Christmas Eve Menagerie

Our Christmas Eve dinner hit a speed bump that afternoon before the gathering at 6:30. With nineteen people on their way over to our cozy cottage, we ran out of three spices - cinnamon, ginger, and oregano. I was dispatched to the local supermarket to resupply. Apparently, fifty-seven other people had the same assignment at the same time.

When I arrived at the spices aisle, it looked like a WWE free-for-all, women only. Suddenly I realized why Marco Polo was sent on his trip a few months back. To corner the market on spices! I ducked under a tall, young woman; pushed aside an elderly lady in a "Legalize Marinara" sweatshirt, and outreached a third Baby Boomer for my last item.

And split for home, where my long-suffering wife gave me a kiss for my efforts. Sometimes it's worth it to risk life and limb for a damsel in distress. I'm trying to get her to like me, and I think it's beginning to show progress..

Label Fable

I regularly acquire advice from a variety of sources, verbal and written, attempting to be kind and concerned, but oblivious to their condescension. One phrase pops up consistently. It is this, "people of a certain age." What they mean is "old folks." It's the imprecision of language that annoys me. Words mean things, or should, and flabby phrases just mentioned don't mean much at all. All of us are "people of a certain age," and I'd just as soon be called "John," if you don't mind. That is precise.