in my business. 

I Wanna Be Like Treva

I imagine there are few among us who haven't daydreamed about a particular career and thought, "I would LOVE that job."

[1] Photo attribution

Over the years, I've thought I'd enjoy a number of other careers, including audio book reader, library page and bookseller. But the one job that I surely would have pursued if I'd had the wherewithal is comedy writer for a sitcom.

Recently, I read a book called Mary and Lou and Rhoda and Ted: And All the Brilliant Minds Who Made The Mary Tyler Moore Show a Classic. It showcased the breakthrough nature of the show, and in particular its female writers.

The Mary Tyler Moore Show (MTM) launch in 1971. It almost didn't get off the ground because TV executives were concerned about a show that starred an unmarried woman at age 30 whose focus was her career, not nabbing a husband and settling down and starting a family. The original premise had Mary Richards, the main character, as a divorcee. The producers were told Americans weren't sympathetic to divorce and pushed hard to change Mary's status to single, having recently broken up after a long-term relationship.

Keep in mind, up to this time, lead female protagonists in sitcoms included a witch, a genie and Lucy, the lovable goofball whose antics defined slapstick. Yes, I Love Lucy was groundbreaking in some ways – featuring a pregnant Lucy, the first time any woman was actually shown on TV with a bun in the oven. But Lucy was still beholden to Ricky, always trying to please and being chastised by him just before the credits rolled, sending that message that the husband knew best.

It's hard to believe now that when the Mary Tyler Moore Show was being created, the idea of hiring women comedy writers was radical. Male TV executives couldn't believe that women could write comedy. 

Treva Silverman proved them all wrong.

Before Treva, there had only been a handful of women writers. After Treva, there would be plenty more.

It was Carol Burnett, who saw Treva at a comedy club in New York and gave Treva her first break in TV, writing for a show called The Entertainers. Being the only woman writer, it took awhile before Treva became "one of the boys." Once she was accepted, the door creaked open and other women were allowed in.

Before signing onto the MTM Show, Treva's writing credits included episodes of The Monkees, Room 222, That Girl, and, regrettably perhaps, Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp.

But it was The MTM show where Treva was able to shine, picking up two Emmy Awards during her stint there. Having women writers on the show meant that issues were addressed from a woman's perspective. Many of the stories for the show came from Treva's and the other women writers' personal experiences. The characters on MTM were full dimensional, the issues often complex and the friendships binding.

Alas, while The MTM Show was groundbreaking, it gave way to a string of insipid television that did nothing for the image of women as relatable, fully-formed people. It was all about mindless, escapist entertainment – a la Three's Company, Charlie's Angels and The Brady Bunch. 

Eventually, this would change, divorce would lose its stigma, the Pill would become an acceptable topic for discussion and married couples would sleep in the same bed.

But it's Treva Silverman's career that I would love to have had. 

You know, that's me. Always living vicariously through others...

P.S. Other fun facts about Treva:

• She was a musical prodigy who started her career as a singing pianist in bars.
• She always wanted to be part of the Algonquin Round Table.
• Treva saved the movie Romancing the Stone by suggesting Kathleen Turner talk baby talk to her kitty at the beginning of the film. (Audiences who'd seen previews of the movie hated Turner's character for being too hard. This one scene changed the tone Turner's character and rescued the film.)
• She was a big fan of 1930s screwball comedies, which inspired her writing.

[1] Photo attribution: By Greg Gjerdingen from Willmar, USA - Mary Tyler Moore Statue, Downtown Minneapolis, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=69245269