Monthly Archives: July 2013

You know what’s funny? Bringing a naughty anonymous gift to a wedding shower.

Yup. You should try it.

You choose something that will raise eyebrows, make the grandmothers and aunties giggle, and you wrap it up sweetly and tuck it into the big pile of gifts without anyone seeing you do it.

I won’t go into all of the unmentionables that I’ve secreted into the shower gifts over the years, because this is a family blog (that my mother reads). But they’ve always given the bride an unexpected blush, and then lots of good-natured teasing and laughter. Kind of breaks the ice for the poor young lady who is “on stage” before dozens of women who may not even know her that well.

I’ve never admitted my guilt. I have always been too angelic to be considered the prankster. I just let all the ladies point fingers and insist amongst themselves, while I watch and smile.

With two exceptions.

Exception #1 happened three years ago at my dear friend Fran’s daughter’s shower. The gift that had no card (oh no! the card fell off!) was a Fertility Journal. When Lynora and her bridesmaids asked the roomful of ladies who had given her this gift, a woman finally raised her hand! And it wasn’t me! Well, let me tell you what Fran had to say about that. In no uncertain terms, Fran let the room know it was NOT the impostor. “And who do you THINK would give that to you”, she asked her blushing daughter, while holding her hand over my head! Oh, yeah, I was outted. And as a point of pride, I needed to be recognized as the true prankster, don’t you think?

Exception #2 happened yesterday at a couples shower for our friends’ son and his bride. The gift that had no card (oh dear! the card has fallen off!) was Making Babies, a book about what to eat to maximize your fertility. After the usual blushes and and giggles, the groom’s mother walked right up to me and smirked, “You are the only one here who would do this!”

Really?

I guess my reputation has finally caught up with me.

This is probably more suited to a Facebook post, but I am biding time while my ginnygram muse is apparently on vacation.

Remember how excited I was to find Duke’s Mayo so far north? Well, lookee what I found in a Kroger’s way down in Brazil, Indiana! New England Style Rolls, aka Lobster Buns! These babies just don’t exist outside of New England. My family lived and ate in New Hampshire when I was a teenager, and boyohboy, did we learn to love these buns.

They’re hot dog buns with bare sides, which you lightly butter then lightly grill then deliciously fill. They’re…they’re…what they give you in your Welcome to Heaven Wagon, along with coupons for foot massages and pictures of corgi puppies.

I don’t know why the whole wide world doesn’t get together and demand that all grocers stock New England Style Rolls in every bread aisle.

I’d mount a campaign, but I fear that doing so will call attention to some poor Hot Dog Bun Buyer for Kroger’s Midwest Bread Division who checked the wrong box on his Bun Re-Order Form, and he’ll lose his job.

And I just wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

You do it.

I’ve been getting lots of questions about Pixie lately. So here’s a little catch-up for you. (And no, the poltergeist didn’t return the darn collar. The Fedex Guy did.)

  Does she like going to the lake?

  Has she had her first kiss?

  Can she drive yet?

  Is she a mermaid like you?

Eight-month-old Pixie’s special training collar has disappeared. Overnight. Just like that. Gone. Nobody came in, nobody went out. Not Colonel Mustard. Not Miss Scarlet. There are two explanations.

Explanation #1 — Pixie pushed a chair over to the kitchen counter, climbed up, snagged the collar, and then…what, ate it?

Explanation #2 — Poltergeists.

As soon as I search the conservatory one more time, I will do as my mother taught me: I will close my eyes and firmly insist, “I AM GOING TO COUNT TO 10, WHEN I OPEN MY EYES, BRING BACK [INSERT MISSING THING HERE]. And I am here to tell you that this actually works. If it is a poltergeist, and not Explanation #1.

Long story, short: Yes, I grew up with the occasional poltergeist. My mother explained them as having to do with the cast-off energy of growing children. And no, it was nothing like the movie. Just benign and sometimes funny mischief. Hide and seek, mostly.

My two coolest stories happened in our pre-Revolutionary War home in Atkinson, New Hampshire. That makes me between 13 and 16 years old. Which means Bucky was between 11 and 14 years old. Between the both of us, I’m saying there was enough polter-energy to rearrange the encyclopedias, let alone these two beauties WHICH ARE 100% TRUE.

My First Significant Poltergeist Encounter happened on Derby Day 1971. I was sitting in the middle of our living room floor, cutting the names of the horses from the sports pages, so we could fold them and put them in the hat for drawing at our Derby Party later that afternoon. I put down the scissors to fold a few slips. And when I reached for them again, the scissors weren’t there. I hadn’t moved, nobody’d come into the room. Nothing. So I said what my mother taught me. “I AM GOING TO COUNT TO 10, WHEN I OPEN MY EYES, BRING BACK MY SCISSORS.” I counted, then opened my eyes, and my scissors were right in front of me. Not where I’d set them down next to me, but presented in front of me on the floor. I said “thank you,” and burst into tears. And went to tell Mama, who was proud of me for standing up for myself.

My Second Significant Poltergeist Encounter was similar, in that it involved scissors and that it was only seven months later and in the same house. This time, I was wrapping Christmas presents in our “back room,” which was actually the original kitchen in our circa-1700 house. I was alone, just me and the paper and the ribbon and the tape. I set down my scissors to fold and tape, and when I reached for them to cut my ribbon, they were not there. Again, I told the poltergeist what to do, and when I opened my eyes, a buncha boxes and stuff fell off the sofa across the room. And my scissors were revealed on the sofa. I didn’t hang around to wrap any more presents that day. Energy or whatever, it was just creepy.

I could go on, and I will have more stories for you. We’ve had quite a few strange things happen in this house, which may or may not be simple poltergeist shenanigans.

So where is the collar? And if a poltergeist is actually adolescent energy, where’s the adolescent? And what is another name for a mischievous sprite?

Hmmmm, Pixie?