Goodbye, Christmas...

Dear Glob,

Today we de-Christmasized our house. Although post-Holiday cleanup is never any fun, this year was especially hard. It seemed like just yesterday the Roommates and I were picking out our perfect Tree… And now we were dumping it on the side of the road to be mulched. The Whale and P. told me that Bronx Zoo (foreshadowing, ha!) gives their discarded Trees to the Grizzly Bears, who have a grand old time tearing them to shreds. At least someone is enjoying the end of the Holiday season.

Just as I was wallowing deeper into post-Holiday depression, P. and the Whale, with their impeccable timing, called to invite me to the last day of the Bronx Zoo’s Holiday Lights. Desperately trying to hold on to the last dregs of Holiday spirit, I happily tagged along. Here are some highlights from our trip the Zoo:

1. Inside the Reptile House, a mouse, presumably dead, laid overturned on a branch. Perched not even a centimeter away, a Constrictor snake, as still as a stone, stared intently at his prey. The Whale, P. and I all waited for him to pounce, but even after we had returned to his cage after perusing the rest of the Reptiles, there they both were, snake and mouse, exactly in the same tantalizing position. Maybe this was fate’s way of keeping me a Carnivore.*

2. Watching a mouse nervously cling to the wire ceiling of its cage.

3. Making and eating a S’more, although I got melted marshmallow stuck all over my hair. Yum!

4. Petting and feeding sheep, cows and goats at the Children’s Zoo. The goats stole the show by being extra lovable and soft – who would have thought? While the Whale and P. remained enamored by the goats, I watched the peacocks sleeping high up in a tree, not knowing until that moment that peacock could fly.

5. Sharing a hot pretzel with mustard at the Dancing Crane Café, and catching a surprising Italian Karaoke performance.

6. Riding the Bug Carousel – I got to ride a Carolina Beetle, and even had my picture taken by the Zoo staff (to be posted in 1-3 days). The Whale and P., who is still very much pregnant, opted for the Dung Beetle pushing a “dung ball bench,” but then moved to a Honeybee, which P. rode while the Whale nervously stood beside her like a nervous parent. Ah, a Garp in the making.

All in all, I had a wonderful time - Thanks the Whale and P.! Although it was a bit weird to walk around listening to Christmas music a couple of weeks removed from the 25^th, in the end it turned out to be a great way to say one last “Farewell” to the season.

“So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye!”

*After watching SAP’s snake chow down on a couple of baby mice, and unsuccessfully trying to save one, I became a vegetarian for over 3 years and only recently began to regularly eat meat.

Fairytale of Shea Stadium

Dear Glob,

It was a warm and breezy August summer day. Our New York Mets were playing the Colorado Rockies in a game honoring the ’86 championship team. It was the summer I finally decided to give baseball a chance, and in an attempt to sway my allegiance towards one New York team, the Whale promised to take me to my first game at Shea Stadium. Keeping true to his word, the Whale and I headed into the city for a night of good old Boozy fun, unaware of the Ghosts from the Past sitting in the backseat…

Our adventure began in Brooklyn, where we met up with the Whale’s old friend, Jeff K. After being outfitted in an oversized bright orange Delgado T-Shirt, Jeff K. walked me through a “make your own disposable 3 plastic-bag lined cooler” demonstration as the Whale gathered together our massive array of food supplies. Beer and Bags in hand, we hopped on the G train and transferred to the 7 onwards to Willets Point-Shea Stadium. As the train neared the station, I caught my first glimpse of ballpark. A good sized crowd of Mets-garbed fans had already arrived for the game as we exited the station and made our way to the parking lot. Jeff K. picked out an unsuspicious corner, and we stashed our beer and food stuffs underneath a car marking our turf. Around us, other fans laid out chairs next to their opened car trunks and occasionally walked over to speculate on who from the ’86 team would receive the biggest rouse from the crowd. Avoiding dirty looks from a pair of patrolling cops, Jeff K. passed us beer disguised in red cups as the Whale and I puffed on cigars and snacked on Pork Rinds.

After watching Jeff K. unsuccessfully pawn off his extra tickets [Tickets, you need Tickets], we stashed the last of the beer underneath “our car” and woozily headed into stadium. Walking through a sea of Orange and Blue, we settled into our seats just in time for the introduction of the ’86 championship Mets. All riled up from the presence of the old time heroes, the crowd geared up for Game Time. First at bat for the Mets is Jose Reyes. Immediately, the crowd started up the first of many “JOSE, JOSE, JOSE, JOSE… JOSE, JOSE!” chants. This is where I feel Mets fans have one up on Yankee fans: the Jose chant. It’s easy, catchy, and fun as all bloody hell to sing when you’re amid hundreds of drunken sports fans.

“JOSE, JOSE, JOSE, JOSE… JOSE, JOSE!”

This is when things get a little fuzzy… Okay fine, I admit it - I had a beer or 10 too many and ended up passing out for a good 6 innings or so. When I finally woke up, it was the bottom of the 8^th and the Mets were whooping the Rockies by 2 runs. Besides a couple of more rounds of beer, which was obvious by the state both the Whale and Jeff K. were in, I had apparently also missed out on a spirited chase around Shea to catch Mr. Met. In the end, the Mets pulled off a win against the Rockies 7 to 4, and we joyously marched out of the stadium all the while singing, “JOSE, JOSE, JOSE, JOSE… JOSE, JOSE!”

Once again we ended up in the parking lot to finish off the last of beers still underneath “our car.” People honked horns as they exited, saluting the win and adding to our “JOSE, JOSE, JOSE, JOSE… JOSE, JOSE!” fervor. In the midst of all the singing, the Whale started to feel nostalgic and changed his tune to The Pogues’s “Fairytale of New York.” I don’t know exactly what kind of memories this song evokes for the Whale; only that P. once mentioned that while homesick on the plains of Mongolia, the Whale would sing this song to cheer himself up. Soon the Whale and I both began to butcher our way through the song, while Jeff K. and others watched from afar looking at us like we had lost our minds. The Whale and I, still revved up with seasonally early Christmas spirit, continued our spotty drunken rendition when a group of guys headed towards our corner. As the real owners of “our car,” they unlocked the doors and began to pile in. One of them lingered for a couple of seconds, watching the Whale and I repeating the same chorus, the only one we knew, over and over again… Next thing you know, to the Whale’s and my great surprise and delight, the owner of “our car” rolled down all his windows and started blasting the real version of “Fairytale of New York” on his car’s stereo. I can’t speak for the Whale, but even though I personally didn’t have any childhood memories attached to this song, I was filled with vivid joy and remembrance as the song burst through the near empty parking lot. The Whale and I sang and danced like madmen until the song came to an end. Afterwards we all shook hands and exchanged thanks for the unexpected serenade. Jeff K., the Whale, and I all waved farewell as the car and moment drove away.

It was Christmas eve, Babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won’t see another one

Sooner or later we all got back on the subway, when the Whale began his campaign to get off in Woodside for a visit to his old neighborhood bar, the Donegal Tavern. Jeff K. explained to me that once after another similar tailgating/Mets game night, the Whale went on and on about this bar, not letting up until all of them agreed to follow him around the street of Queens. On seeing the determined look in his eyes, Jeff K. and I loyally jumped off at the 51^st-Woodside station.

Absolutely positive he knew where he was going, we walked through the darken streets, passing the 108^th Precinct and other landmarks of the Whale’s past. Lighthearted and happy, Jeff K. and I listened to the Whale share stories of his childhood and of the people who lived in this Irish enclave of Queens. Suddenly our mood shifted as a cold wind sobered up the final remnants of our earlier buzz. We arrived too late. The Donegal Tavern had closed down.

In Memory of The Donegal Tavern

The Whale dejectedly peered through the gate, whispering how all the Irish had left the area. Jeff K. and I watched the Whale stare into the deserted bar, both of us at a complete loss of words. After a moment of silence, the Whale led us to his house right beside the Tavern. We walked into the Whale’s backyard and in the misty light from the dim streetlight I pictured a little Whale enjoying a warm summer night together with his Mom and Dad many moons ago.

The Whale's first house

We somberly walked back to the subway. Jeff K. broke the silence and passed around a bag of Skittles, offering “something sweet” amidst the sourness of disappointment. The Whale was inconsolable as he stood by himself on the subway platform, staring down at what remained of his now estranged old neighborhood. We boarded the next train and soon parted ways; Jeff K. and the Whale back to Brooklyn, and I to Rockland. Now by myself, I had a chance to digest exactly what happened on this very long roller coaster of a night; From cigars, carousing and caroling to lost souls wandering the streets of Woodside in search of the past, this night revealed to me a side of the Whale I had only heard about: An unruly, rebellious Whale growing up in a blue collar immigrant family, living amongst the fellow Irish in Woodside, Queens.

The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing Galway bay
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas Day

To the Whale on Christmas from your Secret Santa: Thank you for bringing me on this night of drunken tomfoolery and heart-wrenching/warming memories. Although I only had the opportunity to meet Sam just once, this Fairytale night gave me a better glimpse and feeling of family we never had a chance to know. Thank you for becoming a part of our crazy family… I hope we’ll do.

Merry Christmas Charlie Brown!

Dear Glob,

I remember one especially cool year when the Adults gathered us Kids in a room and told us to chant what we wanted most of all for Christmas. Little Chewie closed her eyes, balled her hands into tight fists, and repetitively whispered, “I want a Scrub-a-dub-doggy. I want a Scrub-a-dub-doggy.” After a minute of feverish wishing and hoping, Santa came through the front door with a big sack of presents. One by one, he called each Kid by name, handing them a personalized gift. When Chewie’s name was called, she ran up excitedly for her special gift, and underneath the magical wrapping paper was the much sought after Scrub-a-dub-doggy! “Wow… Cool, Cool! How did he know!?!?!” Little Chewie thought in amazement. Although this Scrub-a-dub-doggy was one of my most memorable Christmas gifts, one in particular still holds a special place in my heart…

As pre-Christmas ritual, Mojo and I would crawl underneath the branches of our tree in search for our gifts. Once we found one with our name on the tag, we would shake, poke and prod the box, each speculating on what could be inside. Through the eyes of Little Mojo and Little Chewie, the bigger the box the better the present. Usually the bigger gifts were for bigger people, like the year we gave Father a Compact Disc player, but Little Chewie never gave up hope as Little Mojo and she diligently checked each present. One year, Little Chewie noticed a nicely wrapped Big Box in our Yaya, Neila’s room. It was on the top shelf of a very high bookshelf, far from the reach of a curious Little Chewie. Everyday she would look in Neila’s room to see if the Big Box had been moved under the tree, but it would irritatingly remain fixed atop what might as well have been Mt. Everest. After furtively trying to reach the Big Box a couple of times, Little Chewie gave up, assuming it wouldn’t be for her anyway. Come Christmas Eve, the Family opened all their gifts in the usual state of frenzy and excitement. When all the gifts were distributed and unwrapped, Little Chewie looked around to see who had received the elusive Big Box. Not seeing it among the other opened presents, Little Chewie decided to ask Mother and Neila about the missing gift. At first, Mother and Neila were confused and had Little Chewie lead them to Neila’s room to point out the Big Box. Mother stood on the bed and, with ease, lifted the Big Box off the shelf. Much to her surprise, Mother then said, “Why, this is for you Chewie. Merry Christmas!”

Inside was something she had not requested, or even thought she ever wanted. It was a Talking Snoopy. Keeping in line with Mother’s no brand name frivolties, Talking Snoopy was Teddy Ruxpin’s unknown less successful spin-off. Like Teddy, Talking Snoopy wiggled his ears and nose as he read and sang songs along with an accompanying book. After the first story Talking Snoopy read to Little Chewie, they became inseparable. Eventually Little Chewie knew all the books and songs by heart. P. and Mojo quickly picked up on this development, and soon incorporated various Talking Snoopy songs into their famous “Sister Shows.*” Sadly, Little Chewie played with her beloved Talking Snoopy so often that it soon broke and faded into obscurity; Forgotten Again.

One year in college, my friend searched high and low on Ebay for a working Talking Snoopy after hearing this very same story, but unfortunately Worlds of Wonder had discontinued the toy and eventually went out of business in 1988. Talking Snoopy is now a rare collectors’ item, but will live forever in the memory of Little Chewie and others who were lucky enough to have him as a trusty companion and friend. Amazing how I still remember the lyrics to this entire song, but I believe Charlie Brown says, or sings, it best in this song excerpt from one of Talking Snoopy’s many books:

“Oh Snoopy, you’re such a friend to me
And nobody else knows what it means
To have you by me, whenever I feel blue
It’s good to know that you will be there…

Oh Snoopy, you make me feel secure
I'll hold you in my arms and you’ll be
The one and only Snoopy for me!”

*Interested parties need only ask and I’ll happily put on a tape of one of our shows. Being the Diva that I am, I have nothing to hide.

All Aboard the Holiday Express!

Dear Glob,

A couple of Holiday seasons ago, I was in the city running errands. After a long day of shopping and Starbuck coffee in the festive red cups, I hopped into the 14^th Street A/C/E station on my way back to Rockland. Although the MTA isn’t known for its punctuality, this particular train was taking a stubbornly long time to arrive. As a typical impatient New Yorker, I hovered at the edge of the platform, leaning forward every couple of minutes hoping to see the headlights of the next arriving train. Cold and tired from the day’s hustle and bustle, I perked up immediately upon hearing an unusually high pitched whistle echoing through the subway tunnels. People soon began to gather along the platform, and out of habit I leaned forward once again to steal an early glimpse of our train. To my surprise, instead of the everyday gritty metallic subway car, an old fashion wood paneled train began to enter the station. I quickly took a step back, afraid I having a holiday hallucination, but the Christmas train kept a’coming, blowing its festive high pitched whistle. As the first car came closer, I noticed a big wreath hanging from its windshield and a conductor, wearing a Polar Express-like blue uniform, waving happily to us passengers on the platform. The following cars were adorn with bright red bows and sparkling lights, all with the same beautiful golden brown paneling as the first. Swept up with the Spirit of Christmas, I waved back to the other conductors thinking I was the luckiest girl in the world to catch a ride on the Holiday Express, albeit a bit weird and random. Much to my dismay, the train never slowed its pace and with one last friendly “Toot Toot” of farewell, the train whizzed past the station, not admitting any passengers aboard. I stood there dumbstruck watching the train and all its Christmas cheer disappear into the darkness.

I don’t know exactly when I snapped out of my trance, but I quickly looked around to make sure someone else had witnessed this feat of Holiday Magic. People all around were rubbing their eyes in disbelief, shocked at what had just happened. I locked eyes with an elderly woman next to me who nodded her head in confirmation that she too had seen the Phantom Holiday Train. On noticing the disappointment in my face, she offered me a little shrug of condolence, suggesting that maybe next time the Christmas train rolled along, we would have seats in the first car... And not only would we have comfy seats cushioned with down, the conductors would also be passing out steaming cups of eggnog as children took turns sounding the high pitched whistle. A choir of passengers would sing all of our holiday requests, as we happily enjoyed the long journey up North... Our shared reverie was soon disturbed by a screeching A express train coming to a halt. Sadly, I waved goodbye to the old lady and boarded the train back to reality. Once I got home, I tried to tell anyone who would listen about my otherworldly subway experience, but everyone rolled their eyes with doubt and dismissed my story as another silly Chewie fantasy.

Years later, I was walking into a subway station when I saw it – a poster with a picture of the same Holiday Train from so long ago. The poster advertised when and where the train would make an appearance and offered rides to passengers who happened to be there at the right time and place. I knew people wouldn’t believe me without hard cold proof, so I ripped the poster down and brought it back to my apartment. My then roommate, Tree, finally conceded to the truth of my Christmas Train story, and allowed me frame and hang the poster in our living room as testament to its existence. Yes, it felt good to be vindicated, but a part of me genuinely enjoyed the time when everyone thought I was crazy… and I believed it was magic.

The Chewie who Remembered Christmas

Dear Glob,

Today we not only received our very first Christmas Card, but also purchased our 2006 Merry Christmas Tree. It has been as while since I had put real effort into Christmas. For the past couple of years I was too involved with work to accompany my Parents on the annual Christmas Tree shopping extravaganza. I had an almost Grinch-like annoyance towards the tradition, complaining about all the extra vacuuming and post-Holiday clean up. Last year I even told my Parents that the Tree was a waste of time, and if they bought one, I would have nothing to do with it. It’s not like I hated Christmas, quite the opposite; I was just so burnt out and miserable from working crazy 80+ hour weeks to think about Trees and such...

And the more Chewie thought
of the mess it would bring
The more Chewie thought,
"I must stop this whole thing!
"Why I’m too tired to vacuum
those pine needles now!
I MUST stop this Tree from coming!
...But HOW?"

But whatever the reason,
Lack of sleep or the cleaning,
Chewie decided this Christmas would have a lot more meaning.

...So after dinner, and a lot of whining from Little Chewie, Father, Mother and I headed to Lowes to buy this year’s Christmas Tree. Intoxicated by the smell of pine, we all split up and flocked towards our own favorite section of trees. Father immediately took a liking to a beautiful Noble fir with branches full of thick green needles. Drawing my attention away from a pretty Douglas fir, I watched as Father shook his tree to reveal its perfect Christmas Tree shape. Instantaneously, we were both hooked. On seeing what section we were in, Mother looked hesitant as she walked over. Being the most reasonable of us three, Mother had carefully read the pricing sign before allowing herself to become attached to one particular tree. As fate would have it, Father’s picturesque Noble fir turned out to be double the amount of all of the other trees in the lot. Father continued to fight for his tree, while Mother pointed out its imperfections. In addition to being a bit pricey, the tree was on the short side and had a slight bald spot near the very top. Finally admitting to these faults, we sadly set the tree aside. I became discouraged; maybe this whole Tree thing wasn’t worth the effort and disappointment. I was half heartedly browsing through another row, when Mother pulled a tall Balsam fir from behind a stack of trees. Reluctantly I headed over to where Father and Mother were inspecting the new tree, not expecting it to live up to our earlier Noble fir, but as soon as its branches began to unfold, I knew in my heart that we had found “The One…”

And what happened then?
Well in Rockland they say
That Chewie's young heart
Remembered that day!
And the minute her heart revealed memories of old
The spirit of Christmas began to unfold
And she helped carry the tree with the utmost of care...
And she...
Chewie HERSELF!
Volunteered to vacuum the stairs!

And Chewie thought of something she hadn’t before,
What if Christmas depends on the effort and “chores,”
Then maybe Christmas would mean a lot more!

Rally Troops! Bring your Cheer!
No more excuses should we all hear!

All of our plans, let’s do them NOW,
And not ask who, when and how.
Welcome Christmas while we stand,
Heart to heart and hand in hand.