A Merry Whatever!

Bits of torn wrapping paper, fir needles, and balled-up Kleenex decorate the carpet. The holiday tang of Vape-o-Rub fills the frosty air of our halls, and the merry echo of deep, bronchial coughs reminds us that it's that time of year again!

Our cats are racing up and down the stairs, excited by all the packages coming in, the crinkle of foil and wadded-up paper, the smells of baking, the crisp tsk-tsk-tsk of scissors, the stressed-out, sometimes panicky voices: "Have you written one to Auntie Freda?" and "Are you sure you wrapped the ones for my cousins?"

This morning, I fished an old used tea bag out of a corner of the kitchen. God knows how it got there, but in the dark room, without my glasses on, it looked exactly like a dead mouse frozen in rigor mortis, deposited there by my cats as a gift. I let out a scream as it flew from my hands. And then I saw that what I'd mistaken for the tail was really the string, and what looked like the body was really the almost-dry clump of leaves -- and that the dead mouse was nothing more than an innocent tea bag.

The mice are all outside, safe for the time being in their little mice beds under piles of leaves in the icy hedges. The birds are nibbling at the seed in the feeder: the cats have left them to it for a change. Small miracles around here. May I now hope for peace on earth, goodwill to men?

Whatever the case, Merry Christmas to all of you and your families, a very Happy Hannukah, and the best of holidays to every single one of you, whatever you believe!

Please join me in praying for a more peaceful and prosperous 2011 for the whole world.

News Flash: Old Dog Learns New Trick

Today, an old dog has learned a new trick. Bear with me: I am going to show you something that will knock your socks off. Or rather, it will knock your socks off if you know me.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, I can do this!!

I am new to blogging. I have many blogging friends: Kim, Eryl, Carole, Kanani, Katie, Merry, Paul, Carolie, Kathie, and many other kind people who don't mind my see-it-to- believe-it ignorance of all things computer-related. Please meet my new friends!

See Mary link. See Mary link fast! Link, Mary, link!

Go on and laugh, but this post took me all of an hour and a half to write and I'm shattered -- and pathetically proud. I would have figured it out a lot faster if my husband hadn't tried to teach me HTML coding instead of the hyperlink shortcut. How dare he overestimate my intelligence? You'd think he'd know better by now.

Please be kind and visit my first real book review, of James Patterson's Maximum Ride: Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports, on my book reviews blog, right here.

By the way, I owe it to James Patterson. If it hadn't been for writing this book review, I might never have learned how to link.

Two Tiny Miracles

There aren't enough miracles around these days, so I thought I'd share these with you.

TINY MIRACLE NUMBER ONE

The note arrived three days ago in a white envelope. It was addressed to my husband and myself and in an unfamiliar hand. Nowadays, receiving anything by surface mail that isn't a bill, a political pitch, or a charity appeal is pretty amazing, and this one had me stumped. My husband opened it and began to read -- and his jaw dropped. I could barely contain my curiosity.

"What is it? Who's it from?"

"It's a thank you note," he said, a tone of hushed wonder in his voice. "From Sam."

Sam, I will have you know, is a twenty-one year old man we have both known since before he could use the toilet properly. He can now do that, plus he's graduated from high school, acne, and adolescent angst. Sam is in university and has a part-time job. He is tall and robust enough to pick up either my husband or myself. But what is more, we now know that HE CAN WRITE THANK YOU NOTES.

"Thank you for the fun present for my birthday," Sam wrote. "It was great seeing you at my party, and I hope you had as much fun as I did."

And get this:

1) The hand-writing was legible
2) There was humor in it
3) Sam's grammar and spelling were irreproachable

We're thinking of approaching the Smithsonian with Sam's note, because let's face it, this is no ordinary document. A thank-you note sent in the year 2007, by snail mail, written in pen, posted barely a month after our visit to this boy's family, the author of which has just turned twenty-one and, as I have mentioned, is a male. And I ought to point out that our gift to him while certainly 'fun,' was so cheap I blush to think of it.

With notes like that written by twenty-one year olds, there is hope for the world.

TINY MIRACLE NUMBER TWO

Our eldest has recently turned sixteen and is prone to all of the nonsense many teenagers succomb to: the unnecessary fiddling with near-perfect hair, acquisition of superfluous cosmetics, and a worrying clothes addiction. I am still wearing a jacket I bought for myself in Tokyo back in 1985, whereas she, whose last jacket was purchased barely a year ago, has been nagging us for a new one for the past two months.

I know that there aren't many people who can boast that they are still wearing a jacket 22 years after buying it, and I admit that I am an extreme case, but one year, in my humble opinion, is not long enough for a decent jacket to get old. So when I took the kid into town for a new birthday jacket, I felt like an idiot.

"Let's just try the charity shops first!" I wheedled.

She sulked, but finally gave in, and I laid down some basic rules. We would visit all five of my favorite charity shops and spend no longer than five minutes in each shop, adding up to a mere 25 minutes of her precious time wasted. Once I was satisfied that none of them had anything that would suit her, I was prepared to compromise and cover 50% of the cost of a new jacket, provided it was under a certain price. She didn't like this, of course, but acquiesced after realizing that it was the best deal she was going to get. I figured our chances of finding a jacket she liked at a thrift shop were about 10%; finding one such jacket that actually fit her was going to be like stepping on a snowball in hell, but I was damned if I was going to fork out good money for a jacket she didn't need without making a point.

Now comes the miracle.

We walked into the very first charity shop. The kid sniffed in disgust at the elderly clientele (she was the only one in the shop under 50) and looked about her furtively, obviously terrified that she would be spotted by someone she knew. I walked over to a rack of jackets and took one down. "How's this?"

The kid looked up reluctantly, and her jaw dropped. Suddenly a look of wonder filled her eyes. I haven't seen that look since she was about five, so I knew we were on to something. The jacket looked too small and I said as much, but she tried it on anyway. It fit perfectly.

"It fits perfectly," she said, obviously shocked to the core. "And I don't think it's ever been worn."

"Do you like it?" I asked, hoping against hope.

"I love it." Her voice sounded awed and -- I swear it! -- humbled. Now both of us were shocked to the core.

We bought the jacket for £5. Three minutes later the kid found a bag for £3; like the jacket it had never been used. Next, she saw a pair of earrings she liked for £2, and I spent £10 for the lot. Needless to say, this is a lot less than half the price of any department store jacket my kid might have deemed acceptable.

So there you have two miracles. Nothing spectacular, some might say. No waters were parted; no grape juice was turned to wine. But a 21-year-old young man who can write prompt, legible and grammatical thank-you notes and a 16-year-old who likes the first coat she finds in a charity shop will do for me any day.