The Science of Like and Love

I dated my first real boyfriend on and off for four years.  I was twenty when we met, and it was the first time a guy had ever openly reciprocated my advances.  The feeling of validation that accompanies being told you're pretty for the first time is intoxicating.  I was his.  I loved him with all of my heart. I had nothing left for myself, but I thought it was okay, because he would return my love with his own. When he repeatedly broke up with me, I was empty.  When he came back, saying he was sorry and that he'd made a terrible mistake, I felt like a starving person being handed food.  I was addicted to him.  Wrapped around his finger, I would follow him anywhere.  Shortly after graduation, we moved across the country, where our relationship quickly deteriorated.  I was out of my element.  I had compromised too much of myself to make a failing relationship work, and within a year, I was back in Michigan, single, unemployed, living at my mom's house without a car, money, or worst of all, an identity.  I had attached my sense of self to my romance so completely that I had no idea how to be me without him.

The year that followed that break up was one of uphill struggles and personal growth.  It was one of the best years of my life, and yet it was one that I would not relive for all the money in the world.  I was a scared, lost, and broken thing, but my friends took me in, wrapped me in a blanket, and nursed me back to health.  I had found my way home.  

My second relationship was a well-meaning and doomed endeavor.  I met a guy about a year after my first breakup.  He was nice, and he was talented, and he was smart, and he loved me the way I had always wanted to feel loved.  I genuinely wanted to reciprocate his feelings, and when I told him that I did, I thought I meant it.  I really liked him, and I knew that I would be sad if anything bad happened to him.  I worried for him, because I knew that my feelings for him lacked passion.  How many times had I heard or read, though, that no love is like your first?  I chastised myself for having unrealistic expectations.  Maybe this feeling was what I was going to need to accept in order to find happiness.  No more butterflies, just an honest appreciation for someone you like.  But I was still bitter, and my walls were too high.  I was terrified of losing myself to love again.  Love is scary.  It means showing someone your weaknesses and hoping that they don't abuse you with them.  I tried to love him the way he deserved to be loved, but I just couldn't do it.  I finally had to end things, and I had to accept a hard truth.  I had been wrong in telling him that I loved him, and because of that, I had hurt him more than I should have.  I felt cruel, but I also felt free.

A buddy of mine ended things with his girlfriend within a few days of my breakup.  That summer, we formed a sort of lonely hearts club, and over the next few months, he went from being a longtime pal to one of my dearest and most valued friends.  Through our beach days, movie nights, long drives, and bonfires, I began to wonder how I had gone so many years without realizing what a cool, unique person he was. How had I never noticed how much we had in common?  How had I let this fantastic friendship idle on the sidelines of my life for so long?  And when did he get so good looking?  And then, suddenly, there they were.  The butterflies were back.  I was scared, but I was also so deeply relieved that I wasn't broken.  I tried not to act on them right away.  After all, this was unlike anything I had ever experienced in dealings with love.  I had something so much more important invested in this potential romance.  I had a friend.  I had never been friends with someone I had dated.  With each of my respective exes, I had met them, and within a month we were monogamous.  This was a whole different story.  This guy knew me.  He knew my exes.  He had been there through both of my past relationships.   It was pointless to try and hide my flaws or highlight and emphasize my qualities.  This person recognized me as nothing more or less than me, and he still wanted to be my friend.  When things eventually did tip toward romance, it was this realization, I think, that made me fall in love with him.

In my first relationship, I believed that loving someone was more important than liking them.  In my second, I thought liking was more important than loving.  I believed that liking someone was a stepping stone to love.  Once you loved them, you didn't like them anymore, because love was bigger.  I don't see it that way anymore.  To like someone and to love them are two separate things, and in a healthy partnership, you should feel both.  Maybe you won't feel it every day, but working at each individually is what keeps you going when one slips a little.  In a lifetime with another person, you're likely to go through patches where you don't like them all that much.  If you still love them, though, you're not just going to throw in the towel.  Likewise, you may hit a dry spell, when you don't feel the passion or spark that once was there, but if you like that person, if they're still your friend, then you have a reason to hold on and work it through.

I'm not naive enough to believe that this realization portends a lifetime of unsullied happiness for me, but I am positive that it has laid the groundwork for the healthiest relationship I've had in my life.  I am, in equal parts, in like and in love, and I've even kept enough for myself this time.  And that, I think, is about the best I can ask for.

Broken Feather Stories

In a far and distant land called Colorado, there walked a man named Broken Feather.  Broken Feather was a great cavalry scout.  Probably the greatest cavalry scout who ever lived.  He had a dog named Peto and a cat named Hairy and a duck named Bill and a bear named Bear, and he had two good friends named Ol' Sweet Tooth and Ol' Sour Dough.  Oh, and let's not forget about Straight Arrow, but he was usually lost.  He had two gorgeous daughters named Princess Yellow Hair and Princess Morning Star, and a beautiful wife named Running Deer.  There were also his dragon friends who lived up in the mountains, George Burns and his wife Imelda (who had 3,000 feet) and their son Scorch.  There were the mushroom people and the magic pony... and that pretty much covers it.  So anyway...

This is how story time started in my house growing up.  As kids, the best way to get my sister and I to cooperate at bedtime was with the promise of a Broken Feather Story.  We would rush off to our bedroom and await the sound of my dad's heavy steps on the staircase.  Sometimes, he would start the intro on his way up, and after years of recitation, he could say it in about 20 seconds (or, at times, we got the abridged intro, "In a far and distant land called Colorado, etc. etc. etc.")

Through the art of storytelling, my dad took us on countless adventures.  Once, Princess Morning Star ran away and joined the circus because she didn't want to eat what her mother had made for dinner, but after two weeks of shoveling elephant droppings, she was disillusioned with her new career and wanted to go home.  When the owner of the traveling show would not let her leave, it came down to the magic pony to fly in and save her, with the help of Scorch and his fiery brand of persuasion.  Another time, Straight Arrow got so lost, he wasn't seen for a month, and when they finally found him, he was in the woods behind Broken Feather's house (which was blocked by a few trees and a bush), living in a lean-to and surviving on berries.  After that, he didn't go much of anywhere without a map.

My dad always told us that he met Broken Feather in the army, and of course, we believed him, because he said it so matter-of-factly and parents always and only tell the truth, and since dragons were real if he said they were, they must just live in the Rocky Mountains, where we hadn't been, so that explained why we'd never seen one.  Also, his comically dated pop culture references soared straight over our heads.  Even as we got older, I remember laying in bed, discussing the possibility that they were komodo dragons, and that the stories hadn't been pure fiction so much as embellishment.

The truth is that, to this day, if you told me there was record of an actual man named Broken Feather who lived in Colorado and was in the same infantry as my dad, I would probably fall straight back into believing every word of his tales (including the dragons.  I'm an easy sell).  I long to know what Broken Feather is up to now, and whether his girls, now adults, are still in Colorado, or if Princess Morning Star achieved her dreams of stardom and whether Princess Yellow Hair became the marine biologist she longed to be.  (Or perhaps they're both still working toward finding themselves and their dreams. Princess Morning Star doing theatre when she can through a small production company comprised mostly of her closest friends, while perhaps Princess Yellow Hair is...oh, I don't know, living on a sailboat somewhere warm and sunny, playing her guitar and making it by.)  Whose to say?

The power of storytelling is incredible.  I attribute so much of my creativity and imagination to my dad.  Someday, when I have kids of my own, I will tell them about Broken Feather, and how he was a man they'd have been blessed to know.  And in telling his stories to them, hopefully they'll feel like they do know him, just as I did.  I may not know what he's up to now, but his stories live forever in my memory and in my heart.

Broken Feather was a great cavalry scout.  He was also a great father.  Probably the greatest father who ever lived.

Here For Now

So, I'm trying this new approach to life lately, wherein I don't think too hard about things that make me happy; I just let them do what they're doing.  As a lifelong, chronic over-thinker, this has not been a simple matter of flipping a switch in my brain to the 'off' position.  In fact, I am constantly struggling against my natural tendency to psychoanalyze my every choice and action.  I realized something a while back, though.  I have self-sabotaged a large number of seemingly happy experiences in my life by breaking them to see how they worked.  I would spend the whole time wondering what it all meant, so consumed by a hypothetical outcome that ultimately, all I would do was forgot to enjoy what was good about the present.

And the thing is, when I finally started making a concerted effort to just enjoy the here and now, I started realizing that things are pretty great right here, right now.  In fact, I'm the happiest I've been in a long time.  Yes, I am 26 years old, and I don't have anything close to a ten year plan.  I'd be lying if I said I have a solid six month plan.  All I know is that today, I am glad that my life is where it is.

So here's a list of stuff that makes me happy:

1. Mexican food.

2. Fall.

3. Muppets (except for the ones with heavy eyebrows and beaks, because they freak me out).

4. Brand new stationary and a really good pen.

5. This picture of a manatee chasing an ice cream cone.

6. Dresses.

7. THIS THING BECAUSE OH MY GOD.

It's called a quokka.  I KNOW.

8. Halloween is just over a month away!

9. New pajamas.

10. This song.

Perception

1.

I have had a terrible month.  I have been sick for most of it.  And not just a little bit sick.  Multiple trips to the doctor sick.  I have spent the majority of my time off either quarantined in my room or just in there because I didn't feel good enough to do anything else.  

I was transferred very suddenly (two days notice) at work to a different salon in the Grand Rapids area.  Longer commute.  Lateral transfer.

My car pulls to the right when I let go of the steering wheel.  I don't know why.  I've been ignoring it because I don't want to find out that it's expensive.

My roommate(s are/)is moving to Texas in October.  I'm envious of her adventurous spirit, and I am going to miss the crap out of her.  I don't want to find a new roommate.  I hate most people.

I let the dishes pile up on my turn again...

2.

I have had a fantastic month.  I've lost weight because I'm never hungry from being sick so much, but hey, get it where you can.  Also, being sick introduced me to both New Girl, which successfully pushed Zooey "tandem bike-riding, ukulele-playing, manic-pixie-dream-girl" Deschanel off my shit-list and back onto my tolerable in the correct context list, and The League, which made me kind of wish I understood football a little bit better, but not enough to even Wikipedia it, because mostly I'm too busy thinking about how big my crush on Mark Duplass and Jon Lajoie is.

I needed a change.  I was starting to stagnate, and it was driving me nuts.  My job went through a sudden and unexpected upheaval, and it was jarring, to be sure, but I feel like I'm making progress again.  I think I'm on a better track toward finding what's right for me.  And now that I'm moving, it's easier to keep that momentum up.

My left arm is getting really strong from holding my steering wheel a little left of center all the time.

More change is on the horizon, but I have a feeling that if I just remember to lean into it, things will work themselves out.  I do envy Rachel and Ryan and their new search for fulfillment, because I will miss them, but that said, they are inspiring me to find my own enrichment.

And it's all around.  It's just in the way I look at it.

Recap!

Rather than try to remember every important thing that happened to me in the past year, I'm just going to do a picture show.  In order to truly experience this, though, I think it's best to make it a montage.  So please listen to this while you scroll.

"Slung-Lo" by Erin McKeown

Here we go!

I smoked cigars.  Like a lady.

I took family photos at 1AM after Foxy Shazam concerts....like a lady.

I slept sometimes.

But not...often.

People got married!

Batman happened.

I almost got eaten by this shark.

But I lived to sing another song.

I held this baby, and I didn't drop him once.

I was in a play for the first time in almost two years.

I FINALLY got my tattoo!

I went to see Rocky Horror again.

I found friends to play with me forever and ever.

This pin-up girl bachelorette party happened!

This guy got older.

I accidentally dressed up like Where's Waldo on a regular day.

I directed a show, and I was really proud of it.

Monty had a rough start to the year.

Cancer's a bitch, but he pulled through like a champ.

Though now he sits like this sometimes...

But enough about my stumpy cat, I was also in this play.

I went on a spontaneous adventure.  (This is pretty much all of it.  It was great.)

I made this face.

And this face.

And also this face.

It's cool.  This guy gets it.

I got inked yet again.

I read a really good book...

...and MacGuyvered this toilet.

And through it all, I had these people at my side.  And I'm pretty happy about it.

Let's do this.

10 months.  9 days.  4 1/2 hours.  But I'm back.  And this time, I'm going to do my damndest to stick with it.  Because goals.  No apologies.  No regrets.  No promises.  Just goals.

Here are five things that I know:

1.  I like who I am today more than I did the last time I wrote an entry on this blog.  I'm not perfect.  I don't have things entirely sorted out.  But I've improved.  And I'm still improving.

2.  Sometimes, when something is so good it feels like there's no way it could last forever, that's because it's not supposed to.  A life well lived is in a constant state of flux.  Change is essential, and good memories are the true testament to success.  Let life live.

3.  Cheese is still delicious.  That is not a thing that will change.

4.  Sometimes, people prove that the world isn't a lost cause.  It's imperative to look for those moments and focus on them with all your might when you come across them.  Fill yourself with them, and you will be quenched when you suffer through a positivity drought later on.

5.  It's important to do at least one thing every single day that you feel passionate about.  That thing could be painting.  It could be writing a blog entry.  It could be as simple and seemingly meaningless as singing a song in the car that makes you feel better after a long day (mine is "Me & Julio Down By The School Yard").  It could be texting a friend to say hello.  It could just be the perfectly exquisite moment when you take your socks off at the end of the day.  Just as long as you acknowledge it.

I found my quote book on my bookshelf the other day.  For most of high school and college I carried around an increasingly battered composition notebook, which I filled with sayings and phrases I either heard or read.  Some of them don't speak to me the way they did when I penciled them in, but that's okay.  They spoke to me then.  But some of them still ring true.  I'll end this with a few of my favorites.

"Every person is just one, 'Oh, what the hell; why not?' away from a great adventure."  - Ryan McKernan

"There isn't enough time to do nothing!"  - Nate Higginson

"Who needs exercise when you can just laugh?"  - Rebekah Hudson

"Death's a comin' for ya, girl!  You've gotta grab life by the ass and cherish it!"  - Josh Fish

An Open Letter to Myself

This is my first real post in almost six months.  I won't delude myself into thinking that my multitudes of fans lost countless nights of sleep over my half year absence.  I assume you all supplemented your diets by rereading my past entries, stifling yours sobs in the sleeves of your favorite "sad day sweatshirts," before drinking yourselves into alcohol induced comas.

...

Obviously, I jest.  So, rather than attempting to resurrect what was never a booming fan base anyway, I'd like to take this time to get back in touch with the one person who actually suffered from this hiatus...

Dear Morgan,

First and foremost, I'm sorry.  I'm sorry that I didn't force you over the hurtle when you stopped feeling any creative drive last spring.  I'm sorry that I allowed you to get bogged down in your insecurities, and I regret that I ever let you believe that your talents weren't worth the pursuit.

The truth is, Morgan, I'm still scared.  I'm still insecure.  I still put on horizontal striped shirts on a regular basis, look in a mirror, and then talk myself out of leaving the house in them.  But here's the rub.  I love being creative.  I miss it.  I've been craving an outlet, and though this blog was right in front of me, the very first link on my favorites menu, I neglected it.  I neglected it because the longer I avoided my right brain, the more afraid I was that when I finally did try again, I would be out of practice, and I wouldn't know how to make anything good anymore.

It's time to move past my fear of inadequacy.  As Stuart Smalley once said:

If Michael Jordan can do it, so can I.

So Morgan, let's get one thing straight.  Even if no one else reads it or cares, you're going to hit post when you finish writing this entry.  Then you're going to turn off your computer, go to rehearsal and act the crap out of the first role you've undertaken in two years.  Because you're a damn good actress, and you love doing it. Do you hear me?  You love doing it.

And put that striped shirt back on.  You don't look fat.

Love always,
Morgan

Life Audit

Name: Morgan Springsteen

Age: 24

Marital Status: Single.

Weight: Bite me.

Current Hair: Short and red.

New and improved.

Employment Status: Full time receptionist.

Residential Status: Potentially evicted.  Verdict pending.  Seeking new dwelling quarters w. roommate Rachel.  Ambitiously pursuant of landlords unwilling to lease a house which has already been foreclosed upon by the bank.  Thanks for the pro-tip, current landlords.

Social Life (Rank from 1-10, in which 10 is Most Active): 11

New Friends: 10+ (Exceeds Expectations)

Feuds/Quarrels: Montgomery Fortenbacher

Culprit.

Crime:

This middle finger was not for him.  ...It is now.

Goals for March: New tattoo.

The White Tree of Gondor
Courtesy of J.R.R. Tolkien and The Oxford Literary Journal

General Health: Overcoming a cold.  Continually battling allergies due to uncharacteristically tepid Midwest winter.  Not complaining about uncharacteristically tepid Midwest winter... unless it means that the world is melting... in which case, it stands to reason that allergies are the very least of my concerns.

Coveted New Treasures:

Boots: JCPenney - $29
Skinny Jeans: Target - $25
Discovering skinny jeans can look good on you: Priceless

Weird leather tribal eyeball bracelet: Goodwill - $1.99
"It gets better" bracelet: Etsy - courtesy of Best Molly

New Collection of Gypsy Scarves: Goodwill/Meijer/Target/etc.

Overall Life Status: Hanging in there.

Why Maintaining a Blog is as Daunting as Running a Marathon

Once upon a time three or so months ago, I decided to do something creative.  I wanted to make something expressive, to push my imagination back onto the proverbial treadmill.  Just like me, it had gained a bunch of weight under the influence of crippling depression (and fast food) while living in Florida, and it didn't want to get off the couch, either.  But we gave each other an inspirational pep talk, and by the end of it we had agreed to start this blog and cut Taco Bell out of our diet.  Now, thirty pounds down, my old jeans fit again, and I'm happy to announce that vegetables and I have reconciled, and they have forgiven me for ignoring them for a year. However, my imagination is having a harder time transitioning back into its formerly active lifestyle.

It isn't that my imagination is being intentionally lazy.  It tries.  I can't tell you how many times in recent weeks I have opened a blank Word document, stared at it for thirty to sixty seconds, walked away from it, picked up a book, read a page, put it down, stared at the ceiling for ten minutes, decided I was simply not in the appropriate mindset to be effectively clever or entertaining, and gave it up as a bad job.

It seems appropriate to admit that after that last sentence, I walked away for two hours.

I think the biggest hurdle I have to jump is the debilitating insecurity that months of depression instilled in me. I spent a year convincing myself that my words were worthless, my thoughts inconsequential.  The entire point of starting this blog was to convince myself that my voice has value. Now I just have to convince myself to press the "Post" button.

A toast...

I've been thinking a lot about my dad today. It's been a while since I've taken a minute to just...miss him. Sometimes it feels like a pointless and futile thing to sit and pine for the dead. Where does it get us, after all? It doesn't make them less dead. However, grief is like the ghost in Super Mario World.  It only goes away when you stare it in the face. If you try to run from it, it chases you and gets bigger and meaner. ...Yup. Yes. Solid analogy. I feel really good about that reference.

So tonight, I face the ghost. I miss you, Dad. I hope that if you can see me, you're proud of your Princess Morningstar.  I'm endeavoring to persevere, just like you taught me. And tonight I'm drinking a beer for you.

So, a toast to my dad.  The biggest Eddie of them all.

Good Things That Have Happened

Since I haven't written a blog entry in roughly a month, here is a list of good things that have happened in that time.

1. Got a job!
2. Started job!
3. Love job!
4. Sang and danced with family to Ukrainian-American gypsy punk rock music.

5. Moved back to Grand Rapids. <3
6. Did a hot dog tour of Grand Rapids.  Hated self.  ...Loved self.
7. Spent New Year's with Bests Molly and Kyle, watching Austin Powers and Jurassic Park. Happy 1997.

8. Drank Dan Aykroyd chardonnay and smoked expensive stogies with Molly.
9. Saw a UFO.
10. Discovered that NewsRadio reruns are available on Netflix.
11. Watched endless amounts of NewsRadio reruns on Netflix with Best Sean.
12. Watched Fellowship of the Ring with MST3000-esque audience commentary.
13. Ate at Bartertown for the first time.  Life changing.
14. Regained some semblance of a social life.  Mostly didn't have to leave The Speeler living room.

 15. Figured some stuff out.  Not everything, but enough to start putting my life back together a bit.

Happy New Year.  2012 simply HAS to be better than last year.  ...You heard me, Mayan Calendar.

The Christmas Questionairre

I’m really starting to feel the holiday spirit (even though it's still not white out there)!  As the season really winds up, here are a few details about my seasonal traditions.

1. Egg nog or hot chocolate?
I'm definitely more of a hot cocoa person, but if given the option of any Christmas beverage, I'll still opt for my favorite tree trimming treat: a mug of coffee with a shot of Amaretto (since I’ve been old enough, of course) and cream.  Warms the cheeks and the soul.

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just set them under the tree?
I think it was my eighth Christmas morning that I noted how strange it was that Santa had the same wrapping paper as my mom.  Even his penmanship was a match.  My mom stared at me when I confronted her about this, slightly taken aback, and then my dad smirked and said, “Well, he delivers them all in one night.  You expect him to wrap them, too?”

3. Colored or white lights on tree/house?
Personally, my preference is white lights outdoors, colored on the tree.  I’m a minimalist.  However, I love the people who take the time to create the cookie cutter looking houses.  I haven’t done a lights tour in years.  That’s a tradition that I want to reinstate with my own kids someday.

4. When do you put your decorations up?
It varies each year, but I assure you, never one day before Thanksgiving.  We are a family that believes in celebrating one holiday at a time, and Thanksgiving gets its fair share of attention before we worry about hanging the holly.

5. What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)?
Green bean casserole is essential, but no holiday season is complete without my Aunt Jody’s cheesy mashed potatoes. It has cream cheese in it.  Yeah.  You know you just made the Homer Simpson Sees a Donut noise.  Don't even act like you didn't.

6. Favorite holiday memory as a child?
This isn’t specifically a Christmas memory, but I have a vivid and cherished recollection of my dad, every winter, standing on the hearth in front of our wood stove, warming his haunches and relaxing after a long day at work.  One hand would be in his pocket, the other usually clutching a can of Busch Light, with which he gestured and pointed animatedly as he regaled us with long stories of his day, life, or pure creation.

7. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa?
“Though I’ve grown old, the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe.” –Chris Van Allsburg

8. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve?
For as long as I can remember, our Family Christmases have been on the same day each year.  Christmas Eve has always been spent with my dad’s family, Christmas morning at home, and Christmas Day with my mom’s family.  It has been such a beautiful blessing that my entire family (both sides) has stayed, for the most part, within a twenty-or-so mile radius of one another.  So yes, we were allowed to open Springsteen Family Christmas gifts on Christmas Eve.  Santa and my parents saved their treasures for the next morning.

9. How do you decorate your Christmas tree?
See my previous entry for full details.

10. Snow: love it or hate it?
LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE IT.  Do you hear that, Mother Nature?  I’m STILL dreaming of that white Christmas.  Get on it.

11. Can you ice skate?
When I was little and Pearl Lake would freeze, we would go down and shovel off a large square in front of the VFW Park.  Then my dad would take a few buckets of water out and pour them on the ice, to smooth out all the rough edges.  The next day we would come back to find our ice rink ready, and often in use.  To this day ice skating is one of my favorite winter activities, though I don’t claim to be very graceful or good at it.

12. Do you remember your favorite gift?
The year I received a pink tutu, pink tights, and pink pig slippers (which I OBVIOUSLY wore together, because that’s clearly how they were supposed to go), I refused to take the outfit off for all the world.  After what I’m sure was a pretty epic battle, I remember sitting victoriously in the backseat of the car, wearing boots (the pig slippers begrudgingly left behind) and a puffy winter coat over my ballerina garb, on our way to my Aunt Tammy’s.  Though I loved my tutu, I think it was winning the wardrobe battle that I truly cherished.  Victory.  Best present ever.

Giant red winter mittens were another choice accessory.

Give me some credit.  They match better than Sister's socks.

Do not let that shy smile fool you.  I was a monster.

13. What’s the most important thing about the holidays for you?
I know it probably sounds like a canned or cliché answer, but family truly is the most important thing in the world to me.  That said, I include many people in my family.  My friends are my second family, and I love them just as fully as if they were blood.  The older you get, and the more hardships you face, the more you realize that people are what makes life worth living.  Without companionship, the world is a dull and invalidating place.  This, of course, is a sentiment that we should carry with us throughout the year, not just on the Yuletide, but this is the time of year for reflection.  It is a good time to pause and consciously consider how much there is to be grateful for in the world.

14. What is your favorite holiday dessert?
Though I’m far more of a salt than a sugar person, I do love cream cheese cookies.  I’m pretty boring, though.  I don’t want a bunch of frosting on them—just plain, simple and slightly doughy.  I could polish off a platter by myself.

15. What is your favorite holiday tradition?
 In recent years my mom and I have started the tradition of drinking a beer together and listening to our favorite “grown up Christmas story” on CD.  David Sedaris’ The SantaLand Diaries is a side-splitting good time.  If you haven’t experienced it for yourself, I highly recommend it.


16. What tops your tree?
As far back as I can remember our tree-topper has been a straw star that my mom found at a garage sale.  It doesn’t light up.  It’s nothing special, but it fits our taste perfectly.

17. Which do you prefer, giving or receiving?
I think in my heart, I’m a hobbit.  So obviously, I prefer to give.  I love thinking about the perfect gifts for people and seeing their faces when they tear the paper away.  I think that’s why I’ve never been an advocate for Christmas lists.  They stress me out, both to write and to read.  I can never think of anything I desperately want that I can’t just get for myself.  I feel selfish and greedy.  When I read them, I feel like it takes all the fun out of the treasure hunt.  I love collecting ideas throughout the year and then springing something on someone that they mentioned in passing back in March.  The whole thing just feels far more fulfilling when I have to dig for clues and then really crack it.  Frankly, just set aside some quality time and have a conversation with me that we haven’t had time to have in months.  I promise that will mean more to me than any trinket.

18. What is your favorite Christmas song?
“Old Toy Trains” by Roger Miller

 
Maybe my grandpa used to sing it, or maybe that’s something that I made up in my head.  Either way, it makes me think of him, because he loves Roger Miller and sounds a good deal like him when he sings.  This song just warms my heart.

19. Candy canes: yes or no?
Definitely yes.  I love to avoid biting them until they become needle sharp.  Of course, then I always stab myself in the mouth at some point, but I can’t help doing it again the next time.

20. Favorite Christmas movie?
I LOVE Christmas movies.  Forced into a corner, I have to settle for three equal favorites.

Favorite Funny:

Chevy Chase circa 1989...mm mm mm...if I had I time machine...

Favorite Fuzzy:

 Michael Cane is, hands down, my favorite Scrooge.  Also, Muppets.

Favorite Family:

I probably reference this movie about twice a week...and that's a low estimate.

 
21. What do you leave for Santa?
Dad said that Santa was likely to get diabetes, eating that many cookies in one night.  At his request, we always left him a beer, and sometimes a plate of cheese and crackers.  After my dad passed away, it became more of a present for him than Santa.  I like to assume that he took over Santa’s local route fourteen years ago, for my family at least.