Saturday, December 22, 2018

Welcome to My Dotage

I accomplished all of my Christmas shopping this past Monday. I owe my success again this year to my gift of organization and, more correctly, to the realization everyone in my orbit is better off when I pay someone else to wrap the presents I'm giving. 

This is from a really long time ago when I used to trail pieces of Christmas wrapping paper by strands of discarded cellophane tape from my shoe sole, sowing chaos rather than spreading cheer. 

At the time I called it:     

"A Steve Austen outfit..."

I almost forgot one of the more important traditions in my house at Christmas: Dad's badly wrapped gifts, under the tree resembling the dog's breakfast, especially in comparison to EVERYONE else's wrapping jobs. Even when they were small, really small, our two children could wrap a present better than I. 

I am incapable of figuring out how to take a flat sheet of paper and shape it neatly and symmetrically around a gift. It doesn't make any difference what size the gift is or how large or small the sheet of wrapping paper is. It doesn't seem to be a problem with the scissors or the sealing tape. I am forced to conclude it's O, H, S, &T, Operator Head Space and Timing.

This year I was going to do all gift cards-they come neatly packaged in their own festive envelopes. They stack very nicely, don't take up a lot of space under or near the tree and don't involve me looking foolish with tape, scissors, et al. 
Spread my gifts under the tree last night, as my daughter is home for the holidays from college, and looked at the display in the twinkling lights and 'underwhelmed' is the only word I can use. 

My project today is to battle the throngs of shoppers I thought I had cleverly avoided and get stuff that I am guessing my children and spouse may want or failing that, won't hate too much, ruin huge amounts of paper and tape wrapping them all up and place them, like bedraggled bits of road kill, under the tree so that everyone on Christmas Eve can look knowingly at one another and laughingly say as they pass the presents, 'here's one from Dad!' Father Christmas, indeed.
-bill kenny

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