RINGING IN THE YEAR WITH…HOGMANAY?

happy hogmanayI was reading about how Americans celebrate the holidays the other day, expecting to have my cockles warmed.  Instead, I ended up with just the slightest amount of indigestion.  All I can say is, people are very strange.  We’ve moved a long way from Grandma baking cookies and Dad reading “The Night Before Christmas”. I learned about pickle Christmas trees, binge-watching COPS one night of Hanukkah, and farting contests on Christmas Eve.  Really. It got so weird that when I read about one family that left cookies and rum for Santa I thought of them as the most reasonable people in the article.  So I skipped over the American customs (or as I came to call them, “White Trash Traditions“) and commenced reading about holiday celebrations around the world.  In comparison to the U.S., they were pretty tame – not a farting contest among them.  But then I stumbled on a tradition I’d never heard of – Hogmanay.  It is the Scottish word for “last day of the year”.  How could I not have heard of this?  My father-in-law was born and raised in Glasgow.  I checked with my husband.  Nope, he’d never heard of it either.  So I thought it was completely bogus until I did some further research.  I’ll say one thing after boning up on Hogmanay- those Scots know how to celebrate.  So in case you need a bit of inspiration for your New Year’s Eve, here is everything you need to know about hosting your own Hogmanay celebration.

First (and it may already be too late for  some of you) Christmas is marked by a very sedate family get-together and is a time for reflection and prayer. Then December 31 rolls around all hell breaks loose. Hogmanay is marked by a loud, joyous occasion celebrating the birth of a new year.  An important element of Hogmanay celebrations is to welcome friends and strangers to your home, with warm hospitality and, of course, a kiss to wish everyone a ‘Guid New Year’. ‘Auld Lang Syne’ is sung to celebrate the start of the New Year at the stroke of midnight. The underlying belief is to clear out the vestiges of the old year, have a clean break and welcome in a young New Year on a happy note.  So far, I’m really liking this Hogmanay thing.

 

A "lucky" First Footer

A “lucky” First Footer

One of the most important traditions of Hogmanay is called First-Footing. Once midnight strikes and the calendar flips to January 1st, all eyes await the arrival of the year’s first visitor. The person who crosses the home’s threshold first is said to be a predictor of good fortune in the year ahead. To ensure good luck, a first footer should be a dark-haired male (think George Clooney). Fair-haired first footers were not particularly welcome after the Viking invasions of ancient times (just ask Tiger Woods about Elin Nordegren).  To “first foot” a household empty-handed is considered grossly discourteous, and VERY unlucky.  Traditional gifts include a lump of coal to lovingly place on the host’s fire, along with shortbread, a black bun and whisky to toast to a Happy New Year.  Other than the whiskey it all seems a bit dodgy and frankly, like something was grabbed at the last-minute.  But who is to judge?  We’ve all had to raid the pantry for a last-minute hostess gift and I guess a black bun is as good as anything provided that the “black” isn’t due to mold.  I must say however, that this list of gifts does nothing to improve the Scots’ reputation for being cheap.

In the event that you just aren’t up for hosting a Hogmanay celebration,  or you only hang out with blonde women, I will share with you a Sparrow family tradition that has held us in good stead for many years: Pop’s Ice Cream Fizz.  I wrote about this delicious concoction previously when describing our Christmas morning traditions.  Believe me, it has put a roseate hue on what might otherwise have been some testy moments.  Occasionally Pop would also fix it on New Year’s morning as a special treat.  So as a public service to our subscribers, here is the recipe:

 

Pop, near 80 years old, still making magic

Pop, near 80 years old, still making magic

POP’S ICE CREAM FIZZ

Fill a blender 1/4 full with ice cubes

Add 6 jiggers of gin

Add 4 scoops of French Vanilla ice cream

Add 1 small bottle of soda water (the size you get in a 6-pack)

My brother Bob adds an egg so the white adds some froth, brother Jack doesn’t add an egg.  Personally, I’d add it just because you can then claim it’s a protein drink.

Just blend for a couple of minutes, and voila!, you have a nectar from the gods.  And for those of you who don’t like gin, please don’t turn up your nose.  Believe me, the ice cream masks the flavor.  You will want to bathe in this stuff.

So as the year ends, whether you celebrate with Hogmanay or Pop’s Ice Cream Fizz, my brother Bob and I wish you and your family a very happy and healthy New Year.

 

GETTING THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT – A DEBATE

By Bob Sparrow and Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Last week we tried a new style of blog – “the interview”.  This week we are publishing another format that we hope to continue periodically in 2015 – “point-counterpoint”, or better known as when Bob gets to say, “Suz, you ignorant slut!”.

PointSuzanne (SW) Well, it’s that time of year again, when we are supposed to get in the “Christmas Spirit”.

Bob (BS): So far we’re in agreement; I’ve got a nice rum-spiced eggnog here, proceed.

SW: No, the other kind of Christmas spirit.

BS: Whiskey spiked cider?

SW: Moving right along, I’ve had a hard time finding the spirit this year, what with one thing or another; I think one of the reasons that “the spirit” is so hard to find is the advent of the Gift Card.

BS: Maybe Al is hiding ‘the spirits’ from you; sounds like you need a gift card for a hot-buttered rum

SW: (I’m ignoring him) It used to be so fun shopping for the perfect gift, wrapping it up and filling the space under the Christmas tree with beautiful and shiny packages. When the grandchildren were younger we would wrap up everything in cute paper with big bows and the fun of Christmas was watching them tear open the packages with wild abandon and shrieks of delight.  Heck, when they were really little, the box could provide them with an hour of fun.

BS: OK, I see what’s really going on here – you do realize that today’s little kids still get presents that are wrapped in shiny packages and put under the tree, they don’t get gift cards. Aren’t you really saying that unless you have young children around, who may still believe in Santa Claus, that Christmas morning isn’t quite the same? (Do we need a ‘Santa Spoiler Alert’ on this blog in the event that there are still some believers out there?). I don’t think the gift card is the Grinch that Stole Christmas, they have their place in today’s Christmas celebration – they are practical, easy to wrap, easy to hide, they travel well and ‘one size fits all’.

SW: I admit, they are very practical.  The recipient gets exactly what they want.  You don’t have to guess about size and color.  They can takegift advantage of the after-Christmas sales.

BS: I think you’re beginning to see the light.

SW: But still…buying gift cards elicits all the excitement of getting your oil changed.  You go into the grocery store, peruse the gift card rack, and BOOM! you’re done.

BS: That’s what I’m talking about!

SW: (I’m still ignoring him) I have a friend that refuses to give in to the gift card age and continues to buy gifts for her grown grandchildren.  Last year I asked her how that worked out and she said, “Oh, they return everything the next day.”  But she doesn’t care.  She loves the process of finding the gift, wrapping it up and watching as they open the package on Christmas morning.  I wish I had her fortitude.  I have to say:  I hate giving gift cards.

BS: The last time I wrapped a gift, it looked like a wet bow tie on a stack of old newspapers. On behalf of the male gender, who typically don’t like shopping to begin with, much less fighting the crowds this time of year, we love gift cards.   The gift card allows guys to do all their Christmas shopping in the grocery store from that gift card rack right next to the beer. Another advantage of the gift card is that you know exactly how much the giver values your relationship.

SW: You wouldn’t want to see the value of the gift card I’d get for you!

bob & suz

Your authors – Christmas 1972

BS: OK, there is no question that the gift card will never replace the wonder and excitement of a child unwrapping ‘that special gift’ on Christmas morning. I admit the gift card is indeed ‘less personal’, but like it or not, we live in a world that’s very different from the one we grew up in. I know it sounds trite, but I think the true ‘spirit’ of Christmas lies in the giving, no matter what; be it the perfect gift perfectly wrapped, a picture or another reminder of a wonderfully shared moment, a gift of your time to the less fortunate, or a gift card.  Giving is really the only thing that gets me in ‘the spirit’.

SW: I couldn’t agree more; my shared moment came the other night when I sat down with Dash the Wonder Dog to watch “A Charlie Brown Christmas”.  I hadn’t seen it in several years and, of course, Dash had never seen it.  When Snoopy came on the screen Dash lifted up and tilted his head to one side so I explained the story to him (and yes, I really have gone around the bend).  And in that moment the Christmas spirit finally hit me – there I was on a rainy night, curled up with my sweet dog, listening to Linus simplify the whole season in his beautiful soliloquy:  “Peace on Earth, Good Will Toward Men”.  It gets me every time.

BS/SW: We sincerely wish you and yours a very happy holiday season and may 2015 be filled with many blessings for you, including reading our blog and refereeing our “fights”!

A Tribute to the Tribute Writer

By Bob Sparrow

record breaking     I want to sincerely thank my sister for writing such a wonderful blog last week; it was ‘record-breaking’ – the most hits in a single day (nearly 400), the most hits in a week (700 and still counting at press time) and the most comments ever on one post (21 and counting); plus 3 more people subscribed to our blog!  Which we love!  And I’d also like to thank her for putting me in the position of having to follow that masterpiece!

     After reading and seeing the reaction to that post, I immediately realized that my blog ideas for this week, ‘Is that Grandma that got run over by a reindeer covered by Obamacare?’ and ‘Is the Grinch really retired and living in Palm Beach?’ seemed a bit trifling; plus I think my sister deserves to bask in her success a bit longer; so as any ace reporter would do in my position, I called her for an interview.  She agreed.

BS (that’s me): Why do you think this tribute to Leslie was so widely read and commented upon?

SW (that’s her): First of all, it is a reflection of Leslie and the great esteem people had for her.  Once she was your friend, she was your friend for life.  I think she found people inherently interesting and “collected” friends throughout her life.  She was always fascinated by people – what they did for a living, their interests, and their political beliefs.  She was never judgmental, even if she disagreed.  I think she absorbed everyone’s information and gleaned some portion that she could relate to and then built a friendship on that.  As someone said, she had a knack for making everyone feel that they were her best friend.92730032

The second reason I think people responded to it is that, at some level, people can relate to losing someone special.  We got a lot of comments and they ran the spectrum from “I also have a childhood friend that I cherish” to “I haven’t talked with my childhood friend in a long time and this has prompted me to call.”

A third reason is that friends and family members ‘shared’ the blog on social media with their friends, something we’re always happy about when our reader like or appreciate what we’ve written.

BS: What is it about the special relationship you had with Leslie that you remember the most?

SW: I think that the first friends you make outside of your family are ones that make the greatest impression.  Remember,tribute Leslie and I met when we were seven years old.  Now it seems like we were still babies, although she was smart enough to swindle me with the soap!  We became part of each other’s family.  Both of our mother’s took to praising – and correcting – us as if we were her own daughter.  As kids, there weren’t a lot of distractions so our time was spent in each other’s bedrooms playing games, running around outside in the open fields, or our weekend walks to the Five and Dime.  I couldn’t tell you what we ever talked about but what sticks with me is the closeness that we had.  We told each other everything and even into adulthood we were always very honest with each other – there were no pretenses or “putting a good face” on anything.  She had my back and I had hers, so we really were like sisters.

BS: You’ve written several tributes and they’ve all been well received; why do you think they resonate so well with our readers?

SW: I think that often times we don’t get the full picture of someone from an obituary.  Obituaries, which are more factual in nature, typically tell what the person did; a tribute conveys who the person was.  Plus, with the advent of social media, a tribute can be seen by far more people than an obituary in a newspaper would allow.  I started doing tributes a few years ago when a friend died and did not have any survivors.  I thought it was important that her life be recognized in some way and that people get a full picture of who she was.  I always like to tell stories and include pictures so that anyone reading them, whether they knew the person or not, comes away with an appreciation for how special the person was.

Tahoe_1965 (2)

Leslie & Suzanne, both 15, with Mom & Dad at Tahoe

BS: You make a good point about the difference between an obituary and a tribute. Have you ever written a tribute about someone still living? The reason I ask is that Linda put together what amounted to be a ‘living tribute’ for her father last year, who was turning 90. The idea was to gather family and friends together while he was still alive to show and tell him how much he was loved.

SW: Yes, I’ve written several tributes for people still living and I agree, I think Leslie would have been blown away by the wonderful comments that people have made about her.  I wish that she was here to read them. I think a ‘living tribute’ is a way to let people know how special they are when they are still around to hear it.

BS: I’ll ask this next questions with some trepidation; now that our readers have confirmed that you are one terrific tribute writer, do you think they’ll be asking you to write their next tribute?

SW: I do this because  I love it, almost as much as my dog, Dash.  We’ll see what the future brings.  For now, I’m just happy that Leslie’s family and friends were able to get a better insight into her early life.

BS: Well said, thanks for the interview Sis

SW: You’re most welcome; does this mean it’s my turn again to write next week?

BS: Maybe.  Merry Christmas!

 

A TRIBUTE TO MY FIRST BEST FRIEND

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

In the spring of 1957 a housing development rose like an oasis in the field across from our parent’s home.  Twenty mid-century homes were built, complete with aqua appliances and pink tile bathrooms.  I was the only girl under age 10 in our neighborhood so I anxiously awaited their completion, hoping that a girl would move in.

Leslie, at age 10

Leslie, at age 10

For months I watched new families arrive in the neighborhood, but, alas, there were no girls in sight.  Then one summer day a 1956 Studebaker station wagon pulled into the driveway at 48 Madeline Court and it was filled with children.  I dashed over to the car and saw a girl my age.  She was leaning out of the rear window so I ventured up and introduced myself to the person who would become my lifelong friend … Leslie Sherman. She seemed friendly enough, explaining that they had driven across country from New Jersey.  Then she suddenly whipped around, picked up a small bar of hotel soap and asked if I’d like to buy it for a nickel.  Would I???!!!!  I was so excited to have a potential friend move in right across the street that I would have paid a whole dollar!

Before I could fish a nickel out of my pocket, Leslie’s mom discovered her daughter’s entrepreneurial scheme. Naturally, she was mortified that the Sherman’s introduction to the neighborhood consisted of Leslie hawking free hotel soap to anyone foolish enough to buy it.  Like me.  But that first transaction, when we were both 7 years old, became the basis of our friendship.  We laughed about it in almost every conversation for the rest of our lives; I always chastised her for trying to swindle me, while she chided me for being stupid enough to actually pay for free soap.

Despite that rather shaky beginning, from that moment on we became fast friends.  Each day on our half-mile walk to school and back we shared secrets and plotted adventures.  In retrospect, we really couldn’t have been more different. She was as bright as a penny, excelling in every subject.  Let’s just say … I did not.  Social skills, however, were not her strong suit, while I was gregarious and outgoing  She liked cats, I liked dogs.  She was a Camp Fire Girl, I was a Girl Scout. My idea of a fun game was paper dolls; she liked to play in the dry creek bed with bugs. She was book smart, clear-headed and logical; I was street smart, emotional and impulsive .   But somehow, it just worked.  I think we both admired in each other the traits we didn’t possess.

We became inseparable, sharing all the silly things that young girls do.  The high point of every Saturday was getting our twenty-five cent allowance and walking a mile to the Five and Dime at Nave Shopping Center.  We would spend an hour poring over our choices of candy bars and comic books.  Even there we differed; she would read about the adventures of Superman and I would laugh with Archie and Veronica.

As pre-teens we enjoyed our annual summer trip into San Francisco with her dad.  He would take us to lunch at the Cathay House in Chinatown and then to Blum’s on Union Square for hot fudge sundaes.  Looking back, his tolerance knew no bounds, for in later years he also took us to Peter, Paul and Mary concerts in the City two years running and patiently waited for us in the car while we listened to what he referred to as “yowling”.

1967 - the year of the Vietnam discussion at Tahoe

1967 – the year of the Vietnam discussion at Tahoe

My parents took her on every family vacation to Lake Tahoe, where we made memories in sunshine and snow.  We loved it when my parents would go out to dinner and leave us at the cabin with Swanson’s TV dinners and a television set with rabbit ears that got ONE station from Reno.  We would lie in bed, watching that old TV and laugh until our stomachs hurt.

As we got into high school we accumulated more friends, but never to the exclusion of each other and her trips to Tahoe with our family continued.  In the summer of 1967 we were on the beach in Tahoe City (Leslie reading TIME and me perusing Seventeen) when two boys wandered over.  I was thrilled – until Leslie launched into a discussion of the Vietnam War, the “domino theory” and stemming the tide of communism in Southeast Asia.  Needless to say, the boys were quickly overwhelmed and made a speedy exit. I just shook my head – there was no changing her.

Later that year she suffered injuries that would plague her for the rest of her life.  She was spending the night at my house, listening to the Beatles and eating junk food.  We ran out of potato chips and TAB so she decided to walk to the corner store for more provisions .  When too much time had passed and she hadn’t returned, I ran down the block.  The street was cordoned off  and police lights were flashing.  She had been hit by a car, catapulting her into the windshield, injuring her head, back and hips.

After high school we went off to college and our paths varied.  As the years passed, we both rounded off our edges.  She became more social and I became smarter.  We both had good careers and were lucky enough to work in San Francisco and would occasionally meet for lunch. Without fail, we always contacted each other on birthdays and at Christmas.  Although we didn’t see each other often, we kept up enough to know what was going on in each other’s life.

Leslie, at our 20th high school reunion

Leslie, at our 20th high school reunion

Last August, she called on my birthday only to discover that I had chickenpox.  She burst out laughing – “How could you not have had them when I did?  We were together every day!”  She made me laugh too, just listening to her hearty guffaw. She updated me on her recent activities – she was full of plans for the future.  Then she began to reminisce about the good times of our childhood.  For some reason, she just needed to talk that day.  We spent more than an hour on the phone, laughing and remembering. I am grateful that we each ended the conversation by saying “I love you”.

Because on November 21, suddenly and without warning, she died of a massive internal infection.   I did not find out about it until last week because, true to form, the passwords to the address book on her computer were in Greek and Latin.  I have had a difficult time reconciling myself to a world without her in it. Certainly it is a dimmer place without her dry wit, keen intelligence and loving nature.  Personally, my life will now be different.  She was the touchstone to my childhood, the only person with whom I could share memories about the neighborhood, our teenage pranks and our early hopes and dreams.

I’ve made a lot of friends since that first fateful meeting in 1957, but no one ever replaced my first best friend.  Now she is gone and the space in my heart where she once resided is empty. I take solace in knowing that she is free of pain, undoubtedly somewhere hawking soap to the unsuspecting masses.  And laughing.  Definitely laughing.

 

 

 

IN THE STATE OF “POMA”

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

The Poma remnants

The Poma remnants

Well, another Thanksgiving has come and gone.  Which means that I’m spending today cleaning out the refrigerator and wondering why I bought so much food.  There is something about Thanksgiving that must make my “starvation gene” kick in.  I buy groceries like we have had nothing to eat for months and end up with enough food to feed an army.  Unfortunately, with only six of us in the house, we end up being a very well-fed army.  Or, as our daughter said this weekend, we are in a “poma”.  That is a hybrid word she coined on Thanksgiving night as we sat watching football in a  stupor – a combination of pie and coma.  It aptly described our mental and physical states.  And that was before the 49ers played so badly that the owner apologized to the fans. Maybe the players were in a poma too.  But no matter how bad we felt, we were still better off than the people who ventured out to shop in the newly formed “Thanksgiving Day Sales”.  I want to go on record that I am totally against the stores opening on Thanksgiving Day.  Can’t we still have a holiday that celebrates food, family and football without Target and Walmart getting involved?  The stores all claimed that the early opening times would avoid some of the mayhem from past Black Friday sales when so much pushing and shoving took place.   Hmmmmm…let’s just re-cap how that little experiment worked.  For your reading pleasure, here are some of the highlights from the “new” Black Thursday:

 

  • In Romeoville, Illinois a policeman was dragged from his car in the parking lot at Kohl’s by a shoplifter he was trying to apprehend,

    At least there are no knives in sight

    At least there are no knives in sight

  • In Las Vegas, a man was shot in a Target parking lot when two men accosted him and tried to steal the HDTV he had just purchased,
  • In Virginia a man was stabbed in the knee with a knife after two men got into an altercation over a parking spot,
  • In Carlsbad, California a man was stabbed in the stomach at the entrance to a mall, ostensibly jockeying for position to be the first to get his hands on a brand new TV.
  • At a Houston Walmart people were trampled and fights broke out when shoppers laid down on Samsung TV boxes to “reserve” them.  (I actually had to laugh thinking about the genesis of that shopping strategy:  “Okay, I’ll go get the Game Boy and Barbie Doll, you go heave your body over the Samsung box until I come around to pick you up.”)

The most telling of the “Black Friday” incidents occurred in Nanuet, New York, where two Costco employees began fighting in the men’s room before the store opened and one of them stabbed the other with a box cutter.  You can only imagine the conversation that preceded their tiff.  They were most likely fighting over which one of them had to go out and face all of the fruitcakes that were lined up at the store entrance, waiting to get their hands on a bargain-priced electric potato peeler or a jumbo container of gouda cheese.

Clearly, the goal of the new opening hours on Thursday did nothing to stem the violence – or stupidity – of the shopping public.   But I suspect that the big stores will open again on Thanksgiving next year because I just read that the extra hours translated to record profits for them.  It seems hard to believe that we might become nostalgic for the “good old days” when people were just pushing and shoving.

As for me, I’ll stick with Cyber Monday, where traditionally people shop from their employer’s computers so they can take advantage of the fast T-1 lines.  Not to mention the added benefit of looking like they’re working furiously on their computer when in reality they’re perusing the latest Best Buy ad.  Even though I am now retired, I still like looking at the deals available today.  And I have the extra added benefit of safety – I am fairly confident that neither my husband or Dash the Wonder Dog will stab me while I’m shopping.