Heap on the wood! - the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still.

~ Sir Walter Scott

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 05:06 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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This was posted on my original blog, about a hundred years ago. I'm still haunted by this tale--ed.

When I was little kid, maybe four or five years old, my parents did something horrible to me. I still hold a grudge.

It was Christmas morning, circa 1967. I woke up and ran straight to the tree. And what I saw was too good to be true. There was a drum set. A sparkling red drum set. Santa left it for me.

I played those drums all day. It was fantastic. I played through lunch and dinner. I played until it was time to go to bed. I played until I was forced to stop.

The next morning I woke up early and ran straight for the drums, but when I got there the drums were gone. Vanished without a trace. I completely freaked out.

“Where are my drums!” I screamed. “They’re gone!”

My mother was standing over me. I knew something was terribly wrong.

“Santa came and took the drums away last night. He said you were too little to play them, and that he would bring them back when you get older.”

I began to shriek and wail. I cried and cried, while my mother just looked on. I was shocked that Santa would do something like this. It was horribly cruel. It was unjust.

Somehow, over the next ten years, I forgot about the incident.

Then one day I was up in the attic looking for something. I must have been around fifteen at the time. The attic was like a messy museum. To find anything you had to dig and explore, move boxes covered with dust and tightrope walk on the beams so you wouldnÂ’t fall through the ceiling.

I had just moved a box and way in the back something caught my eye. I swept the flashlight beam in that direction. What I saw was astonishing. It was the red drum set.

I climbed back there at great personal risk and retrieved the drums and cymbals. The whole episode came back to me with remarkable clarity. I was very sad. However, my emotion soon turned to anger. I went downstairs and found my parents.

“I can’t believe what you did,” I said.

“What are you talking about?” my mother said.

“I found the drums! I found the goddamned drums from when I was five! Santa took them away, remember?”

“Oh, boy. Here we go,” she said.

“Yes. Here we go indeed. Do you know I thought I imagined all that? I can’t believe the cruelty.”

“Listen,” she said in a calm voice. “You banged away on those things for hours. You were driving us all nuts. It was so loud that we couldn’t have a conversation. The noise was terrible, we had to do something.”

I walked away from the conversation. I have never forgotten that episode. And every Christmas since then I have brought it up to my mother. It was 35 years ago and IÂ’m still pissed off.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 06:55 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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‘Tis the season.

Two days ago I was driving down the road and was passed by a car with flat tire. I did a double take, thinking I must be mistaken, but sure enough the right rear tire was flat and the old bastard just kept cruising on the rim. As if that was not strange enough, this morning I saw another car with a flat, not in the passing lane, but still, driving at about 40 MPH. Not a care in the world.

I went to get a new star for the top of the tree on Saturday and the place was a madhouse, full of insanely rude Christmas shoppers. Carts smashing into people, et al. Those people had murder I their eyes. It’s amazing the number of people who desperately need a lesson in humility—by way of a brutal beating.

Meanwhile the Christmas cards are pouring in and in a way they anger the hell out of me, as itÂ’s a lot of work to pump these things out, and I know that we must diligently reciprocate. At the last minute obscure people always send cards and we need to scurry so we donÂ’t go to hell or whatever. ItÂ’s getting to the point that when I hear Christmas music my natural reaction is to tense up all my muscles like IÂ’m preparing to take a punch in the gut from Mike Tyson.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 05:31 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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