Thrifting, Not Gifting

Christmas is turning into a second Thanksgiving of sorts for me.

Given that we are celebrating on the down-low, I have many things to be thankful for. There is no need to join the fray of crazed shoppers in a quest for the perfect gift. I didn't have to strain my noggin to come up with a list of stuff for my loved ones to buy me. And I've had to give zero consideration as to whether to acquire an ugly sweater to wear to a work function.

Mr. Ginley and I will spend our December 25th in our sweats, noshing and watching a selection of classic movies we've already procured from our local library. We'll talk about Christmases past. Laugh about the time his mom had a little too much wine but awoke with no after-effects. Or when my sister came home from a date and caught my little brother scoping out the loot one Christmas Eve.

The lack of hoo-ha may not be everyone's cup of tea, but it works for us.

Meanwhile, to support my original theme of giving thanks, I've compiled a list of The 12 Gifts of Christmas I will be thankful not to get this year.

1. Scratch the World Travel Map. The theory is, you scratch off the places on the map you've visited over the course of the year. Given our heady jet-set romps, the map would remain largely unscratched, except for Ohio, which would be obliterated.

2. Bambüsi Bamboo Cheese Board. Our personal food guru is Alton Brown, who says you should avoid purchasing a gadget that does only one thing. It just clutters up your kitchen cupboards, and when you do need to use it, you'll forget where you put it.

3. Skin Gym Facial Roller. No one will be surprised that I'm not up on make-up trends. Apparently, this little knick-knack rolls over your face to do something that makes you look younger. To me, it looked like the rollers we used during paste-up to keep copy in place on mechanicals. (Chris and Kim and Judie will know what I'm talking about.)

4. Name Earrings. In all the years I worked for a jeweler, I never did get my ears pierced. Mostly because my hair was so thick, it covered my ears, so you wouldn't be able to see the earrings anyhow. Also because it was one more thing to have to think about in the morning. Even if I did have pieced ears, however, I would not get eponymous earrings. The cashier at Heinen's already knows my name, it's on my checks.

5. Golden Girls Chia Pet. Some would argue that Chia Pets are a classic holiday gift. I've even known folks who read the instructions and followed the progress of the sprouts as they sprang forth. Different strokes, I guess. I never had a pet rock, either.

6. Tiki Tunes. A pair of wireless speakers depicting tiki torches may be the star of the show for someone's outdoor luau, but I'll pass, thanks. Aloha (meaning "goodbye," in this case.)

7. Long Distance Touch Lamps. The perfect gift for the helicopter mom, one lamp remains at home while the other, presumably, sits in her child's dorm room at college. Equipped with wi-fi, when one person touches their lamp, the other lamp lights up. Ah, I can picture the tender scene, young Sally sitting in her room on Saturday night, periodically tapping her lamp, so Mom knows she is thinking about her. I can't think of any scenario where this doesn't end in heartbreak for Mom. So, nope.

8. Candles. I love candles, but I confine their use to bath time, when I can close the door and keep the cat out. Kitties are fascinated by the flame, and I've had nightmares about Maggie catching fire and running around the house, setting the place ablaze.

9. Darth Vader Clapper. Clap on, clap off, welcome to the dark side, Luke. I'll grant you, this has high kitsch value, but once you've done your parlor trick for guests, it would get old pretty quickly. Perhaps if it had a 30-day return policy...

10. Genetic Ethnicity Test. Mr. Ginley and I have done lots of genealogical research. His family hails from Ireland. Mine is mostly from Germany and Switzerland. No need for an expensive test. That was easy!

11. GPS Smart Dog Collar. Also an easy "no thanks," given that we don't have a dog. Although it might come in handy for Maggie the Magnificent, who can make herself magically disappear and reappear with a casual, "Oh, you were looking for me?"

12. Wireless Home Security System.  If Santa wants to know if I've been naughty or nice, he'll just have to figure it out the old-fashioned way.

A very Happy/Merry/Jolly Christmas/Hanukkah/Festivus. I hope you all find peace and solace in whichever way you choose to spend your day.

And I hope Santa brings you all your heart desires!

Mr. Gets His Due

"You never write about me," complains Mr. Ginley every time I struggle for a blog topic.

Of course, we all know this isn't so.

But it's also true that I've devoted a larger portion of my blog to my son and my cat.

And so, in the interest of fairness, I've decided to devote this space to my life partner, the man who is king of the vast Ginley estates, the only one I know who can document every important event in our lives based on the sporting event that took place that day.

I've come up with some of the (repeatable) phrases that have either tickled my fancy or elicited an eye roll. Or, sometimes, made me glad us two quirksters found each other.

Bon apetit.

"If it weren't for me, you'd be living in Lakewood with 50 cats."

"Here's how it works: If I ask, it's begging. if you ask, it's nagging."

"This all becomes academic if we win the lottery and become millionaires in the next couple of weeks."

"Cat, I'm gonna beat you like a red-headed mule."

"You married me. Isn't that the act of a desperate woman?"

"I gotta go where the goddam dirt is."

"I beg to differ. And I beg a lot."

"I saved you from a life of loneliness and desperation."

"The proposal of record is the one where you asked me to marry you, because every time I asked you, you said no."

"Even a blind squirrel finds a monkey every now and again."

"Joe was acting up today, so I demoted him to house plant. I told him to stand in the corner and photosynthesize."

"Cats don't live in your house, they live in your heart."

Bing and Rosie and Danny and Vera-Ellen

Sisters, Sisters, there were never such devoted sisters...

My own sister, Diane, used to sing this (sans the feathers). If you're a fan of the movie White Christmas, you know what I'm talking about.

It being the season to be jolly and all, I got a copy of the Christmas classic from the library and watched it last night. Mr. Ginley took a pass, but he stayed in the other room and didn't make any comments, so it was a win-win for me.

I kept oggling at the costumes and marveling. Yes, I discovered, they were indeed designed by Edith Head.

The dancing was fun. Vera-Ellen was quite the hoofer. She even managed to recover from Danny Kaye tripping her once. I couldn't believe those legs. I don't think I've ever seen legs that loooonnnng. Fun fact: Back home in Cincinnati, Vera-Ellen used to carpool to dancing classes with Doris Day.

The real life ages of the actors were all off. Bing Crosby was old enough at that point to be Rosemary Clooney's dad. And although she played Vera-Ellen's older sister, Rosemary was actually several years younger in real life.

(Yes, the Google is an amazing thing.)

I do enjoy the fantasy of a classic song-and-dance musical. I can't think of any modern film that can compare. There's not much dancing and singing in movies anymore.

Unless you count Mama Mia. Which, sorry to any fans out there, I just couldn't get through (not even the first one).

I'll probably be watching a lot of other holiday flicks in the coming weeks, but I won't torture you with the details or fun facts.

But for now, I have two more tidbits. Bob Fosse was the choreographer for White Christmas. And they used a grown-up photo of Carl Switzer (aka "Alfalfa") for the photo of Benny Haynes, the sisters' brother.

Sorry, one more fun fact. Irving Berlin, the composer of the song White Christmas, was the only Oscar winner to open his own envelope at the awards ceremony. What was Berlin's acceptance speech?

"I'm glad to present the award. I've known him for a long time."

Reborns, Not Newborns

This headline in a buy/shop Facebook ad stopped me in my tracks:

My Betsy

In search of reborn baby for sale.

I'm sure you're all much smarter than I, and you already know what the ad is about -- and it has nothing to do with purchasing a newly-baptized infant. It's about a baby doll - one that is very lifelike.

Maybe it's because this isn't anywhere near my radar screen -- I don't have a child who's begging for a reborn baby for Christmas. I'm not a doll collector. And, having experienced the live model many years ago, I don't feel the need for a plastic stand-in.

Still, I once was smitten with my dollies, so I understand the appeal. I decided I needed to know a little more. So I went to my friend, the Google, to investigate "reborn babies."

I immediately got 16,700,000 results.

I chose one of the top selling websites and clicked onward. There I found scores of dollies, made of what was described as GentleTouch™ vinyl. (If it's trademarked, it has to be good, right?)

The site boasts the dolls are so realistic, you won't be able to tell the difference between them and real babies. I'd argue that a real infant breathes and hollers and eats and poops, thus making it pretty obvious who's the real deal.

But I digress.

The amount of detail that goes into making these dolls is quite remarkable. Hair that is attached one strand at a time. Birthmarks, veins, eyelashes and fingernails are all part of the doll's DNA. In addition, the dolls are weighted with plastic beads and other filler to give them the right heft.

Fun Facts: The artists who make these dolls are called "reborners." And the process of making them is called "reborning." The industry has been around since the early 1990s.

Most of the dolls are Caucasian, although I did see some African American and Asian babies. And a Hawaiian girl.

The dolls are priced from under $100 to nearly $1,000. Many have been discounted for Black Friday.

Some are cute, some are creepy. Some have eyes that are permanently closed, which seems sad.

None of them will be coming to my house to stay.

If I need a dolly fix, I need only dig through the back of my closet and find my childhood companion, Betsy (no Wetsy). Although she will never be mistaken for the real thing, she'll always be my baby (doll).

A Healthy Attitude

People always say, "At least you have your health."

And we always take it for granted. Until we get sick. Then we swear we'll never take it for granted again -- much the same way someone who has one drink too many swears they will never imbibe again. Ya, right.

Mr. and I started this cycle last week. First, he was sick, then I. Our symptoms didn't match exactly, but I'm pretty sure we shared the same jimmy germs.

He threw up. I didn't. I got laryngitis. He didn't.

But we both had plugged up heads. I can't talk, neither of us can hear very well. Comedy ensues.

Mr. Ginley purports "some" might look upon my inability to speak as a bonus. By "some" he claims it's the cat. (We all know who "some" is.)

Meanwhile, our conversations run something like this:

Mr. Ginley: Did you get my phone out of my pants?

Me: Honey, I'm just not up to that right now.

Mr. Ginley: What?

Me: I'm not feeling very frisky.

Mr. Ginley: What's that got to do with getting my phone out of my pants?

Me: Oh, I thought you said...

Well, you get the idea.

Yesterday, we had to venture out to do a couple of errands. I just wasn't up to cooking, so we stopped at Subway for dinner.

I tried to order.

"She can't hear you. Speak up." Commanded Mr. Ginley.

"This is as loud as it gets," I replied.

And so it was, Mr. Ginley had to relay my order as I croaked it at him.

This will all go away soon, and we'll no doubt return to our full volume lives.

I feel confident and blessed this will be so for Mr. and me.

For those who are not so fortunate, I send comfort and love and and a wish for relief from suffering.

For all of us...the sun is shining today. Don't miss it.

Leave it to the Snow

I had all the best intentions of cleaning up the leaves in my backyard.

There weren't a lot of them, but enough that something needed to be done.

Then we got some snow this week, covering the leaves, and effectively enabling me to put off the whole issue of, "should I rake or should I leaf-blow."

Life is funny like that. The stupid stuff you worry about often takes care of itself.

Now, notice I said "stupid" stuff...there are things you should worry about. Like your health, for example. The cashier who is having trouble counting out your change. Or the driver in front of you who is weaving back and forth across the double yellow lines.

"Stupid things I will not worry about," as defined by moi, include (but are not limited to) the following:

• The many calories in that rare piece of chocolate cake in which I indulge.

• What the person in the car next to me at the stoplight thinks when they see me bopping my head, tapping the steering wheel and singing along with the Beatles.

• Housework. As an old friend once told me, "The dust will be around forever, but I won't."

• What the Millennials are saying about the Baby Boomers. Every generation thinks they have all the answers. The Millennials will have their turn. Their kids will kick them in the ass one day, too. (Plato...or was it Socrates?...made the same observation.)

I welcome any and all comments about you think is worry-worthy (or not).

As for me, I'm going to engage in a little cat therapy tonight. It's been a busy day, and I love it when Maggie curls up under my chin and purrs.

Even if she does have tuna breath...I'm not going to worry about it.

Closeted Memories

"I remember sitting in the backyard with my Mom in the summer, sipping iced tea. We'd add some sugar, and used these spoons to stir.  They were the perfect size for the tall glasses."

Mr. Ginley held up a spoon with a long handle.

It's funny how the strangest things can make us nostalgic. Well, not everyone. Some people are not sentimental that way, but Mr. and I are.

We've been trying to jettison the stuff we've had stored in closets or the basement for year upon year. The treasures come to light now, only to dredge up memories.

The vase and candy dish I bought, part of a collection of display items for sale when I was at JBR.

The full set of dishes I purchased before I married husband #1, which I've barely used.

Coffee cups I got for Mr. Ginley from airport gift shops after attending press checks.

The countless plastic cups taken home from 30+ years of sporting events.

Some of the treasures went back into the closet, to be deep-sixed after we are. Others were wrapped up, to be shared with friends or donated. A lucky few will be incorporated into our current dinnerware menagerie, best described as "eclectic."

I can identify most of the pieces, when I got them and where, yet I can't remember where I left my phone half the time.

Memory is a funny thing.

In the meantime, our overstock is slowly making its way to new homes. Funny thing is, we still seem to have an abundance of stuff.

I think the house has magic powers, and things we've stored in the closet are prone to multiplying while we sleep.

Maybe I should put a few dollar bills in the closet and see what happens...