I’ve been focusing on political issues of late. Nothing wrong with that but this was intended to be an eclectic blog … covering serious and reflective themes with some humor occasionally thrown in. With the Christmas season upon us, perhaps it is time to shift away from political doom and gloom. Surely, there are other topics that drive me to a similar level of despair.

Unfortunately, I must admit that the Yuletide doesn’t bring to me the normal quota of good cheer others claim for themselves at this time of the year. Perhaps my annual gift of coal from Santa had something to do with my Grinch-like attitude. Nooo, not that! I liked coal as a kid. We could use it to deface sidewalks and other public areas. Thinking on this matter a bit, my lack of good cheer emanates from other, perhaps more fundamental, sources. One possibility certainly is this insistance on gift-giving. Bah! Humbug!

I never could quite accept the general approbation heaped on Ebenezer Scrooge. I thought his attitude toward Christmas sensible and even admirable. It struck me that there was more downside to this season than any joy or good cheer, forced or genuine. For example, the mandatory shopping requirements and card writing exercises always drove me to distraction. Now, I can write books and academic papers but am useless when writing Xmas cards. My good spouse made me do the cards for my family one year. To a person, they contacted her to get me fired. Besides not being able to read my cursive scribbling (I got several failure warnings in grammar school for penmanship), what they did manage to decipher was deemed total ‘drivel.’

But back to the giving of gifts! It was not as if my gift list was long, a few at most. Still, the exercise drove me into deep pools of paralysis and then despair. Every year, I would fail to find the clothing sizes I put aside the year before for future reference. Even if I could find them, the shopping process itself brought me to my knees. While I could get up and give a talk before an auditorium full of people, even important people, dealing with a sales clerk brought me to my knees. They inevitably would ask … well, what does your wife like to wear? How am I supposed to know? That implies that I’ve been paying attention during the several decades of our marriage. Their subtle, but still disapproving look, is rivaled only by those young shits who work in tech stores. Those snotty geeks are always asking me about operating systems and mega-byte requirements when all I can handle is the on-off button.

Let me give you an example of my shopping acumen 🛍. I would be known to go into a store when all my sweaters had become tattered and stained, the latter happening overnight it seems. So, I wander in the store helplessly until I find a sweater style and texture I like. I select one that fits and then find a clerk. ‘See this one,’ I tell her (or him), ‘I want the same sweater except in every color and pattern you have.’ I then would get the ‘are you nuts’ look. But I never cared. Depending on how many colors (and patterns) they have, I figure I’m now good for several years. 😅

I suppose I could do the same for Xmas gifts. Find a size and style that works, then buy one in all the different colors and patterns available. Brilliant, no! I could have given my late wife one in the first year and store the rest of them for future years. A great plan except for one small flaw … she was never dumb as a sack of rocks. Just the opposite in fact. That ingenious plan would work with me … I am as dumb as a sack of rocks. But she would have seen through my plan in year two. Alas, I had to be creative each and every year, an impossible burden for a numb-nuts like me.

The highlight of my shopping career probably occurred the year I was racing through the Mall as the clock was reaching zero hour. The next day we would begin the trek north to the Twin Cities to her family home to celebrate and exchange gifts. Why her lovely parents, and they were lovely indeed, had not retired to Florida remained a mystery to me. Oh, how many times did the car freeze over, or we found ourselves skating back to Madison on the ice rink that once had been Interstate 94. But the trips to the frozen tundra of Minnesota are another story.

On this day, my panic level was higher than normal, though now I cannot recall why. I just didn’t think more expensive jewelry or fancy clothes would do the trick any longer. As the years passed, we became more affluent and had all the things we needed. Now we were into getting gifts that meant something, a concept way beyond my pay range. I was totally flummoxed that year until I came across a display of sewing machines. YES! All women like to sew, right? It was hard wired into their DNA. I read that somewhere. I whipped out the old check book and bought the most expensive machine they sold. Price was of no consequence when I was in full panic mode.

Now, my lovely spouse was used to seeing me load small to medium-size boxes into the car for the trek up to America’s Siberia, otherwise known as Minnesota. She spied this big box (wrapped professionally at the store) with great curiosity. Until she could rip the wrapping off on Christmas Eve, she could only shake the box and speculate on what the contents might be. But she was stumped, certain only of the fact that her Prince Charming had outdone himself this time. As the hours ticked off to the moment when all would be revealed, a gloom settled over me. I wasn’t sure why or how, but I sensed I had screwed up big time.

The moment arrived. She attacked the mystery box with the abandon usually reserved for a starving man being offered food for the first time in months. When the contents were revealed, her mother screamed in delight. Her sister-in-law screamed in delight. All the females present were ecstatic, screaming in delight. All but one! Mary’s eyes first widened in disbelief before narrowing in a look of total incredulity. If looks could have killed, they would have been affixing the toe tag to me at the morgue that very night.

Her worst fears were now confirmed beyond a shadow of any doubt. She had married a total and complete doofus. You see, Mary’s mother, though without education herself, was a woman ahead of her time. She told her only daughter that, if she did well in school, she would be exempt from learning any domestic skills. Mary never looked back, eventually graduating law school with honors and becoming the Deputy Director of the Wisconsin Supreme Court. Along the way, she never learned any of those other skills, including sewing.

To keep this narrative reasonably brief, I won’t bore you with the lessons she forced me to attend with her. Nor will I relate the excruciating story of our our joint effort to make a dress. Let me simply say that we got rid of this infernal machine in short order. One day, we were having drinks with several state workers. One of our female companions that day worked for a State Legislator and made little money. However, she had a keen interest in sewing. Our eyes brightened. Would she like a great sewing machine. ‘Oh, she would love a machine like ours but could never afford it.’ We rushed to correct her misunderstanding. We didn’t want any money. Hell, we would pay her to take it off our hands. She could not believe her good fortune. Neither could we believe ours.

I made errors like this all the time. Some of us are born stupid and no amount of education can correct our initial handicap. As I recall, Mary only made one, not for Christmas but for our Anniversary which, as our poor planning ensured, happened just before Christmas. Now, she was in Law School at the time and had just finished semester exams. That is, she was distracted. We were at a fancy restaurant celebrating this happy occasion when she retrieved a small box. Hmm, I thought. ‘It wasn’t clothes. Perhaps she had sprung for that Rolex Watch I coveted.‘ I burst out laughing upon opening it up. It was a high-tech nose-hair trimmer. As she stammered for excuses, I assured her that this was likely the best gift I will ever get. In truth, I cannot recall ANY OTHER gift I’ve received, but have never forgotten that one.

All I can say about Christmas and gift-giving. Bah! Humbug! An exercise in humiliation and agony for sure.