A REAL Christmas Letter

Ever get tired of all the bragging in Christmas letters? Well, you're in for a treat.

Dear Santa,

Thank you for the many surprises you have provided in the last year. You obviously have a sense of humor.

It was a year of challenges. The two younger boys earned money for two gasoline powered go-peds and they enjoyed some short-lived but exciting adventures. The rear wheels on both vehicles collapsed in the first month and the go-ped dealer asked to display the tires as a cautionary tale for misuse of the equipment. Son #3 was apprehended by the police in August for driving a motorized vehicle without a license on the sidewalk. The fact that he had a passenger might have influenced the stop. All was resolved, but not until the judge had an opportunity to look down his spectacles at me for my son being in Juvenile Court at the tender age of 12. I want you to know he was wearing a helmet. Good news, though: we knew everyone in the audience since I work at the high school. Shortly thereafter, the problem was solved when one go-ped was stolen and the other was sold for the more legal and, I'm sure you will agree, less dangerous sport of SKATEBOARDING. So Santa, if you don't mind, I am hoping for a bubble suit and priority parking space in front of the Emergency Room. Don't worry: they have already red flagged the file and are expecting us.

In July, my eldest bought an '85 Chevy Stepside truck, the vehicle of his dreams, which gets about 8 mpg. While driving it to the coast, since my new Honda CRV was having the driver's door repaired from said boy backing it out of the garage with the door open, I was stopped twice by police. Once it was due to driving 12 miles over the speed limit, apparently due to the oversized tires that affect speedometer accuracy. Tailgating the cop might have contributed to his decision to pull me over. The second stop was due to a mixup in registration tags that didn't match the registration card, a detail my son didn't notice when the DMV gave us a June instead of November sticker. The officer and I spent an hour by the side of the road while he waited for his office to verify this detail, giving him ample time to lecture me on the rules of the road and incidentally making me over an hour late to the Management Retreat in Monterey.

Driving the truck on two 3 hour trips in one month required 6 tanks of gas, not counting rekeying the lock which I accidentally broke off in the driver's door. The fuel pump also gave up the ghost and took two men an entire day to change out. My son's only question to me was, "Are you paying for the fuel pump? After all you were driving it at the time." So Santa, I would appreciate gift certificates for gas and Kragen Auto Parts stores and also a Human Resources class in interpersonal communication.

From August--October, we were consumed by football. My son plays on both the offensive and defensive line, so you can imagine the condition of his uniform after a game. This is where those long barbecue tongs come in handy when you have to get it from the garage floor into a tub of Simple Green. The pads remained in the yard where they doubled as a crime deterrent and pest control device.

My son visited the ER this year due to a self-inflicted injury. In the heat of the moment and on a winning play, my son head-butted a fellow player. Unfortunately for him, the other player was wearing a helmet. But he did win Lineman of the Year clearly awarding his dedication to the sport. All I can say is it's a good thing he took his SAT's in June.

In October, #2 son also bought a car to fill up that big slab of concrete next to the driveway. He wanted to sleep in it the first night but I intercepted him. He has his permit. Always humble, my son is buying his younger brother a bank for Christmas since he infiltrates all known household banks and discovers the combinations. Imagine our surprise at finding the little one's money spread across his bed with his bank open and a smiley face drawn on a scratch pad. The youngest has solved the problem by spending every cent he earns, sometimes before he earns it. A mathematician proof bank would be a good choice this year.

Also in October, I discovered that one of my high schoolers snuck out of the house during Homecoming Week. I discovered his plan when his alarm sounded at 1:30 am. You can't say my children aren't punctual. When he returned and was startled my steady stare over the rim of a teacup at 4:30 am, the best mental calesthenics my honors student could muster was the excuse that he had been at school.

On a recent excursion to the mall, my youngest added cologne to his holiday list called Pimp. He wants only Parent Advisory music and talks an average of 2 hours per day on the phone with a variety of girls. I have learned not to ask their names or offer suggestions like, "Is this Ashley? NO? Oh... " Now I understand why people have houses with basements. I could sure use eyes in the back of my head for Christmas.

In November, we maneuvered through college applications and complex negotiations. An 18 year old with a willful attitude and a steady girl are formidable allies to the put-it-off-at-all-costs senior plan. This has been an emotional time for me: the thought of him remaining at home draped across my sofa like a boneless chicken has me on the brink of tears.

The college selection process seemed to be inversely triggered by well considered recommendations by family and friends: instead of applying to the thoughtful and well regarded schools like San Diego State and ASU, he chose Montana Tech. I don't think any of us knows where in Montana that school is located. Is it a 4 year college?

The youngest is diagramming his brother's room to rearrange the furniture and is sleeping in the hall as college bags are being packed. No pressure, though. The youngest's room will be converted to a broom closet if there's enough space. Son #2 needles the eldest that he had his own car before he even got a license. The eldest is asking for a gun rack for his truck.

I am going to pick up a bottle of brandy before Christmas.

Boy am I looking forward to the new year. Can we just get on with it?

Christmas 2000

Passing the Baton

I just spent nine days in Colorado, exploring life as an adult. I found myself longing to wrap my memories up and suspend them in time, not wanting to give up those moments that made me who I was. People are hard to give up, too.

How strange to be nobody’s child, nobody’s daughter. Who will regale us with stories about the early years or the great Aunts who hovered, or a certain Christmas morning when a rumored offspring (who shall remain nameless) opened and resealed gifts to avoid prosecution? I had grown bored of hearing those worn out stories I knew word for word, but crave her voice now that the chance to hear them again has passed.

I called her number to be told it is disconnected. I wonder how many times I will need to do that before it sinks in. In the blink of an eye, I have become the new ‘old’ generation, yoked and entrusted to be the guardian of our heritage. There is great responsibility in that, I realize, as I sit on the veranda of a beautiful turn of the century home in Colorado Springs, not knowing the family whose portrait hangs in the foyer but am sure they could not have imagined a California girl sitting here savoring their legacy.

I am the keeper of the melody that played between us when I sought refuge in her support. Her voice was sometimes like staccato notes dancing along ivories that could soothe my battered spirit. I wonder if that song will fade as time plays on. It is the love of a parent that I will miss: the last bastion of childhood is now laid to rest.

I will continue to strengthen the family nest with some of her feathers and lots of my dad's but mostly with mine and Don's. My sons will take refuge and learn by heart the melody we create. I will regale them with stories which they will grow tired of hearing but will listen to, as I did, because they will know how treasured they will be when life presses onward.

Fish and Chips

Eileen is from Scotland, that wee country where friendliness and a fiesty spirit are bred into its people. She is an articulate, dynamic, outspoken 4-foot-something, loosely contained bundle of energy with flaming red hair.

It was a long day yesterday. After a fabulous breakfast and long chat with a couple from Philadelphia who were heading back today, we ascended to the summit of Pike's Peak, a staggering 14,115 feet. The guide shared funny questions posed by people whose minds were affected by the thin air, such as 'How much farther up does the mountain go past the summit?' (answer: blank stare) and 'When do deer turn into elk?' (answer: at 12,000 feet).

The altitude did affect us, too: we had 'sealegs' and a touch of a headache. Two miles from the summit were whiteout conditions and, upon our descent, we had missed a dramatic thunderstorm below. You know what they say: if you don't like the weather, wait a bit and it'll change. We particularly enjoyed the young woman being photographed in a snowstorm wearing bright pink hot pants and flip flops. The COG Railway is definitely the way to go.

After a leisurely saunter around Old Town Colorado and Manitou Springs, Eileen was reminiscing about this great Fish and Chips place back home. Right then, we happened to spy a business called Neptune's Realm with colorfully painted windows. They were even open!

Eileen dashed inside, exclaiming to the purveyor in that lilting Scottish accent of hers, 'This is wonderful! If we had known you were here, we wouldn't have eaten lunch earlier!'

I trailed in behind, looking at a colorful aquarium and dim lighting and an obviously confused young man. Something didn't add up here. The purveyor gaped at her with a shocked expression and, as her words hung awkwardly in the air, it dawned on me that we were standing in a pet store that sold salt water exotic tropical fish.

Sushi, anyone?

Travelog: Colorado Springs

While exploring Colorado Springs, we stayed at The Cheyenne Canon Inn, a B & B at the base of Cheyenne Mountain where NORAD is tucked deep inside. It is a beautiful 13,000 square foot estate operated and tended by a self-proclaimed former ski bum who turned real estate agent and grew up just down the block. This is Ground Zero on a number of levels.

This grand old gal has worn many masks in her 135 years: as a family home, a casino, a meeting place and speakeasy, a brothel, and now a squeaky clean B & B. Its floors contentedly groan out a lively heritage, accessorized by claw foot bathtubs, stained glass windows and period antiques. The Inn survived a devastating flood only later to be taken by fire and in an amazing stroke of luck was rebuilt to its original grandeur when the architectural plans turned up.

We comfortably roamed the house in our embroidered bathrobes in the evenings, watched a movie from their library and leafed through historical books of Colorado Springs. Local chefs prepared the most wonderful gourmet breakfasts as we learned from the Innkeepers a lot about the town and its inhabitants. Wine and h'ors d'oeurves were served each afternoon in a glorious sitting room as large as my home with ceiling to floor wood and glass that drew the outside in. What a relaxing way to end a day of sightseeing at Garden of the Gods or shopping in Manitou Springs or experiencing the 'breathtaking' vistas during a visit to Pike's Peak. It'd be a challenge to take a bad picture here.

Innkeeper Nancy assured us, in those low tones women use when they promise a real treat, that the masseur was excellent. And so he was: skilled, friendly, a massage therapist who was also a graduate from the Culinary Institute of America, refreshingly honest with a great sense of humor and warmth about life. After the massage, we luxuriated with champagne and strawberries dipped in chocolate on the front veranda as we waved to passerbys.

Great local restaurants abound, with ample variety and style. We particularly enjoyed The Blue Star but the Broadmoor is just minutes away for a five-star dining experience and a round of world class golf.

GO. The Cheyenne Canon Inn, Colorado Springs, CO. And when you do, we hope you'll remember us to our friends Kevin, Nancy and Craig.