Andrew Q. Gordon's Blog, page 52

Christmas ’13 Part 3 – ‘lil q’s Christmas Tree

Every year Mike and I have this debate with ourselves, should we get a tree or shouldn’t we? By the time we get around to buying one, half the Christmas season is over and we ask ourselves, do we really want to spend the time and money on a tree. Every year we come to the same conclusion – yes, we need a tree. This year, ‘lil q understands that ‘she’ has a Christmas tree – and it has lights. Sunday we decorated the tree.

We waited until she took her nap to begin. With two of us we just managed to get it done before she woke up.  When she saw her tree she was beaming. Made it so worth it just to see her smile. [I did say I was one of those parents.]

Christmas ’13 Part 2 – Christmas Shopping With ‘lil q

Trying to shop with a toddler is like trying to herd goats – it sounds hard, but it ends up even harder. But with the Thanksgiving to Christmas time at under 4 weeks, we had to ‘multitask’. One of the tasks I didn’t let fall by the wayside was out weekend daughter/daddy breakfast. Every weekend – usually Sunday – I take her out to eat while Mike walks the dog. I get so little time to see her during the week – she’s still sleeping when I leave and at most she’s up for 2 hours after I get home and that includes, dinner and bath time – that I wanted a time for just us. When asked where she wanted to go for breakfast – she said ‘pancake house.’ [Okay, I gave her choices and that was one of them, but she did pick it.]

After breakfast, we got in the car and drove to Annapolis to try and get the rest of the gifts on our list. We didn’t get a lot accomplished other than cards and a gift for her – (I might be deluding myself, but I don’t think she knew it was for her) – and not just because we couldn’t find gifts we wanted. The mall, in what I’m sure is meant to be a ‘family friendly’ move, has a child’s play area. The problem with a play area for little kids is, once she spotted it, she had to go. Shopping became a distant memory.

Being indulgent – and I admit to being very willing to give her some latitude when it comes to her having fun – we stopped to let her play.

A child has an infinite attention span for anything called a playground, play area, play room – pretty much anything marked ‘play.’ When I informed ‘lil q we had to go – and being honest, I told her twice and she told me ‘no’ – she decided to crawl into a little hideaway hole.  As I dragged her out feet first, the screaming began. It stopped only when she announced to the entire mall that she poo pooed in her diaper.

Now you’d think that a mall that places a children play area near a family friendly zone -(which I think was a temporary daycare) – would also put a kids bathroom next to the play area. Nope, they’re tricky people these mall owners. They put it down the hall, behind the food court with the ice cream and frozen yogurt shops. Oh and just in case that wasn’t enough, just before you get to the kid’s bathroom, they had a moon bounce place that invites you in, but hides the fact it’s not free by placing the fees on a letter sized piece of lamented paper. Saying no to that was almost as much fun as dragging her out of the hidey hole.

But we avoided, the moon bounce play area, the yogurt and ice cream shops and were on our way out when a tiny little children’s train drove by and tooted it’s whistle. Guess who had to go on the train ride? Here again, the mall people are tricksy. Given her age and size she had to be accompanied ‘by a paying guardian.’ Yeah, and to make it worse, the dag blasted little train was…well…little. For those who don’t know me, I’m 6’2″ and this was a kid’s train.  Another fun moment in shopping for me. She, however, had fun and that’s what mattered.

She had fun that is, until the 4 minute train ride ended and she wanted to go again. By my estimates, for a parent and child – since we have to go on it together – the cost per hour is about $250. So it cost more per minute to ride this silly little train than it costs to fly to North Carolina to see her grandparents. Even indulgent papa has his limits and I drew the line at one train ride.  And we were back to her screaming like I was killing her.

Fortunately cookies are a complete cure all and we stopped to get one on the way out.

This was her five minutes after we cleared the mall and made the highway.

 

Christmas ’13 Part 1 – Our First Holiday ‘Concert’

‘lil q had her first holiday concert on Friday. Yes, I’m one of those parents who took off work early to be there and to film it. She walked in with her class, looked around but couldn’t see us.  I snapped a few pictures:

Then made sure she saw me. If smiles could light up a room, hers and mine would have lit up the state – and possible the entire east coast. She launched herself at me and then sat in my lap while the toddler class did their song. Then it was time for the 2 year olds to do their part.  The first song was cute, everyone had their part in decorating the class tree:

After that – they all got up to sing and dance – I have to say, this is going to be a favorite for me for years to come.

After singing and dancing, we sat down for pizza, chips, cookies, and punch. Seriously, could their be a less healthy snack than that? Being the super contentious parents we are, we limited her to as much as she wanted. It wasn’t Christmas, but if felt like it to us.

Holiday Blog Event: Rick R. Reed – A Favorite Christmas Memory

One of My Favorite Christmas Memories

One of the greatest joys of my life is my son, Nicholas. He’s far away now, living with his husband, Tarik, in Montreal, but I miss him every day. Around the holidays, I think a little more about Nick and the many happy Christmases we shared when we were all living much, much closer together in Chicago.

One Christmas, though, stands out. Because Nick’s mother and I divorced when he was six years old, we had to share him on the holidays. Usually, I got Nick on Christmas Eve and his mom would take him Christmas Day. One year when Nick was in high school, all the forces aligned to make it a very special Christmas Eve for just the two of us.

It’s seldom we can have the luxury of not sharing our children with others, especially on special occasions like Christmas. But this time, this Christmas Eve, it was just Nick and myself. I will always hold this memory close and dear to my heart, not only because it was just us two, but because of the magic of what we experienced.

We started off with a nice dinner in the Wicker Park neighborhood. But then we headed downtown to south Michigan Avenue to see the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (CSO) perform Tchaikovsky’s the Nutcracker Suite. That iconic music was so wondrous and evocative, transporting us both to a yuletide realm that harkened back to both of our childhoods.

But then the CSO broke for intermission and did an even more amazing and interesting thing—a holiday twist if you will. When the curtain rose on the second part of the program, the CSO performed in conjunction with a jazz orchestra Duke Ellington’s own riff on the Nutcracker Suite, a vibrant and totally original take on the original.

It was an amazing night of music and togetherness. Nick and I returned to my apartment in the Ravenswood Manor neighborhood, where he stayed over, to be picked up by an uncle in the morning.

We exchanged gifts before going to bed. And Nick gave me one of the best gifts I have ever gotten—he picked his three favorite books and gave them to me. There was To the Lighthouse, All the King’s Men, and Light in August. The gift represented a common bond—a shared passion for reading and great writing. And it was simply a very thoughtful gift that I will always remember. And that Christmas, circa 1999, was one I will always treasure.

About The Author:

Rick R. Reed is all about exploring the romantic entanglements of gay men in contemporary, realistic settings. While his stories often contain elements of suspense, mystery and the paranormal, his focus ultimately returns to the power of love. He is the author of dozens of published novels, novellas, and short stories. He is a three-time EPIC eBook Award winner (for Caregiver, Orientation and The Blue Moon Cafe). Lambda Literary Review has called him, “a writer that doesn’t disappoint.” Rick lives in Seattle with his husband and a very spoiled Boston terrier. He is forever “at work on another novel.”

Links:

Visit Rick’s website: www.rickrreed.com

Follow his blog: http://rickrreedreality.blogspot.com/.

You can also like Rick on Facebook: www.facebook.com/rickrreedbooks

Or follow him on Twitter: www.twitter.com/rickrreed

Rick always enjoys hearing from readers and answers all e-mails personally.

Send him a message at jimmyfels@gmail.com

Holiday Blog Event: Lorraine Fico-White – A Sense Of Family

A Sense of Family

When I think of Christmas, I think of family. Christmas meant going to my grandparents’ home on Christmas Eve with my aunts, uncles, and cousins to feast on an abundance of food (always several different types of fish), play games, and laugh. We’d sing Christmas songs led by my uncle, who sang totally off-key. We made memories.

As we grew older and started our own families, we moved all over the United States—some of us even moved overseas. But I still wanted to instill a sense of family in my own daughter and son. The gatherings were smaller and less food was prepared, but somehow we all managed to stay close.

My children were fortunate to know their great-grandparents and grandparents. We created new Christmas traditions and kept some of the old. But most importantly, my children know that throughout their lives, they have best friends who will always be there for them in good and bad times—their family.

 About The Author:

Lorraine is the founder of Magnifico Manuscripts, which provides editing and proofreading services for national and international authors and business professionals. She works with a network of colleagues who can assist you on your path to publication if you require additional services. These experts include graphic designers, photographers, artists, copywriters, eBook formatters, and indexers. Her passion for the written word carries over from business to her personal life as she enjoys reading and belongs to two book clubs. She also enjoys spending time with family, riding her horse, protecting sea turtles, and relaxing at the beach.

Social Media Links:

http://www.magnificomanuscripts.com

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Magnifico-Manuscripts-Editing-Services/128223433892526

http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=93938271&trk=nav_responsive_tab_profile

http://www.magnificomanuscripts.come

Guest Author: Deanna Wadsworth

Countdown to Christmas with Erik
5 days and counting

Thank you for hosting me today, Andrew. I’ve enjoyed all the wonderful holiday stories you have been posting this month. They are fun and heartwarming—exactly what Christmas is all about.

My name is Erik and you may remember me from PIP’S BOXING DAY WISH, one of Deanna Wadsworth’s THE NAUGHTY NORTH POLE books which tells the story of how my boyfriend Pip and I became a couple. We first met in MS. CLAUS’S LIST when I signed up to spend Christmas Eve in Ms. Claus’s chambers. When I wrote my name down, I had no idea I would find the love of my life that day, or that he would be a man. But hey, this is the North Pole and Lord Claus is full of magic. He always knows what we want, not just for Christmas, but he knows the deepest desires of our heart.

I am the lead reindeer handler at the North Pole stables and this time of year we are insanely busy. Lord Claus—I can’t bring myself to call him Santa, that seems too informal—has two types of reindeer. The earthbound ones we use for manual labor at the Pole. Then we have the flyers. I think their name says it all. They are the reindeer that help Lord Claus travel around the world in one night delivering toys to all the good boys and girls. Their flight speed in incalculable in human time measurements, but let me tell you this, they have a voracious appetite. We feed them a special blend of, oats, protein supplements, sugar, and….well? I can’t give away all of our secrets. LOL

With less than a week before Lord Claus’s ride, my crew and I are busy getting the main team ready and three back-ups. We have never needed to rely on a back-up team, but I am a cautious elf. I don’t like to take chances. I was quite cautious when I first met Pip, as well. But now, two years into our relationship, I have learned to completely trust him. When an elf like me comes home, the last thing he wants to do is make more decisions. With Pip, I trust him so completely that I can just sit back and let him run the show—both in and out of the bedroom.

In fact, my lover tells me that he has a surprise for me on our anniversary—Christmas Eve—and I cannot wait. Pip is an inventive little guy.

To find out what happens, check out this link, Naughty North Pole Book 4.5

If you are enjoying his blog series, catch a list of all the dates HERE. This Monday there will be a new post at Silvia Violet’s blog by one of the elves who works with Pip. His name is Jimmy and it doesn’t matter what I say, he and Pip always seem to be in some sort of disagreement. Hopefully the Christmas spirit will make them nice to each other, but I’m not banking on it. My little peppermint Pip can be quite stubborn.

Please enter to win the first three NAUGHTY NORTH POLE books and a $20 Amazon gift card in the entry box below, before you go.

Then check out this exclusive excerpt from FUN & GAMES WITH RUDOLPH just for Andrew’s readers. The scene is where Lars asks me a very important question. I don’t think he likes my answer, but it is the truth.

Merry Christmas! And if you are lucky enough to catch a glimpse of Lord Claus in this sleigh this Christmas Eve, take a moment to remember all the hardworking elves who helped him get there. We love helping him spread Christmas cheer!

~Erik

a Rafflecopter giveaway

FUN & GAMES WITH RUDOLPH

Naughty North Pole Book Four

By Deanna Wadsworth

Blurb:

Lars is the sarcastic elf who runs Santa’s Mail Department and he follows the dating rule of “no repeats”. But lately he’s been having a romantic textlationship with another elf, via the dating app Elf4Elf. When his cyber boyfriend goes AWOL after a misunderstanding, Lars realizes too late that there is more to life than sex, work, and cookies.

On Christmas Eve, Santa asks Lars to personally deliver a gift to Rudolph—a former reindeer handler who left the North Pole because of a misunderstanding. Rudolph lives on the secluded Sugar Plum Ridge and the only way to get there is by sleigh. Lars just can’t get a break!

When a sudden blizzard forces the two elves to hole up in Rudolph’s cabin, will they find a way to make their own fun and games or will one surprise ruin it all?

One thing is certain: after this night, they both will believe in the magic of the Naughty North Pole!

EXCERPT:

While Ivan and Erik set up my sleigh, working efficiently with the leather straps and the numerous buckles and harnesses, the bells on the open sleigh jingled happily. I leaned against a hitching post, admiring their strong Dökkálfar bodies. Despite the cold, neither of them had coats on and Erik had his sleeves up, revealing large, hairy forearms.

Interesting. He must have shaved for our one night with Ms. Claus.

Pity. I loved a hairy man.

As Erik bent over, revealing the slight bulge of his junk below a perfect ass, my mind wandered to whether or not he was versatile. Did he let Pip fuck him? Now that would be fun to watch. Somehow, I couldn’t imagine it, though. Pip was probably the one taking that chocolate load.

“All set,” Ivan announced, drawing me out of my fantasy as he handed me the reins.

When Ivan smiled it lit up his rugged face and made him cute as a damn button. He even had the start of a beard on his chin. Once I got back from this errand, I’d definitely come looking for him. Hopefully, he had a friend or two who would want to join us.

“Thanks,” I said, giving him a wink. He blushed a little and I grinned.

Yeah, I still got it.

“Now, do you have any questions?” Erik asked as I situated myself in the driver’s seat.

“Just one,” I said, struck with an overwhelming burst of curiosity. “Are you bored?”

Erik frowned. “It’s a couple hours to launch time. I don’t have time to be bored.”

I shook my head. “No, with Pip. One man every day. Two whole years with no variety in the sack. Monogamy.” I shuddered at the word and repeated my question more slowly. “Are. You. Bored?”

A dreamy expression crossed Erik’s sharp features. “You spent the night with Pip. You know he’s a pretty inventive little fellow. I can tell you, our life is anything but boring. It just keeps getting better. Why do you ask?”

I should have expected such a phony-baloney answer.

Couples. They really are disgusting.

I shrugged. “Just curious.”

“Are you thinking about settling down?”

I made a disgruntled scoff. “No way. Why would I want that?”

Erik lifted his brows as if he did not believe my bravado.

Bristling under his knowing look, I asked, “So do you let Pip fuck you with that little peppermint stick of his?”

His face turned red and he scowled when Ivan sniggered. “That is not any of your business, Lars.”

I laughed right out loud. “Well, that answers that! Never would’ve pictured Erik as a big ol’ nelly bottom, eh, Ivan?”

The other elf buried a guffaw and Erik glowered at him.

“Now me, on the other hand….” I left my statement hanging with promise for Ivan, pleased by the interest sparkling in his dark eyes. Yeah, I wouldn’t mind sampling whatever candied delicacies this guy had to offer when I got back.

Wearing a sarcastic grin, Erik gave Lula a hard slap on the rump. “Have a safe trip, Lars.”

The animal lunged forward, jerking both the sleigh and her harnessmate. I almost fell from the bench. After I righted myself, I glared at Erik. “Touchy, touchy.”

With a smug grin, he sauntered off. Ivan offered me a shy smile and waved goodbye, hurrying to catch up with his boss.

Holiday Blog Event: Melanie Marshall – Memories of Christmas Past

Memories of Christmas Past

Christmas holds so many wonderful memories of family and Christmas past that when Andrew asked me to share something about Christmas especially in regard to families and children, I found myself reliving so many joyous Christmas memories, both from my childhood and my daughter’s, recent and decades ago.  It was a tough choice but in the end I chose to go way back to my own childhood and an overworked Dad and Mom who never failed to bring the magic and joy of the holiday season alive each and every year.

Although my Mom was always an important “behind the scenes” partner in our family’s Christmas, it was left to Dad to put together the bicycles or anything that required tools and mechanical skill.  And it was Dad who supplied the special touches that I remember with a sparkling clarity today.  We always lived in small houses that had fireplaces both by choice and necessity.  With parents born and raised in the South, fireplaces were a rarity and not often needed.  So Mom and Dad found them not only charming and unusual but needed in the colder climates of New York and New Jersey where our family ended up as Dad took one education job after another.  Dad loved building fires in the fireplaces and took great pride in building them “just a certain way”.  But at Christmas time, those fireplaces took on a special meaning as that is where Santa would appear to bring our gifts on Christmas morning. And it all started the night before Christmas.

Our stockings “were hung by the chimney with care”, just as in the poem.  They were made by my grandmother, a seamstress of note, and I still have mine, ragged and threadbare, all these decades later, our names carefully stitched along the white fake fur at the top.  Everyone in the family had a homemade stocking and each was hung over the fireplace, from Dad’s to Alison, the youngest child.

Christmas Eve was full of preparations and anticipation. My grandparents would arrive from Florida to help out and keep us kids occupied. Mamaw was in charge of the baking. A small batch of sugar cookies were made that day before Christmas with green and red sprinkles flying everywhere . Pepaw made sure a special glass that we used every year just for Santa was washed and ready. And if he filled another with something fragrant and “medicinal”, well it was the holidays. As the cookies baked in the small kitchen, Alison and I would scramble over to the tree decorated in the corner, shining with tinsel, bubble ornaments, and those large bulbs that used to  overheat the longer they stayed on.  We would carefully peak under the tree to see what boxes lay there and whose name was on the labels.  This is where Pepaw really came in, he policed that tree as though it was a castle rampart and we were the enemy.  Oh the squeals as he “captured us” and held us above his head, yelling “gotcha, you rascals”.  He had to keep it mild, otherwise there would be a “Oh, John, ….”, coming from Mamaw and the kitchen. We may not have know what those other words meant but we knew he shouldn’t have said them and we giggled.

There weren’t many presents as my parents couldn’t afford it on Dad’s first job’s salary and with Mom not working but it seemed like a mountain to us kids.  Plus with Pepaw and Mawaw, the boxes multiplied after the suitcases were emptied upon my grandparents arrival.  After dinner on Christmas Eve and everyone made sure we were tucked away in our rooms, then the magic really started.  All the gifts would be hauled out of the hiding places and the assembly would start. Mom and Mamaw brought out the milk and cookies,  Pepaw supervised and Dad?  Well, Dad became Santa. Dad would bring out his old black galoshes and remove the fire grate from the fireplace.  The ashes from the fires recently lit remained and Dad used them to tell us a story.  With great care, he made footprints with those boots, coming from directly under the chimney and with ashy bootprints, “Santa” marched across the living room (carpet and all), drank Santa’s milk, ate some of his cookies (always making sure to leave one partially bitten), then over to the tree.  There the footprints went this way and that, as toys from stuffed cats to sleds were carefully placed, along with mysterious packages that had huge bows and labels that read “from Santa”.  Finally, the footprints made an ashy path back to the fireplace, where Santa “flew up the chimney with great care” off to deliver more presents to children elsewhere.

Christmas morning and oh the joy of finding that Santa had been there.  We ran, tracing his path from fireplace to our tray of treats and finally to the tree.  The adults watched and took pictures as bows and paper flew through the air.  As things calmed down, Dad would point out that Santa had left, via the chimney and we would run and look, marveling that he could fit up anything so small.  Then Dad would hand out the rest of the presents, one to each person to open before going around again.  And finally, the proceedings would end with everyone at the table having a huge Christmas and very southern breakfast, with Dad at the head looking very satisfied and happy.

The years passed, the footsteps continued until one year they didn’t make an appearance, we young adults deemed to old for Santa (and we probably had something to do with that).

But if someone would ask  me today if there was a Santa, I would have to say yes, there is a Santa.  Mine has gotten older, hair as white as, well, snow.  His steps are not as sure and his back a little bent.  My mother, his own “Mrs Claus”. is still at his side while he still builds his fires “just a certain way” as the Christmas tree with all our old ornaments still shines as brightly next to the fireplace as I remember it all those years ago.  Those ashy boots made a reappearance with his grandchildren who now have the same memories I have of the magic of Christmas morning and the certainty that Santa was real and had been there to deliver, not just packages, but the miracle and magic of a jolly old elf and eight tiny reindeer.

Through all these years we never asked and Dad never told the story of the bootprints made of ash.  We never will. And isn’t that what Christmas is really about?  Love and the willingness to do whatever it takes to make others happy, to bring magic and joy to those we love and hold dear?

Merry Christmas, Santa!  Merry Christmas to one and all!

 

About The Author:

Melanie Marshall is a friend who I met through the Metro DC Area MM Romance Readers. She is an avid reader and reviews many books on her website: Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words. She also very good with little children, just ask ‘lil q.    You can find here on her website:

http://scatteredthoughtsandroguewords.com

Holiday Blog Event: Amy Lane – What Santa Doesn’t Tell You

Kids and Christmas—What Santa Doesn’t Tell You

Even though my oldest son was born on December 12th, let’s face it—that first Christmas was sort of a bust from his end, and the second wasn’t much better.  I mean, long hours, lots of people, too much noise, too much excitement, and too many people not-the-mama or want-the-daddy are trying to hold you—how awesome can Christmas really be for the very very tiny?  The adults are losing their minds.  “Ohmigosh! It’s a toddler in a Santa hat, couldn’t you just die!” And seriously—you add a kitten to the picture or a puppy or hell, even a gold fish in a bowl with red and green rocks, and, yes, sugar shock will set in and we will really die of absolute cute—and what a way to go!

But for the little kid?

It’s a furry hat.  If you’re lucky, you have enough hair by then that it doesn’t itch. The lights and ornaments on the tree are awesome until ten people yell at you to not play with them/yank them down/stick them in the light socket/hang them from the cat.  So for most kids—Big T included—the first two big holidays are sort of like a William Faulkner novel: Sound, fury, nothin’.

No, it’s true.  My December born Big T was no exception.  In fact, for Big T, Christmas magic didn’t really start until September 24th before his third Christmas.  That’s when his best Christmas present arrived (at least she was ordered on Christmas Eve, if her birthday is to be believed) and that was his little sister.

All of a sudden, Big T had something to offer the holidays.  He got to be the big brother.  Yeah, the little sister was wiggly, stinky, and a pain in the ass—however, she also didn’t know anything about Christmas, and by now, T was a veteran.  He didn’t talk by this time—in fact, his Communication Handicap was just making itself known.  But he did spend lots of quiet moments making wordless sounds at the wriggling pink thing, and he tried to put presents in her clenched little hands at every opportunity.  I imagine he was explaining things like presents, and lights, and trees in the house, and that the music was nice, so that she wouldn’t be quite as overwhelmed as he was.

For me, that was when Christmas with kids really started.

It might have been different if we’d kept T as an only child.  (For one thing, he eventually would have gotten that room made of Legos that he’s felt cheated out of all his life.)  But we didn’t—we had three more kids, and T, who could have been fated by his handicap to be locked into a solitary brain by awkward words, was suddenly the big brother, the standard bearer, the one who got to do it all first and tell the other kids what it was like.  By his very nature he is a sharer, but by circumstance he is the leader.  He is the one who makes sure the younger kids (much younger than he is, by eleven and thirteen years) get to watch The Grinch Who Stole Christmas and Santa Claus is Coming to Town.  He is the one who is willing to take small children to a really awful kids’ movie so mom and dad can wrap presents in Santa paper.  He’s the one who lectures on selfishness (because he seems to have forgotten the twenty-item Christmas lists he used to give us back in the day!) but he is also the one who spends what little money he has on his siblings.

And his little sister is just like him.  Except she likes to bake cookies on top of it.

Now, some people (my sister!) will say that youth is a bigger advantage in parenthood than experience.  They’ll tell you that you don’t play with your children as much as an older parent, and, yes, to some extent that is true.

But I’ve never been so tired and so old that I’ve forgotten any of our many Christmas traditions, from crafting to fried chicken for Christmas Eve to driving around watching the lights.  And now, as my older children enter their twenties and my younger children are still possessed of the inexhaustible energy of grade schoolers, I am possessed of some very salient Christmas truths:

A Christmas loved is a Christmas shared. That was true of Big T and Chicken when they were watermelon squirts on the carpet, and that’s true of them now that they’re grown and fully realized people.  It is not Christmas for them if they are not bickering over movies or music or the best kind of cookie.  It is not Christmas for them if they are not sharing it with their siblings.  And it is not Christmas for me if I’m not watching them all together, raucous and loud and sometimes obnoxious and sometimes heartbreaking, sharing a holiday whose principle charm for all of us is being together.

And Christmas traditions are best when you see the best ones carried on.  My younger kids have been getting gift certificates from Target as bribes from the school system.  (I cannot explain this.  Suddenly, the gift cards come home in their backpack, and I am like “What did you do?”)  Squish and Zoomboy had plans for those cards—oh yes.  They have toys that they want, and no one can fault them that.  But they also said, “And now we get to buy Christmas presents with our own money!”  And that made me proud.

For the last week, Squish, aged seven, has been working hard on the potholder loom that we got her last year, and every time she’s done, she decorates a piece of binder paper, writes “To:  —–   From: Squish” and has us help her tie a ribbon around it.  We’re not supposed to know what they are—but it’s very apparent that just like her mother who knits and her father who makes fudge, she’s making people things for Christmas.

Big T would rather buy Christmas presents for his siblings than shoes, and Chicken, who is in animation school, makes us animated .gif(t)s.

That’s where I get most of my Christmas joy.  Watching my children grow through this time of the year and watching them love each other.  It’s like my Christmas present is getting to see that I’ve given them the best parts of myself along with the worst.  It’s my gift to myself, proof that the hopes every parent has for his or her children aren’t all in vain.  As I tell my kids when we take them shopping or bake cookies or go cruising for lights: “Just remember this moment when you’re picking out my nursing home.”

“Yeah mom—we’re keeping you in a shack in the back yard.”

Yup.  See?  That’s Christmas traditions in action.

About Amy Lane:

Amy Lane dodges an EDJ, mothers four children, and writes the occasional book. She, her brood, and her beloved mate, Mack, live in a crumbling mortgage in Citrus Heights, California, which is riddled with spiders, cats, and more than its share of fancy and weirdness. Feel free to visit her at www.greenshill.com, or www.writerslane.blogspot.com, where she will ride the buzz of receiving your e-mail until her head swells and she can no longer leave the house.

————————–

 

Check out her latest release, Going Up, available Christmas Day from Dreamspinner Press.

Twitter: @amymaclane

FB: Amy Lane

FB Fan Group:  Amy Lane Anonymous

Website: Green’s Hill

Blog: Writer’s Lane

 

Wednesday Briefs – A New Beginning – 10

A New Beginning – 10

“You did all this to get me here?” I never thought I’d be so angry at Griffin that I wanted to hit him. “Do you know the innocent lives you put at risk?”

I sensed the changes in his body, enough that I knew he understood the implications of what I’d said.

“Yes Daniel, you would be the guilty if that had happened.”

“It wasn’t just to get you here. They needed proof.”

Yes, they. “When?”

Griffin shifted his weight, looking over my shoulder into Barrington’s house. “Can we have this discussion inside?”

“No.” In my anger I could feel the cold, emotionless part of me creep closer to the surface. Betrayal only happened when you trusted someone. Gar never let anyone close enough to trust.

“They approached me after Ryan’s funeral.”

“Why?” The rasp in my reminded me how easy it would be to slip back into my old habits. Never again. “Come in.”

I turned on my heel not waiting for an answer. Barrington watched intently from the kitchen doorway. If I’d read his mind, I’d have confirmed the glee I saw in his face. He’d get what he wanted and he got to see Griffin – the one I trusted – screw me over.

“I’d leave if I were you. Gloat anymore and I’ll leave without a trace.” I raised an eyebrow. “Then we’ll see who smirk last.”

“Still looking for a way to weasel out of our agreement?” Despite his words, I could see I’d made my point. “What happened to honor?”

“Trying to shame me into keeping my promise won’t work. I don’t care about you, how you feel, or your opinion of me. I’ve given you my word and I intend to keep it, but that can easily change if you annoy me. Are we clear?”

“We had a deal.” A fire smoldered in his eyes, but it came with a look of defeat. “I expect you to keep it.”

Engaging him further would hinder my need to reign in my fury, so I let him go without any response. I found Griffin a few steps inside the door, staring at the sleeping agents.

“Show them out. I’ll wait for you.” I flicked my hand for effect and the three roused with a start.

To help Griffin, I made sure the trio couldn’t see me. I heard their confused questions, but didn’t listen. I wanted to clear my mind and didn’t need to follow their progress. If they didn’t leave quickly, I’d make sure they had the urge to leave Barrington’s house immediately.  Fortunately they listened to Griffin.

I replayed what I’d seen in Griffin’s mind until I heard the door close. He hesitated before he moved closer.

“You asked me why, but you know already.” He waited for me to look up, but I kept my focus on the carpet. The fire of my rage had been banked, but it could easily be roused without much effort.

“I want to hear it from you, in your words.” It wouldn’t help me, but making him tell me would force him to confront what he’d done and why. Slowly I lifted my eyes, not trying to hide the betrayal I felt.

He licked his lips and swallowed or at least tried. I could imagine how dry his mouth felt at that moment. “Fine. You want me to tell you?”

“I do.”

“Look, I know you’re mad, but….”

“But what Daniel? Are you going to tell me you didn’t mean to fake your own kidnapping to bring here so I could be tested? Or that the people you work for are only trying to protect the country? Or–” I took a step closer, “–are you going to tell me you’re not just like him.”

I pointed toward where Barrington had left and watched as his eyes followed my arm.

“It’s not like that.” For the first time since he’d arrived, he refused to meet my gaze. “After the funeral they approached me. At first it was just to verify information, then they wanted my help so they could meet you.”

“Test me, you mean.”

“Think about this from their perspective. No one really knows what you really are, so we needed to be cautious.”

“We, is it?” I hated this whole affair. “Now you’re part of it?”

Griffin chewed on his finger for a moment. “I know you’re not happy, but they needed to be sure you could what we all think you can.”

“Why?” I threw my arms out and he flinched. “You know the answer is going to be no. What’s the point of being sure?”

“They think you’ll change your mind after they show you what they have.”

“I don’t care what they have, my answer is the same. No.”

When I turned to leave Griffin put his hand on my arm. He couldn’t have held me, but I stopped anyway.

“It’s that important. I risked my career and my life for this. Please.” He squeezed my arm. “Hear them out?”

My rejection should have been instantaneous, but his sincerity muted my response. I once told him he was a good man, and today notwithstanding, I believed those words. At his core, the place he couldn’t change, he believed what he’d done was right – more than right, necessary. The ends don’t justify the means, but it seemed my life followed that principal to the letter.

“Tell your boss I’ll meet with him.” Griffin smiled and he let go of my arm. Before he could leave, I grabbed his arm. “With one condition.”

Griffin looked skeptical, but he nodded. “What is it?

“Get Barrington reinstated.” Griffin’s jaw dropped.

“I can’t promise that.”

“I made the deal to find you. The taste of bile is already strong, I’m not going to add to it now that I know you weren’t kidnapped.”

“What if they won’t or can’t?”

“Then they can kidnap you all they want, but they’ll never find me again.”

Be Sure To Check Out The Briefs Of These Other Flashers:

Find all your favorite flashers in one place and read the first 100 words on the groups website:

Wednesday Briefs Website:

or click on the individual links below:

Jon Keys
Lily Sawyer 
JC Wallace
MA Church
Chris T. Kat
Shelly Schulz
Rob Colton
Nephylim 
Lily Velden 
Grace Duncan  
Renee Stevens
Tali Spencer
Cia Nordwell
Julie Lynn Hayes
Victoria Adams

Holiday Blog Event: Shira Anthony – Generation to Generation

לדור ודור (“From Generation to Generation”)

I grew up in a household with two non-observant (culturally) Jewish parents, but that didn’t stop us from singing Christmas carols or even having a Christmas tree. To say I was a bit confused about religious holidays as a kid is probably an understatement: I was totally lost!  As I got older, I came to realize that Jews have an innate need to be part of the “feeling” of the Christmas holiday season.  I think this is part of the reason that Chanukah, one of the least important Jewish holidays, has become a fixture of American holiday culture.  Perhaps it also explains Jews’ uneasy relationship with Chanukah. But to only look this far in understanding Jews’ relationship to holidays is to miss what I believe is the most important part of the equation: the celebration of family and the need to remember those who have come before us.

My grandfather, Jacob, fled Russia during the violent and bloody pogroms of the early 20th Century.  The pogroms were massacres by the Russian authorities of helpless villages, mostly Jewish. Men, woman, and children were slaughtered without warning as the Russian’s “purged” the countryside of schtettels (Jewish villages).  As a boy, Jacob watched as his sister and father were murdered attempting to flee.  Jacob made it to the United States, where he graduated at the top of his class from pharmacy school and later opened his own pharmacy in New York City. Quite amazing, really, for a teenager who spoke no English when he arrived at Ellis Island (although he spoke Hebrew, Russian, and Yiddish fluently).

When Jacob left Russia, he and his surviving family carried next to nothing with them.  But there are a few artifacts that survived, including a pair of silver candlesticks used for Sabbath prayers, a silver Sabbath cup, and a menorah.  That’s right.  A menorah: the symbol most people associate with Chanukah.  But not the kind of menorah you are probably used to seeing that looks like a candelabra—this menorah is a set of 8 metal chairs (tiny, doll-sized seats) with wells where the cushion would be.  These wells were filled with oil and the oil was lit over the 8 days of the holiday.  I am lucky enough to be the “keeper” of all these artifacts for the next generation.  Which brings me to what I’ve come to understand is the true purpose of Chanukah—of any holiday, really—for Jewish families.  L’dor vador.  “From generation to generation.”

When I see that ancient Chanukiah (another word for menorah), when I see the candlesticks with their dents and wobbly bases, and when we use that silver cup, I remember those who have gone before me—those men and women without whom I wouldn’t be here, let alone my children.  Men like Jacob, who overcame terrible circumstances so that I could live a better life here in the United States.  Sometimes I forget I’m only a second generation American.  Sometimes I forget what sacrifices my ancestors made so that I could live the full and happy life I do.  That’s l’dor vador.  The shoulders I stand upon.  The menorah is my connection to past generations, as are the holidays.

Holidays are a time to remember and be thankful.  Sure, Jews embrace Chanukah in part because Christmas is such a huge part of American culture.  We don’t want our children to feel left out.  We sing, we light the candles, and we give our children gifts.  But celebrating Chanukah or any holiday is a way to reconnect with our past and remember.  A way to pass memories and hope from generation to generation.

So this holiday season, I’ll remember Jacob when I light the candles with the son I named for him. Some day my Jacob’s generation will remember mine. Each holiday is a reason to celebrate and to remember. -Shira

About The Author:

Shira Anthony was a professional opera singer in her last incarnation, performing roles in such operas as Tosca, Pagliacci, and La Traviata, among others. She’s given up TV for evenings spent with her laptop, and she never goes anywhere without a pile of unread M/M romance on her Kindle.

Shira is married with two children and two insane dogs, and when she’s not writing, she is usually in a courtroom trying to make the world safer for children. When she’s not working, she can be found aboard a 35’ catamaran at the Carolina coast with her favorite sexy captain at the wheel.

Shira’s Blue Notes Series of classical music themed gay romances was named one of Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Word’s “Best Series of 2012,” and The Melody Thief was named one of the “Best Novels in a Series of 2012.” The Melody Thief also received an honorable mention, “One Perfect Score” at the 2012 Rainbow Awards.

Social Media Links:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/shira.anthony

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4641776.Shira_Anthony

Twitter: @WriterShira

Website: http://www.shiraanthony.com

E-mail: shiraanthony@hotmail.com