If you love Christmas so much, why dont you MERRY it

Oh. What a terrible pun.

In past years, Christmas was not fun for me. Too much pressure, stress, perfectionism, wanting to do things I didn't have money or time to do. It was my yearly "beat myself up" fest. What a great thing, what a lovely gift, to give oneself for Christmas.

It sucked, because when I was little, I loved it. Who doesn't love Christmas when they're little?

But as I grew up and expectations changed, and most of those expectations were expected of me, it became hard and yucky and a season, sadly, to just get through.

One thing changed that: My stake's Festival of Nativities.

It's usually held the weekend after Thanksgiving, right when all things Christmas (TV and radio ads and crazed shopping) are getting under way. I still remember the first time I walked into our transformed cultural hall and was amazed, almost to tears, at the beautiful scenes and the obvious hard work that had been performed. What a crazy thing to do - ask people to bring their Nativity sets and household furnishings to the church, so we could all experience this awesome Christmas feeling together. And what a huge impact it had on me.

The year I started helping with it changed all my Christmases forever. I don't do anything very important for it - this year I ironed large pieces of fabric and made up the scavenger hunt the hosts pass out to the kids. "Find a Nativity made entirely of frogs... Find the Lego Nativity..." It is service easily performed, and it is completely voluntary and really has nothing to do with me. My name isn't on the committee members list; it's just for fun. It's for my benefit.

This week of helping and this weekend of enjoying sets a sweet tone for the rest of the month, putting the focus on the Savior. He's so nice. And He doesn't care if I get my Christmas cards mailed on time or if I take treats to every family on the block.

There are other things that have resurrected the Christmas spirit in me, but we'll talk about those another time. This is probably the biggest and most important thing anyway. This is my reason for wanting to celebrate of my own free will, instead of doing it just because it's expected.

I wish you success in finding your reason, and I wish you a very merry Christmas, full of letting go, and lowered expectations, and lapsed deadlines, and long deep breaths, and love.

Enjoying the Christmas present,
Fisher Cutbait

Holy Poop! What a dream I was havin'!

And while we're quoting movies -

Thank you sir! May I please have another?

Rapidly fanning herself,
Fisher Cutbait

Pondering

I just finished watching "Little Women" with Winona Ryder, and the ending with Professor Bhaer made me wonder...

Do you suppose Louisa May Alcott has a boyfriend yet?

Match-makingly,
Fisher Cutbait

I'm a million times more humble than thou art

Before I launch into this: I am a Christian. I believe Jesus is the Christ and the Son of God. I love him and try to follow him.

This is a commentary on some things I see going on this time of year.

It seems to me that if one is a Christian, one would behave more like Christ and not so much like a pouty brat.

Such as assuming that all of one's family members, friends, coworkers, neighbors, or strangers on one's street all believe the same things about Christ and Christianity that one does. They don't - couldn't possibly. There's not much that can be scientifically proven about Jesus. Faith in him is a personal thing. Even members of the same church might disagree about one or two points.

Such as insisting that Christmas is the only religious holiday in December. It isn't, and while the others may seem unholy or ungodly, other people believe they are holy and godly, or at least worth celebrating. It's no reflection on Christians that other people believe in or want to celebrate other things.

Such as getting one's knickers in a twist when someone else says "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas". Go ahead and wish people a merry Christmas. Just don't get bugged when other people say something else. Jews have been listening to some equivalent of "Merry Christmas" for a long time.

I'm not saying Christians need to become politically correct or sanitized versions of themselves; I'm saying calm down, be humble. It's a holiday. It's one day out of the year. It's not even Christ's real birthday. I really don't think he would freak about this stuff.

What I do get my Christian shorts in an uproar about - the one thing I would change, though it's actually pretty stupid and petty - is that the local news media won't call the big lit-up tree in Pioneer Courthouse Square

A CHRISTMAS TREE.

Is there another holiday that is celebrated with a tree?

But like I said, it doesn't really matter. I doubt the Lord is that invested in our celebrating His birth with decorated evergreens.

I love Christmas and I'm happy it's here again. It can bring out the very best and kindest and most generous in people. It would be nice if we could keep it just to that.

Priding herself on her humility,
Fisher Cutbait

I am SO sick of cop-bashing.

Bashing in general, but cop-bashing in particular.

Not there aren't less-than-great ones, or that I love it when they follow me down the road. But all this Occupy stuff has me sick of "bad cop" stories, particularly after hearing Occupy Portland's sniveling, whining, spoiled brat garbage. These officers are working a lot of hours and having to waste precious time on Occupiers' crap, when they should be out serving the REAL 99%.

I had more sympathy for the Occupy protesters earlier on. Then they started holding press conferences. They are among the snottiest and most deluded people I've ever seen. And I have teenagers!

Ugh!,
Fisher Cutbait

So You Hate Twilight.

Fine.

Just don't keep going on and on about it. It makes you look like you're secretly obsessed with it.

I'm talking to YOU, Stephen King. What, have Stephenie's books and movies outsold yours? Money grubber?

Doesn't care if vampires sparkle, since vampires are FICTIONAL,
Fisher Cutbait

Oh, the Phrases You'll Google!

1) Avery Schreiber

Remember the Match Game show from the 70s? Avery was a frequent guest - he always sat on the top left spot next to Brett Somers. Yeah, you remember. I think he was on The Love Boat at least once. Apparently he was funny, or something? He's kind of before my time (which is saying something).

2) Irena Warsaw Ghetto

In this enlightened age of debunked urban legends, I don't know how or why these old email forwards still make their way into people's inboxes (ahem, my parents' generation), but every so often, one email produces quite a gem, and Irena Sendler is one of those. Read her moving and amazing story here. She's my newest hero.

3) Fifty butts in the ashtray, I've got those Vantage blues again

From Saturday Night Live, a spoof advertisement for a fake LP titled "Stretch Marks". Gilda Radner played the singer. My siblings and I are Gilda fans and have her "Best Of" SNL video memorized. Interestingly, Google failed this test - it was as if this "Vantage Blues" song existed only in my brain, a beyond-scary prospect. I was thrilled to find the video.


(one naughty word)

Up since 3 AM,
Fisher Cutbait

Occupy W1nco Parking Lot

Yesterday, I did something I'd never done before: I bought homemade tamales from a lady selling them from her pickup outside W1nco.

She approached me as I was walking back to my car, pushing a cartful of Halloween pumpkins.  I didn't understand her at first; I figured she was one of the usual panhandlers asking for money. 

Once I understood, I looked at her and decided she looked safe - well-groomed, clean, nice hair, clothes in good repair.  I followed her to her truck, also clean and in good repair, and I hoped no one was waiting in the truck bed to jump out and hack me to death - at least there would be witnesses.

Then I ate the tamales, which was also an adventure.  (Don't try to eat the corn husks.)  They were awesome, and never at any point of the adventure did I regret my decision.

I don't know if you've been following the Occupy movement, but a city I know and love, Portland, has been inundated with protesters.  I know they're unhappy and ready for a change and that times are hard, but I can't get behind them in their current state.  They don't know what they're about or who they're fighting or what exactly they want or what they're trying to accomplish.  And they're making a beautiful place decidedly unbeautiful (and making the mayor look wimpy).

I would much rather give my support to people like this lady selling tamales.  She performed honorable work, and she worked when there was no work.  She put herself in an uncomfortable situation to sell her product - thick accent, approaching strangers in an unorthodox (unsafe?) place, exchanging money for tamales from her car, out in the weather.  She was brave and industrious and resourceful, and she dared to hope that someone somewhere would want to buy tamales.  She DID something.

I know it's not that simple - we can't put all those Portland protesters to work making tamales.  But what they're doing now doesn't seem to be helping their situation much, let alone anyone else's. 

Still experiencing some awesome heartburn,
Fisher Cutbait

They have plates just for those? Oooooh

So Mamma and Pappa took Mr. Cutbait and me out to dinner last night.  We went to Jake's Famous Crawfish Seafood Restaurant, which is always lovely.

Now keep in mind, this is a SEAFOOD restaurant.

I didn't notice this the first time we ate there, but on the walls are mounted several collections of plates in glass cases.  The plates looked much like these:

...which look very much like this:

Mamma and I first noticed one such collection on a wall close to our table - "Look at all those neat old deviled egg plates," she said.  We discovered others on a trip to the ladies' room.

"Wow, they just really love those deviled egg plates here," I observed.

Enter the snooty Alec Baldwin-esque waiter.

"I love all your deviled egg plates!" I gushed.

"Those are oyster plates."

......

Oh.

Frightfully uneducated in the ways of seafood serving pieces,
Fisher Cutbait

Where is the Reverend Shaw Moore?

Only he can get the citizens of Beaumont to wake up and stop being silly.

"Satan isn't in these books! He's in HERE!"

*picture Shaw pointing to his heart*

According to a few sweet misguided Beaumont-ish souls, Satan's favorite holiday is Halloween, and if you celebrate it and participate in its traditions, you're associating with him and being all naughty and stuff.

(How they know this, I can't figure out. Did they interview him about it? It's about as bad as whether Mormons are Christian or not.)

So Satan is a Halloween fan?  My darling little seven-year-old dressing up in a costume, going door-to-door asking for candy, and being praised for her cuteness is something he delights in?  Is he really big into eyeliner and fake blood and hollowed-out gourds with candles in them?  The ward's annual trunk-or-treat, is that one of his favorite things?

The whole thing is goofy. If Wikipedia is correct (and when isn't it), Halloween stemmed from a Catholic church tradition. How did it become Satanic, exactly? And whatever it once was, is it still celebrated that way today?

More importantly, aren't these anti-Halloweeners lending more evil credence to an insignificant day of the year, with their crybabying and shunning?

I'm sure some of his worshippers engage in stupid, evil activities on Halloween, but it seems a little naive to assume that it only happens that day or that they need a special occasion to do their thing.  "IT'S OCTOBER 31ST.  TODAY IS THE DAY WE ALL MAIM RACCOONS AND DRINK SLUG SLIME."  Like they can't do that on any other day of the year?

But what do I know - I'm just a Mormon.

(WINK, WINK)

Dreaming of chocolate-caramel eyeballs and laughing in devilish delight,
Fisher Cutbait

I vant to be alone

I have lived alone exactly two months of my life, and it wasn't nearly enough time to get used to it (or sick of it). I don't remember much - those two months were jam-packed with working, emotional garbage (most of which I was responsible for), and my boyfriend, Mr. Cutbait.

I do remember that after a lifetime of living with my family or roommates, it wasn't too terrible to find myself solely responsible for a tiny piece of real estate. I liked it, actually.

Almost twenty years later, surrounded by Mr. Cutbait and our several children, I find myself pondering what a little more alone time would have been like. It seems so odd to me that there are people in the world who spend years living by themselves. How would that be?

From a housekeeping standpoint, it seems like it would be easier - I mean, obviously - but you'd still have all the stuff to clean, and only you to do the work. On the other hand, things would stay cleaner and picked up longer.

If you lived alone, what do you think your life would be like? I can tell you there would probably be no satellite TV or game systems in my household. (At the moment I'm listening to the Disney channel coming from one room and a neglected Wii game's music from somewhere else.)

Maybe I'd have a cat, except I'd be the one doing the litter box thing... so maybe not. I do better with things that don't require food or daily maintenance.

Some people think it would be lonely, and it might get that way sometimes, I suppose. How would you fill that void? Travel? Friends? Service? Self-medicating?

At no point do I want my family gone from me - again, obviously - but having lived one kind of life for such a long time, I think it's normal to stop and think about what might have been. I really have no idea - I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't want to get married and have children, and thus never be alone again (without going out to the car, only to be discovered within a few minutes: "Mommy? Why are you out here?").

I just wonder where I'd be, and what I'd be doing. Do you?

Alone again (naturally),
Fisher Cutbait

Oh! How I Love a Fresh Start

Facebook's new format creeps me out.  It's the ticker: "So-and-so left a comment on so-and-so's photo."  "So-and-so is attending the Great White Shark Festival on Amity Island."  "So-and-so just sneezed, now say 'gesundheit.'"

It's not that I'm ashamed of what I say or do or like, or that I have anything to hide - but with the older version of Facebook, I had the settings fixed so that no one could follow me around. I liked the privacy. Now it's gone.

I hate it when something is perfect, and then the powers that be mess with it till it's unrecognizable. The powers that be need their little hands slapped.

So here I am, blogging again... since blogging is so private.

Trying not to get fresh,
Fisher Cutbait

Hello.

As I sit here looking out my front window, breaking my own rule by eating a bowl of homemade French onion soup in my living room - what the hey, it's my living room -

I am prone to wonder a few things.

Like, how awesome is it that my awesome child knows how to cook such awesomeness?  Awesome, awesome, and awesome some more?

How many days will it be before the family stops smelling of roasted onion?  I just dropped off a reeking little Cub Scout at our church building for an activity, and you know how kind and understanding other children are.  Especially about someone who smells weird.  He'll be OK, right?

After attending my two elementary school children's parent-teacher conferences later this week, how bad will I feel - chocolate-bad, vodka-bad or Valium-bad?  (They're only tardy at least once a week.)

And lastly - I don't think this one needs explaining - are Oreos secretly made of laxatives?

I guess that's it for now.  If any more wonderings cross my little pea brain, you'll be the first to know. 

kisses,
Fisher Cutbait