Friday, December 22, 2023

The Holidays, Part XVIII: Missed Connections

 As I've mentioned here over the course of the past month or so -- whether I write about it or not on any given day -- we have been looking nearly every day for the kitten who will be named Empress. Sometimes it's a passive search, sometimes it's very active -- like "we need to go see this cat now before she's gone" active. But, Daisy also has her eye on other cats too -- her equivalent of Empress is a big medium/longhaired brown male tabby she wants to name after her father, and another female that "she will know when she sees her" that she wants to name Mabel. Finding Empress has taken priority mainly because it's become so important to me, it's become my white whale of sorts.

Here's some of the cats we've looked at over the past few days:




Sweet little baby, very much a parrot-cat -- a shoulder-sitter -- who didn't want anything to do with Daisy whatsoever. I talked about her a few days ago. Her eyes did not stay that blue color and she was a little less floofy than the picture suggested, but she was cute. I got a lot of vibes from her but not necessarily enough to take her home. I'm sure she's already been adopted at this point.




A beautiful, but very shy little boy traumatized by the adoption/pet store experience. He didn't want anything to do with me and just wanted to be snuggled up into Daisy's dress. No vibes whatsoever for me but Daisy said she could have seen herself taking him home. We passed. I'm sure he's also been adopted by now.





From the picture, this guy looks like he could've been Hank's brother. In real life, he was much more pale cream in color than in the picture, was smaller (but a bit cuter) than he appeared, and was incredibly vocal with one of the most annoying meows either Daisy or I had ever heard. No vibes for me whatsoever, and very little for Daisy once we got to meet him.

Something you may note as you're looking through these pics with me is that not a one of them is a medium-hair or a longhair. Because apparently, they rarely exist in Nebraska or something.

We've seen one medium-hair who was very close to the characteristics I was looking for in Empress -- beautiful coat, a curious personality, liked to be held and loved on....and he was a male. We saw him yesterday and were he female, he would've already been home with us. I am not sharing a picture here because there never was one -- while his info is still up on the website, it's very likely he's been adopted already (PetSmart does not update their listings very often, which is why on those posts it says "call to see if I'm still there" at the bottom). There was a part of me that wanted to bring that beautiful boy home, and if I had, I would've named him Sorcerer (shelter name: Ed).

At each of the PetSmarts we've gone to to view the cats, we've been the first ones there to take a look for the day, and a line has formed behind us. People really want cats at Christmas, apparently -- every kitten that's shown up at the Humane Society this week has also been very quickly adopted same-day.

I've mentioned that looking for Empress has sort of become an obsession while I've been off work, and to be fair, it sort of was before I was on vacation too. I have, as Daisy described her own thoughts last week at some point, "cat FOMO." If there's a day I don't look, a day I don't search, that will be the day where she appears and is quickly adopted without me even knowing. The thought of missing out on that opportunity -- especially when cats that fit what I'm looking for are so rare here, is something that doesn't sit well with me.

We'll either find her or we won't. I have to accept that and doubly have to accept it as the winter gets nasty and I return to work for five months with no real time off. It is what it is, but I don't have to like it. I'm allowed to be disappointed and frustrated. 

Today we're going over to Iowa again, in about an hour, to see yet another black medium-hair female kitten with no picture listed. I don't expect anything to amount from this trip -- I do not expect to return home with a cat. I expect, once again, to return home frustrated and disappointed with a mindset of "I don't know why I bother" etc. It's hard to keep getting your hopes up over and over only to have them repeatedly smashed.

The question I keep asking myself is...why do I care so much? Why does it matter? Do I feel like there's something in the fates for me to get this cat?

I don't know. I can't answer those questions.

Thursday, December 21, 2023

The Holidays, Part XVII: Mr. Short Legs

 The weirdest part about being off work when you normally aren't is the confusion it provides to your body and mental state. What day is it? Should I be sleeping now? Etc. If you're like me, you'll get used to this in a few days, only to have to revert back to your normal schedule once vacation ends. It can be really jarring -- likely doubly so -- for someone who works overnights like I do. 

This is likely why I slept for over ten hours straight last night.

Daisy is still very sick. She got antibiotics earlier in the week for what appears to be a chest infection that's forming in the aftermath of whatever cold she had before and is still experiencing symptoms of, and because this has gone on so long she took another Covid test this morning -- which was, of course, still negative. Whatever it is, it's not Covid. And whatever it is, it's not hit me. Don't get me wrong, I've had some nasty allergies this week, but that's because the temperatures have been in the 50s (it could hit 60 today, we'll see) and it's either been raining or dreary most of the time. Yesterday was the first truly sunny/clear day I've seen in about a week, with temperatures warm enough to where I didn't really need to wear a jacket if I didn't want to.  

Given that info it is rather ironic that today is the solstice -- the first day of winter. 

Hank had his follow-up vet appointment today, after his scary breathing episode earlier in the month. He is a healthy 12 pounds and isn't even fully grown -- vet said he strongly believes he has some Maine Coon in his lineage somewhere because of the paw size and because he's nowhere near finished growing yet based on the x-rays from the emergency vet earlier this month. And, Maine Coons are known to have enlarged hearts, like it's a thing for them, a genetic thing.

Doc says he expects Hank to reach 15 pounds or more and that's a conservative estimate. He is very healthy, all of his vitals are strong, no murmurs in his heart, breathing/lungs are good, everything seems to be in order. He thinks Hank had an asthma attack, and this is at about the age where he'd start presenting asthma symptoms if that's the case. He strongly believes that because Hank immediately got better once they gave him the steroid shot and has not relapsed since we gave him the prescribed steroids after the emergency vet visit. He said that it's possible he may have another asthma attack here and there, but some cats never have them again. We got a prescription of prednisone for him in the event it happens again, and he suggests an inhaler (yes, for cats) with a little mask we can order for $40 to help him if it happens again.

He had a blood test done just to see if there's anything whatsoever wrong with his heart, though the doc doesn't think so -- but didn't want to discount it based on the enlarged heart x-ray, so that'll take several days likely before we have results. If something does come up abnormal, they have treatments for him and meds he can take that'll still give him a long and healthy life for the most part.

We really like this vet. We'll likely move Pete's care over to him as well and any new cats we get in the future will also very likely go to him. Dude is a class act and is still young -- I'm guessing several years younger than me -- so it's likely he'll be practicing for a long time yet. I don't know how long we'll remain living in Omaha, but it will surely be another 5-10 years at least, I'm guessing. 

The Maine Coon thing intrigues me. I've gotten some strong Maine Coon vibes from Hank based on behavior, size, and appearance. No, he doesn't look like one outwardly, but one can't deny that he is seven months old and twelve pounds -- he is almost as big as Pete is now and is still growing like a weed. Doc says that he could have misjudged his age a bit when we first brought him in, back at the end of July, as could the humane society -- but even with that he wouldn't have been off by 3 or 4 months, which would be the expected age of a normal cat who'd gotten this large this quickly. Doc also agreed that he wasn't overweight, he wasn't unhealthy -- he was just large. 

With his little legs. 

I have speculated a bit, mostly in my head up to this point, that he had some of the facial features/structure of a Maine Coon from certain angles -- his muzzle, especially. The length of his body is another sign that he's got some sort of large cat breed in him, we just don't know what. Maine Coons are prized and valuable and get gigantic, bigger than dogs for the purebred ones. Several friends who have seen pictures of Hank -- including those who have actually owned Maine Coons -- have speculated that he likely has some Maine Coon blood in him as well. Of course, we never would have known that when we adopted him, because this is what we adopted:




He just looked like a little, normal orange cat to us, with giant feet. 

Well, he still has those giant feet. We figured he'd grow into them and/or they wouldn't really look that giant once he grew up. We were wrong. Giant feet, little legs. Mr. Short Legs. Daisy and I began speculating that maybe he's half Maine Coon and half munchkin cat (which, yes, is an actual breed known for its really short legs and a body close to the ground) -- the biggest cat breed mixed with the smallest cat breed would sort of...even out...into a relatively normal looking cat, right? Law of averages and all that.

Well, we don't know. What we do know is that Mr. Short Legs is fine and healthy right now and we don't really expect that to change. We certainly hope it doesn't change, anyway.

Despite Daisy still feeling sick, we were still out yesterday and decided to get the grocery shopping done -- which we did. We also paid some bills, I did an Amazon order for some necessities (it all arrives before Christmas, thankfully) and got Daisy one last Christmas present that I'd been holding onto as an afterthought. It arrives tomorrow. Once it arrives, that's when everything kicks into gear and I begin wrapping everything, so I can knock it out in one fell swoop. I expect Daisy will do much the same.

We have still not had my proper "birthday" with the parents -- that will likely be later tomorrow or on Saturday. Mama wanted to see if we would come over yesterday, as she is now on antibiotics and is feeling much better (Daisy is too), but we were already on our way home with the groceries and had Hank's appointment later in the afternoon.

Nobody I've sent the flash drives to has responded that they've received them at this juncture, either. When I talked to my brother-in-law a few days ago, he said theirs hadn't arrived yet and was hoping it hadn't gotten misdirected. Eh. If it gets lost in the mail somewhere I'll just make another copy to send. I mailed it eight days ago and it was just going to Pennsylvania -- if it's truly taking that long to get there, who knows how long the other copies will take to get to Atlantic Canada.

Birthday Forty-One

 Hello all.

As of 6:22pm EST last night, I am officially 41 years old.

I was born on a snowy Monday evening in a hospital in Morgantown, West Virginia. I looked like this:



Yeah, that's me.

I sent this picture to my parents this morning and said "someone really should have told this kid that it all goes downhill from there" or something to that effect.

We did not do much for my birthday. It was a very low-key affair, honestly. We'd made all of these grandiose plans to have fun and do fun things and in the end we never really did any of them. So here's how my birthday went, from the beginning to the end:

  • 12am: I was asleep, having fallen asleep by 10pm the night before.

  • 4am: I woke up, roughly, having a vague recollection of being so tired that I could no longer stay conscious before I had fallen asleep. I got up, took my pills, and played one of my games here on my PC.

  • 6:30am: My dad tells me happy birthday via messenger. I reply to thank him and ask if they're both up (I didn't know if my mother worked yesterday or not due to the holiday schedule at the college she works at). No response. I text my mother and she says they're in the car on the way to work. I finish my previous post here about Christmas in the 80s.

  • Sometime around 8am: Daisy wakes up and comes into my room to wish me happy birthday. She's still sick, but we make rough plans for the day -- we were planning breakfast at a place called The Brunch Box, downtown, then we had an errand or two to run before we were going to look at more kittens at the humane society. As Daisy was still not feeling great and neither is Mom, we postpone birthday dinner plans with the parents.

  • 10:20am: After a lengthy search and deciding after numerous attempts that it was unwise to trust Daisy's GPS, we finally (easily) find The Brunch Box and have a wonderful breakfast of vegan/GF breakfast pizza, a hot vegan chicken-and-waffles sandwich, tater tots, and vegan frozen yogurt. It is easily one of the best pizzas I've ever had, period, ever.

  • 11:50ish: We have completed breakfast and the errands we needed to run, and are on our way to the humane society -- there was a kitten there I wanted to see, a small black female kitten. Short-haired, but with deep blue eyes. I figured it was worth a shot. In the car, Daisy tells me I need to check, just to make sure, that she is still at the humane society and that she hasn't been moved to PetSmart, who also does adoptions for the humane society. She was moved, along with two little boys who were adorable and that Daisy wanted to see as well. However, she was moved to the PetSmart in Shadow Lake, which is about half an hour away from us. So we adjust the GPS to get us there and off we go.

  • 12:20pm: We arrive at the PetSmart and are first in line to see these little cats. The little girl was adorable and very sweet, wanted all my attention and wanted to sit on my shoulders, but her eyes were not as blue as they'd previously looked (they were turning green, much like Pete), she wasn't a longhair -- which I knew -- and while she was sweet she wasn't hitting that "this is Empress" vibe for me. She was like 80% there but I didn't overall feel the entire connection. It has to be really right for me to want a cat and call her Empress, and I told Daisy that I'll know when I find the right one. The little boy Daisy looked at was sweet too, but very frightened and didn't want much attention or love. We left there with zero cats.

  • 1pm-ish: Deciding to go to the humane society to see the other new kittens, we did -- to find the place crazy busy and crawling with people. We also saw multiple people walk out of the building with cats in boxes, too. There were a couple of really cute ones there we could interact with, but there were so many people around and we didn't even have a hint of the vibes for any of them. All of them got adopted by the end of the day. Before leaving the humane society, we take this photo together:





  • 2pm-ish: We were home once again. I had a bit of frustration, and it wasn't necessarily about the cats. I was losing energy like crazy and there was just so many things we could have done for my birthday or while we were out, but all of them felt like effort and like work. Like, we need some groceries, for example -- I need to spend about $200 or so on necessities for around the house and only make grocery trips in person once about every two months or so. I told Daisy that sounded like work and would take a lot of energy. There were the plans we'd had to go play mini-golf, which by the time we'd done everything else sounded like an extreme amount of effort. I don't know how I would've been able to do dinner with the parents in the evening if it were still on. 

  • 3pm: Daisy gives me my birthday presents -- a sheet of stickers with Hank's face on them, a Cuisinart "Griddler" with waffle iron plates, and the newest edition of the Uncle John's Bathroom Reader series -- a birthday/Christmas staple in this household. I am sort of overwhelmed; the Griddler was not cheap. I had planned to get it for Daisy for Christmas a few years ago and she told me no at that time. I had rarely thought about it since.

  • 4pm-4:30pm: Sometime in here is when I pass the fuck out. During this time, Daisy cleans off the kitchen counters and sets up the Griddler, and vacuums the downstairs. I hear none of this -- I am dead to the world.

  • 4am today: I wake up again. Birthday is over. My Fitbit tells me I actually slept 10 hours and 17 minutes.

I got close to 100 people who wished me happy birthday on Facebook in one way or another. I had a great meal. I got to play with kittens, I got a very expensive kitchen appliance, and I slept for over ten hours. All in all, I think that's a pretty good birthday.

Tuesday, December 19, 2023

The Holidays, Part XVI: Christmas in the 80s

 Holiday vacation has begun. So now I guess we can get this series of posts really started -- on its sixteenth entry in the series. Hah. 

I wrote here yesterday about what Christmas was like in the 90s -- likely the most formative years of my life. In the process, I mentioned but mainly glossed over the 80s. This is mainly because I was seven years old when the 80s ended and my memories of the 80s are nowhere near as clear or as sharp as my memories of the 90s. Don't get me wrong, some things are, but not most of them. It's just feelings, really, and strong nostalgia without solid dates/years I can place on a lot of it. There are many stories about my childhood in the 80s that I've touched on here before, from holidays to just general "what life was like for me then" things. I remember a good bit of my young childhood but as I get older, memories fade and/or disappear, details get blotted out or go fuzzy. 

I remember very little about specific Christmases, but the point of this post is to tell some of those stories about what I do remember, so I'll start from my earliest Christmas memory -- has to be 1984 or so, after I'd just turned two. I remember going Christmas shopping with my parents, though I don't know where it was. They were looking to get some piece of furniture or an appliance or something along those lines. It was cold and snowy that night and I seem to recall the store we went to was like a warehouse-like store, or a big department store in a mall, something like that. I don't think they ended up getting what they went looking for, but I remember they got me a toy golf set -- plastic clubs and balls and a little putter-hole thing, and I remember I was in the back seat of the car on the way home. That narrows it down to either the old 1976 Dodge Aspen or my mother's new 1984 Pontiac Grand Am, if she'd already gotten it at that point, and I remember them fighting about something on the drive home -- just snapping back and forth at each other.

The next year, or possibly the year after (so, 1985-86; I don't think at this juncture I'll ever know for sure, but it's much more like 1985) is likely the biggest reason I wanted to write this post. I've told the story here before in snippets, but never in full, and I think it explains a lot about who I am currently even today in 2023 -- and why I do some of the things I do. 

As a young boy -- and I do mean young, barely out of toddler stage; in 1985 I would have just turned three -- I had apparently told my mother that I wanted a cat for Christmas. I don't know why I wanted a cat. I don't remember ever telling either of my parents that I wanted a cat, showing them pictures of cats, drawing cats, anything like that. But, apparently, I did and it's what I wanted. 

Some backstory, because you'll need it for context: during the daytime hours, when my parents both worked, I would spend the afternoons at my grandmother's house -- she would "babysit" me, so to speak. My mother worked in a doctor's office (she actually worked for my childhood physician for years on end) and that job was a 8-5 job. My father worked 3pm to midnight (something like that, I can't remember now) as a coal miner -- yes, actually down in the mines, mining coal -- he did this for about thirty years, roughly. So, it was rare for me to spend a lot of time with my parents when they were both together, all three of us as a family unit. I would wake up in the morning after my mother had already left for work, and would play in my bedroom/playpen/whatever until my father got up around 10. We would have breakfast and watch TV, and he would get ready for work and take me to my grandmother's before his shift at the mines started. I'd spend the afternoons into the evening with my grandmother and uncle (who was still living at home at the time) and then my mother would come pick me up in the evenings when she came home from work and I would spend the evening into the night with her, being put to bed hours before my father came home from the mines -- and then the cycle would repeat the next day. 

To further set the stage, at this time, my mother was 24 and my father was 26. I turn 41 tomorrow, and mostly see people in their twenties as children at this stage of my life -- but it was the 80s and times were different then.

One night, shortly before Christmas -- it could have been my birthday, I don't remember -- I remember that it was very cold and the house windows at my grandmother's were fogged up/iced over. I used to watch for my mother to come home from work to pick me up, as she would arrive at my grandmother's house around the same time every day, roughly. My grandmother had seven children, all but two of them had moved out of the house and had gotten married at that point (in this point in time, my mother's marriage to my father was by far the most recent marriage in the family), but my youngest aunt and uncle -- uncle born December 1962, aunt born May 1965 -- would come and go to/from work and it wasn't uncommon for her other kids to stop by and visit as all of them lived within a 10-15 mile radius from the family homestead. My grandmother's house had a long, sloping driveway that took a dip from the main road, went down into a little valley, and then curved back around to come up to the bottom of the front porch stairs/parking pad area in front of the garage door for the garage that was never used for actual vehicles. For family gatherings and dinners, the cars would park behind one another like a line of ants.

I know I'm being long-winded, but I'm setting the stage.

Over the years, if a car pulled into the driveway after dark, I would be able to recognize who it was by the shape of the car's headlights. I knew when it was my older uncle's truck, for example, or my aunt's GMC Jimmy, by headlight shape even at night. For my aunt and uncle who lived at home, I knew what her 1984 Camaro's headlights looked like, as well as his 1970 Maverick. Likewise, I knew what my mother's headlights looked like for the Grand Am she drove. And that night, my mother had pulled off the road into the edge of the driveway, and had stopped dead -- headlights shining right into the windows about 80 yards away (I told you, long driveway). We didn't know what she was doing. She just sat there for a few minutes, as if she were talking to someone I couldn't see in the dark -- it was December, so it was dark anytime after 5pm, and my mother was not home before 6 on any given night -- so I couldn't see anything but the headlights. 

Eventually, after a few minutes, she came down and then up the driveway, and came into the house. She was carrying a box of some sort. It appeared to be a pretty plain, nondescript cardboard box of small size. She explained to me that Santa Claus had stopped her in the driveway and had given her a gift to give me for Christmas, even though it was early, because he knew how much I wanted it. I sat on the pea-green carpet of my grandmother's house and the box was put on the floor in front of me. My mother, aunt, uncle, and grandmother all gathered around me so I could open it. There may have been pictures taken -- if there were, you have no idea how much money I would pay to have those pictures in my possession today. 

I opened the box -- I was told to do so slowly -- and in the bottom of it was a little black-and-gray furball with big eyes staring up at me. It was a kitten, a little long-haired female kitten with big eyes and long whiskers.

I have a feeling most of you know where I'm going with this by telling this story, but stay tuned because...yeah, it doesn't go well.

She was a Smoke Persian -- not the scrunched-up nose type of Persian, but a Persian nonetheless. She did not have a name. My aunt suggested "Percy" because of the Persian breed. I chose, out of the blue and very randomly, Priscilla. I don't know why. I liked the name. It didn't have anything to do with Priscilla Presley. I also had a decorative plastic pheasant that I named Penelope, so I guess as a child I  just really liked exotic P names.

Priscilla was a very patient and sweet cat -- at least with me. I was the only person that cat loved, and it seemed like she hated everything and everyone else. She followed me everywhere, loved it when I carried her around and played with her (even roughly, which I remember being warned multiple times that I needed to be more careful with her -- since I was a very young kid). However, she was, as they say, a menace to my parents, mostly my father. My father couldn't stand her, and I remember he was not happy that my mother had gotten me a kitten. In retrospect, she was just a kitten and doing kitten things -- having the zoomies, jumping on top of things, knocking things off shelves, etc. My father could not stand that and would lock her in the laundry room when she was being "bad." Even at my young age she saw me as her protector, and I bonded very hard with that little kitten. 

Eventually, after several months -- maybe a year -- of this, my father had enough. He sat me down and told me in no uncertain terms (I don't know if my mother was there or not at the time) that the cat needed to go, and he was going to find a new home for her. I don't think I believed him at first, or even really understood what he was saying. I also don't think my mother had really agreed to this or really wanted it. What I didn't know was that he had already placed/posted ads offering Priscilla up for sale -- Persians are exceedingly desired cats today, and were even then too, and can sometimes sell for thousands of dollars. My mother had purchased her from the pet store in the mall in Morgantown (I found this out many years later) and she was not inexpensive.

One morning, my father told me that someone was coming to the house to look at Priscilla and that I was not to say or do anything, was told to stay out of the way and to be quiet. He of course did this while my mother was at work. She came to the house and was a very sweet lady, but when I found out that she was trying to take Priscilla, I grabbed the cat and said "you can't take my kitty" and ran back to my room with her, crying. The lady, who had a conscience, told my father that she couldn't, and wouldn't, separate the two of us, and left.

My father came back to my room, angry with me but calm, and flatly told me something I'll never, ever forget.

"You cost me a lot of money today."

Sometime later, on a day I wasn't at home, he had someone else come to the house who he successfully sold Priscilla to, and she was gone. When I returned home and found out, I was inconsolable. My mother was very angry at him. I remember him telling my mother "he'll get over it" in reference to me and my feelings.

I have never forgiven my father for this and likely never will, even though he and I haven't had any sort of father/son relationship in over thirty years. 

I do not have any photos of Priscilla. I don't know that any pictures were ever taken of the two of us together, and if they were, I have never had possession of those photos. I only remember what she looked like through the eyes of a very young child, and my memories have faded greatly with time.

I told Daisy the entirety of this story a few nights ago, though she'd heard most of it before, and prefaced it with "So if you wonder why I am always passively looking for Empress, it's because I already had her once and lost her, and her name was Priscilla."

Yeah, so...there's that heartbreaking story. Christmases in the 80s can only go up from there, right?

Ehhhhh.

I did have good birthdays and Christmases in the 80s, but a lot of it is marred with fallout of my parents' divorce. They divorced in August 1987, so 1986 was the last real Christmas we had together as a nuclear family unit. I remember that year was great -- I got the Power Wheels Bigfoot truck and a Transformers: The Movie sleeping bag, which I unzipped completely and used as a blanket for many years, all the way up through my high school days, before it completely fell apart. I also got the Lazer Tag set that had the sensors, Starlytes (the guns) and the baseball cap with a sensor on it. I still have one of the Starlytes somewhere, possibly even in this house. I don't think it works anymore, but still.



You have to admit, this thing still looks rad as fuck.


So after 1986, everything took a dive. I remember Christmas Eves before that time were spent with family -- sometimes my father's family. I remember little snippets of those times with my aunts, uncles, and cousins (some of whom are no longer with us) but only snippets, as I was very young. Afterwards I don't remember a whole lot for a few years. In 1987 I think we still tried to do some semblance of a family Christmas, despite the divorce, but it didn't really work out that well. I find it interesting that I remember more details of my birthdays than Christmas during the late 80s

By 1988 my mother and I were living on our own in a trailer in Morgantown. I turned six that year, and she wanted to throw a birthday party for me in our home -- likely it would also have functioned as Aa Christmas party too, but still. She invited all of the ladies from work (she was working in a dentist office by this time, and they all knew me) and some if not all of my aunts and uncles. She'd made a cake from scratch with chocolate frosting and red gel icing letters. The weather was terrible -- rain, turning to ice, and then turning to snow -- and one by one people called the house and told her they wouldn't make it. Nobody ended up coming to the party. I remember that I was sad and disappointed, but I also remember that she sat at the kitchen table and wept.

Those years were a struggle.

Christmas Eve 1989 I spent with my father, as he'd just remarried three months prior, to my stepmother. It was really the first time I'd spent a lot of time with the stepmother's family, and they gave me piles of gifts. I felt so lucky and surprised by this as I always felt ancillary to them for the most part. Once my father married into their quite large family, family Christmases and other holidays were spent with them. Sometimes I was there for some of it, but most of the time I wasn't -- and by a few years later, once my father had had two daughters with his new wife, I'd been extricated from the situation completely.

But at least he didn't sell me to some rando like he would a cat, right?

The 80s ended with a whimper, at least for me. My mother was seeing the man who would end up becoming my abusive former stepfather (she would marry him in 1990) so there's not a lot else to tell. I am grateful that I have become a mostly stable adult, mostly unaffected these days by the pains of my childhood -- but it was a rocky road to get here, as you've seen.

Tomorrow, I turn 41 -- with everything that entails. I'll cover it here as well, of course.

Monday, December 18, 2023

The Holidays, Part XV: Christmas in the 90s

 (Days of work remaining until holiday time off: 1)

This is long. Buckle in.

A few years back, I tried to put together a post of every Christmas I was alive -- how old I was, what I was doing, where I was living, and everything I remembered about it -- year by year. I believe I scrapped it and didn't put it up here because it got very long and there were just a lot of details I couldn't remember. Yes, I remember a good 70% or so of the 80s, because I lived through them, but I don't remember solid, vivid details about a lot of the Christmases involved -- I just remember feelings, I remember some events that would stick with me and helped shape who I was as a child, or were otherwise just some of those "core memory" sort of feelings and other little snippets that I could fondly recall. I'll write about this too, eventually.

However, the 90s were much more vivid for me. It's the 90s where I developed my love of Christmas, and Christmas traditions within our family were solidified, where the holidays began carrying a sort of magic for me that I still chase in one form or another even now, over thirty years later. Nostalgia runs strong and deep in my blood, and so much from the 90s still sticks with me in one form or another. So, this post is a story about the things I loved about the holidays during those years, as well as some of the gifts I gave, and got, during those years.

Mind you, not all of the 90s were great -- I mean that from a personal perspective as well as a historical one. The beginning of the 90s was traumatic for me as my mother had just married my abusive former stepfather, and the end of the 90s was traumatic for me because I was in my angsty high school years and suffered greatly from depression. A lot. 

Christmas in the early 90s involved a lot of back and forth. If I wasn't doing Christmas Eve with my father (which, I think, the last time I did that was 1990 or 1991, and I only did it once after he married my stepmother), it was spent in Fairmont, WV at the house of my former stepfather's parents -- I slept in the small guest room/sewing room and my mother and stepfather slept in his (much nicer/larger) bedroom. I can't say I slept much, though -- I was still at the age where Christmas gifts were everything to me, and the anticipation would keep me awake much of the night, staring at the ceiling. This was, of course, the age before cell phones, several years before I would even own a Game Boy or similar gaming system, and it was my sole hope every year that I would get a Nintendo or Sega Genesis. My cousins had a Nintendo and all I wanted was to be able to play video games like they could at any time. I could not understand why or how they could get tired of it, how they didn't want to play it every waking hour. 

I never got one during those years. I occasionally got an off-brand Transformer figure and a lot of NASCAR stuff, as I was really into NASCAR at the time (before, well, a few of my favorite drivers died and multiple others retired). I got a lot of clothes and occasionally a cassette tape here and there -- I remember in 1991 I got the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze soundtrack on cassette, which was a big deal to me because that was also the year I got a good GE radio/cassette player, which I still own to this day, and a pack of tapes that I used to record songs off the radio.

Christmas in the early 90s would usually operate in one fashion or another -- if we did the Christmas Eve and morning thing in Fairmont, that afternoon we'd drive to my grandmother's house a county away for the family dinner. The early 90s are what I really refer to as "peak Christmas" for my family's gatherings. All of the kids of my generation were between the ages of 6 and 20 -- as an adolescent I was right in the middle of this -- and all of the aunts and uncles were in their 30s and 40s, with the only exception to this being my grandmother (who was in her mid-60s at the time; she lived to be 90). The grand total of people doing Christmas in my grandmother's small double-wide trailer? If everyone came, it was well over 20 people. I did the math and some years it could've been 22-24. That's a LOT of people for one small space with one bathroom and a very small kitchen/small stove and refrigerator. 

Yet, every year, my grandmother made Christmas dinner happen. Some of the aunts and uncles brought some of the larger dishes -- one of my aunts was always in charge of the mashed potatoes, another was in charge of the ham, and others brought various side dishes and desserts. My grandmother usually handled the rolls and butter, but her centerpiece dessert every year that she was always very proud of was her giant bowl of jello, into which she would always put fruit -- bananas, grapes, sometimes the little mandarin oranges, etc. Most of the time it was red jello with bananas, though. I loved it and never could figure out how she could get it to "set" with the fruit suspended in it. I still don't know how it was done to this day. 

All of her kids and grandkids, from each family, would get my grandmother a gift. There were seven families (because there were seven of her children) so each year, each family would give her a "family gift" -- sometimes it was something for the kitchen, sometimes it was pajamas or slippers or fancy foods like the Hickory Farms gift sets or something like that. I don't know that or if she ever used the vast majority of it. When the house was cleaned out years later (when she was moved into a smaller trailer below the old one on the same family property) I was told they many of those things were found just stuffed into the backrooms, their boxes never opened again after the Christmas wrapping had been removed.

My grandmother had a tradition that everyone in the family got one gift from her, and there was generally a price limit of $20 for the kids and $50 for the married couples. She was already getting old though and couldn't shop for hours on end the way she used to back in the 80s, so by the 90s (especially the mid-to-late 90s) she would give a list and the money to her youngest two kids (my youngest aunt and youngest uncle) and would send them off to pick up the items for everyone. In the 80s, when I was a very young child, she did it all herself in person and the three of them would go do that shopping together in various stores/towns, from Morgantown to Fairmont to Waynesburg, PA. As she got older, that stopped almost completely, and by the end of the 90s she was just giving cash to everyone inside Christmas cards instead of actual gifts.

Many gifts from the 1990s, from my grandmother, I fondly remember. Most years I'd either get a videotape of a movie I wanted, or I'd get one of the Tiger handheld electronic games. My original VHS copies of Batman Forever (1995) and Independence Day (1996) were Christmas gifts from my grandmother. In 1993 or 94 she got me the Tiger handheld version of Mortal Kombat, which I was thrilled to receive.

As the 90s went on, and as my mother divorced my abusive former stepfather, holidays began to change. My mother met the man I refer to here as my Dad in the summer of 1993, and by the following summer the long separation and divorce from said stepfather was finalized and we were living on our own in a large, but fairly expensive apartment in Morgantown. We'd extricated ourselves from a bad situation and were finally free again -- a single mother and her twelve-year-old son, a son whose actual father had written him off for good a year prior, and suddenly the family Christmas was the only Christmas we had.

Christmas 1994 was strange and unlike any other Christmas I think I've ever had. We were finally on our own, but we had very little. I was not doing well in school -- truth be told, I'd lost almost all interest in school once I started reading and collecting comics about two years prior, and with the separation and divorce stuff going on, I focused on the comics and writing/drawing. I detached myself from most reality, I got really into the Power Rangers -- even though I got made fun of in school for liking them -- and just tried to be a kid. There was so much I'd missed out on living with the very strict disciplinarian who was my former stepfather, and because of that there was so much early 90s culture that had been forbidden to me -- stuff that I was not allowed to do, watch, or have -- major cultural touchstones in movies, music, and television that I was not allowed to experience. I never got a Nintendo. I never got a Game Boy, and when we moved into that apartment, we didn't even have a VCR. Our TV was very old and from the early 80s, purchased secondhand. Furniture was either gifted to us or also purchased secondhand, until my mother could finally afford to get a living room set and a table. We lived frugally for some time. 

But, for Christmas that changed. 

We'd continued the tradition, started a few years before, that on or around my birthday we would drive to Pittsburgh to have dinner at the Olive Garden and to go Christmas shopping at the Century III Mall. I've written about these trips here before -- they were something I looked forward to every year. Pittsburgh is about 90 miles north of Morgantown, and given that it was winter, sometimes the trip would be delayed a day or two or we'd go a day or two earlier than normal to beat incoming weather, but it was always as close to my birthday as possible. I think the earliest we ever did the trip was December 18th, and the latest probably December 23, depending on the year. In all of my years I think there was only a very few years that we skipped this tradition when I was living at home -- one was the first winter that Mom and I were alone before she'd really solidified her relationship with my Dad, and I remember another year that I was really sick/tired and did not want to go (my parents still went on their own), but I believe by that time I was already in college.

In 1994 though, I believe it was just me and Mom, and I remember we went on the trip two nights before my birthday. She'd asked me what I wanted that year and I told her either a Super Nintendo or a Sega Genesis -- it really didn't matter to me which one. I showed them both to her in the Electronics Boutique in Century III Mall, showed her the games I liked and/or would have wanted for each one, etc. She actually paid very close attention to my "presentation," so to speak. Both systems at the time were the same price -- $99.99. 

As an aside, what's absolutely wild to me as an adult looking back on this nearly thirty years later is that the new-design, top-loading NES system at that time was $49.99 (and may have been cheaper depending on Christmas sales) pretty much anywhere, and had thousands of well-known games for it -- I could've had one of those and the system itself would have been worth waaaaay more on the collectors' market today than both the Genesis and SNES combined, including the games I was interested in. I, at the time, was not interested in the NES anymore -- I wanted the newest, up-to-date system(s) that all of my friends in school had. 

We came home with other gifts and I thought nothing else of it. Honestly I don't think I thought about it again. But, the next night, my aunt brought me a wrapped birthday gift from my grandmother, and I wasn't allowed to open it before my birthday. Even then I didn't think much about it. It was small, it was a wrapped hard box, and I assumed it was a videotape or another handheld Tiger game. 

The morning of my birthday -- I turned twelve that year -- before my mother was awake, I opened my gift from my grandmother. It was a copy of Batman Returns for the Sega Genesis, in its hardshell plastic case, brand new. I remember going to my mother with it and saying something along the lines of "okay, where's the Genesis?" and holding the game up so she could see the jig was up.

That was what my mother had gotten me for my birthday, obviously -- she'd split up from me and doubled back to the Electronics Boutique while I had gone off to get gifts for her, and had purchased the Genesis -- which came with Sonic Spinball as the pack-in game -- and had run it back to the car before meeting up with me again to go home. 

It was one of the best Christmas gifts I'd ever received, even though it was really a birthday gift, because it wasn't just about having a video game system of my own -- it was about my mother being able to gift me the freedom to own one, something that had been forbidden for me for years by my former stepfather. It was about letting me be a kid and having the Christmas that I wanted -- a delight that had been stolen from me in my more formative years by the former stepfather. It was a symbol of "fuck that guy" as much as it was a gaming console. 

Christmas morning came that year and with it, a few other games -- the one I remember most was Spider-Man and the X-Men in Arcade's Revenge, which was a truly terrible game and one of the worst games ever produced for any system -- but the box art and pictures looked cool. It wasn't her fault that the game was awful. She didn't know either. 

I had that Genesis until 2018 -- nearly 25 years. It blew out its video port sometime in the late 90s and had been sitting in a box, with all its peripherals, until I sold it to a local game store here in Omaha for parts. The games had all been sold long before that, with the exception of the aforementioned Batman Returns game from my grandmother -- that game I played the shit out of, finally beat it, and then traded it to a friend in 6th grade (read: several months later) for his old Game Boy. Yes, he traded me a Game Boy for a four-year-old Genesis cartridge. I think I got the better deal on that one. 

I had gone from having zero game systems to having two current ones in less than the span of a year. 

With the former stepfather's family Christmas time eliminated (and good riddance, I couldn't stand those people....well, okay, his dad was a good/decent enough person), for the second half of the decade, our Christmases would change a lot. First and foremost, my mother was now with the man I call my Dad and would be from that point forward. It did not take long for me to see him as a father figure and likewise, for him to begin treating me like his own son. He had three children of his own from his previous marriages -- my oldest brother was twelve years older than me, so he was already well into his twenties by the time my parents met. His middle son was two years older than me, and his daughter was four years younger than me. His family was large -- he had two sisters with children, his parents, and various aunts and uncles of his generation and the previous generation, and all of them had a family Christmas (as well as all other holiday gatherings) at their family home in southwestern Pennsylvania. I believe we began attending these, all as a cohesive family unit, around 1995. 

There were some bumps and hurdles, of course. I don't think Dad's family really accepted us for a couple of years. They were happy to have us, and would buy me and my mother nice gifts, would be happy to feed us and have family time with us, but they were always sort of detached from us as we were very clearly the outsiders of the gathering. This softened more as time went on and as we attended more family events/dinners not just on holidays -- we indeed spent a lot of time with that extended family, had many Sunday dinners with them, went to the occasional event with them (like fireworks in the park and that sort of thing), etc. It softened more once Dad's niece also found a man she wanted to marry and eventually did, and he was brought into the family much like we were. 

Likewise, in our own family, my Dad was very quickly accepted and brought into the fold -- my family universally hated my former stepfather and had no idea why my mother was with him, and my Dad was a breath of fresh air to the family gatherings. It also helped that the bassist in Dad's band was, coincidentally, someone that almost everyone in the family of my mother's generation had gone to school with, and that Dad's band had played some of the district fairs and school dances -- keep in mind my parents are ten years apart in age. 

Anyway.

Christmases, for a couple of years, would start at my grandmother's house with just the three of us, and then Dad would get his kids (except for my oldest brother, who was out on his own and would come by himself) and we'd all head up to Pennsylvania for the family Christmas there. This meant that sometimes Christmas would start at like 6 or 7am when we woke up and did our own Christmas morning, then by 9 or 10 we'd be on the road to my grandmother's house, and then after spending several hours there we'd go to Dad's parents' house for the big family Christmas there, usually getting in riiiiiight around the time dinner was starting -- presents came after dinner -- and we would not get home that night until close to (or sometimes, well after) midnight. If the weather was bad, it took even more time.

This doubling up shit was brutal. I loved the dual family time but my mother was in her 30s at the time and Dad was in his 40s and as time went on, it became harder to actually do it all every year. Add to that the fact that sometimes his kids had special Christmas plans with their mother that we'd have to work around, and within 3-4 years at most, it became untenable. For one, it was hell on my parents the next day if the day after Christmas was a weekday, as they'd have to get up and go right back to work. As a kid in middle/high school when Christmas break was a thing, this wasn't an issue for me. 

Luckily for us, by the late 90s our own family's Christmas gatherings had become unstable. The older kids of my generation were getting married and/or having kids of their own, and a lot of squabbling between the brothers of the family was firing up. By the end of the 90s, half of the family was doing one dinner that some others may or may not attend, and the other half wasn't bothering to come to my grandmother's house. By the early 2000s they would switch up where and who was doing the Christmas dinner at which house and they would just go get my grandmother to take her there. The last everyone family dinner we had was Thanksgiving in 1999 at my uncle's house, and the last holiday dinner we had that multiple families (but not everyone) attended was Easter, at another uncle's house, in 2003.

That meant that we only had one place to go for big holidays from the late 90s forward -- and that was to Dad's parents' house in Pennsylvania. Christmas there was an event every year. My mother used to call it "a production" because it was very elaborate, very structured, and like a stage play. 

Everyone would need to be there by 4, no exceptions, or dinner was starting without you. If dinner started without you, you were basically on your own because nobody was getting up from the table until dinner was over. Get a plate, get in line, serve yourself, find somewhere to sit. Kids sit at the kids table in the living room. Adults sit around the kitchen table and around the dining room table. After dinner was coffee and desserts, if warranted and available. Then all of the food was put away and the kitchen was cleaned, and the tables were cleared. Only the immediate family was allowed to help do this (my mother offered for several years before she was allowed to help clean up). Shelf-stable desserts like cookies, brownies, and the like were left out on platters so people could graze on them as they wanted.

After all of this was done, everyone would gather in the living room and find a sitting spot. And it had better be a comfortable spot, because you weren't going to move for hours -- several hours. Why? Because you wouldn't be able to, not with the chaos that was about to erupt. Dad's family had a very specific tradition where everyone opens their gifts one by one from the youngest (all of the youngest grandkids and kids) to the oldest (Dad's parents -- both of whom are now deceased). Before this process, however, you had to get your seat because all of the gifts would be distributed and put in piles in front of everyone's sitting spot. There those gifts would sit until it was your specific turn to open them. When it was your turn, you were the center of attention -- you'd open your gift, hold it up and show everyone what it was, say who it was from, and let everyone ooh and ahh at it -- usually this would also be accompanied by a short story from the gift-giver as to why this particular gift was given and where it was found. You'd do this one by one until all of your gifts were gone, at which point your time in the spotlight would be over and they'd move to the next oldest person. 

I lived through this throughout enough years to where I figured it was normal, that's just how all big families did their Christmases -- and it wasn't until I was well into my adult years where I realized just how bizarre all of it was. Once Daisy and I got together and we began having Christmases with her sisters, their husbands, and the kids -- even before Daisy and I were married -- I remember being puzzled that everyone just opened their gifts all at once and they didn't necessarily focus on one person at a time. Sometimes we did, as adults, but the kids? Hell no, the kids wanted to tear into everything as soon as possible.

So, because the family Christmas presents started with the kids -- all of the youngest kids first, guess who had the most presents? If you said "the youngest kids, all five or six of them at the time" you'd be correct -- from the infants on up through the teenagers and adult kids and then to the actual adults, the present counts would slowly decrease and the "production" would speed up, but every year it took a very long time to get through the kids' stuff. This time only increased once my oldest brother got married and had their first kids, and when my Dad's niece got married and had her own kid. 

I was right in the middle of the kids' lot -- I was in my teenage years in the 90s during the heyday of this, so in the beginning I was third, and by the time the 2000s rolled around I was fourth, fifth, and then sixth as more kids were being born into the family.

I will also stress that these weren't little gifts either -- some of them were pretty large and/or expensive, enough to rival the gifts I got from my parents at times. From Dad's family I got many videotapes (Men in Black, Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers: The Movie, and a bunch of anime), a ton of Star Wars figures and merchandise during the re-releases and the prequels, a lot of music on CD, a lot of good clothing (band t-shirts, some pants, and an Old Navy performance fleece that I wore for many years) as well as stuff like food, coffee, candies, board/card games, etc. It was always a really good haul from the family -- and I was always surprised by the gifts they'd lavish on me.

Once the kids were all done, we tended to gather our stuff and take it out to the car. My brother usually had a game system with him -- I remember the year he got the Atari Jaguar, which was wild at the time -- and we'd hook it up to the small TV in the kitchen and play games while all of the adults would take another two or three hours to open their gifts. If I got a book that year, I'd usually spend some time reading it. If the weather wasn't awful, sometimes we'd go outside in the night and play in the snow. When I became a smoker in college, I would step outside onto the porch and smoke a few cigarettes just to get away from the noise and hubbub for a bit, as by that time I was much older and was no longer really "one of the kids." 

Eventually, as the years went on and the generations grew up and/or got much older, the focus became more on the kids and grandkids and my mother and I would continue to go just to see everyone, but it wasn't as much an event as it had been in my teenage years when all the kids of my generation were much younger -- the focus was now on the new additions to the family, of which there were many (my oldest brother alone had three kids over the course of seven years or so). Eventually my mother and I just sort of...phased out of it? I don't know how to describe it other than that. The last year we both attended the big family Christmas was 2004, I think. I was getting ready to graduate college, and the youngest kids at the time were slightly older than toddlers. Once I graduated college and moved out of the house, Dad would go by himself to the family Christmas, sometimes with or without his own kids as well (depending on their own holiday plans). As far as I know, the family Christmases continued for many years afterwards, including after Dad's father's death a few years ago -- however, with the death of his mother about a month ago now, they may be all done now. 

I mentioned above that during the 90s was when I got into a lot of the "traditions" that I still hold dear today, that the 90s was when most of my warm-and-fuzzy memories associated with Christmas or for the season in general got their start, and that's true. I hate to really say it but a lot of them are commercially-based -- and by that I mean "in the spirit of commerce and consumption" not "holiday television commercials." A lot of my best memories of holidays in the 90s involve shopping and excursions to do things that I didn't normally get to do, simply because it was my birthday or Christmastime. 

I've mentioned here before, and even above, about the Pittsburgh trips to Century III Mall around my birthday every year. Malls in the 90s were magical places, and Century III was one of the best in the area. Occasionally we'd go to South Hills Village, as well, though Century III was always the clear winner in my book -- because the Olive Garden, Burlington Coat Factory, and Best Buy were all right next to it. 

Dinners at the Olive Garden were quite special and magical to me -- mind you, this was the 90s, and I didn't exactly grow up in a wealthy environment. This food was fancy to me and it was an absolute event. My choice was usually the Tour of Italy -- it was my go-to year after year. I believe it's actually still on the menu. It was chicken parm, fettucine alfredo, and a big slice of lasagna. Nothing ever tops my mother's lasagna, but Olive Garden came pretty close. The excitement of that coupled with the salad and unlimited breadsticks -- plus, usually, a dessert of tiramisu afterwards -- was pure joy to me as a kid. I don't think it would carry that same joy today (even if I were still eating meat, which I'm not) that it carried in the 90s.

The next stop was always Burlington -- which, in the 90s was also a much different place than it is today. "Coat Factory" was still part of its name, and it definitely played the part -- the entire basement/downstairs of Burlington (because yes, it was a two-story Burlington in Pittsburgh) was coats, trenchcoats, parkas, suit jackets, etc. I got my first two trenchcoats in Burlington in the 90s -- a black one in 1996 and a gray one in 1998. The black one I wore well into college until it eventually just disintegrated into scraps, and the gray one I wore after that for many years, until I finally donated it to Goodwill well after Daisy and I were married. Both coats were birthday or Christmas gifts in their respective years. 

I got a lot of other clothing from Burlington over the years as well -- several denim vests, many pairs of jeans, most of my socks, some sweaters and button-up shirts, etc. They weren't as "fast fashion" back then as they are today -- they didn't carry a lot of t-shirts with comic/anime characters or logos on them at the time. They were just a basic clothing retailer for normal folks, and as a fat kid I was always thrilled that they carried stuff in my size for not a lot of money, stuff that would last a few years and not quickly fall apart. Some years during the December trip up there, I'd get a lot of stuff (I just counted it as birthday/Christmas presents, because the vast majority of it I didn't pay for myself, the parents bought it); other years it was a bust and I couldn't find much of anything. As the 90s transitioned into the 2000s, the latter started becoming the common outcome.

Sometimes after Burlington, but before the mall, we'd go to Best Buy too. This became more frequent in the later 90s and afterwards (98, 99, 2000 etc) once my parents had bought our house on top of the mountain together and after we had a giant TV, 5-disc DVD player, and my PlayStation (1998 Christmas gift). We didn't always hit up Best Buy. Sometimes it was getting late in the day and we either weren't interested or wouldn't have time to work it in. If we went on a weekday for this trip, eventually the parents would begin to just take the day off for us to get an early start and be able to do it with enough time to get everything done, because if we left for Pittsburgh when they got off work at 5pm, depending on weather it could take two hours to get there from Morgantown, then dinner for another hour or more, and by the time we would even start shopping it could and frequently would be after 8 or later. It just wasn't possible to fit everything in, so by the later 90s it became an all-day thing -- my parents would take the day off work for my birthday (or we'd leave early on a Saturday or Sunday morning if my birthday fell anywhere near close to a weekend) and just make it an event. Also, by the time the later 90s rolled around, and I was getting older and could appreciate electronics/music/games, Dad's kids would sometimes come along with us on said trip -- when they did, Best Buy was always a stop we made.

For those of you who weren't alive in the 90s, or are too young to remember, Best Buy in the 90s was an amazing place if you were a music and video game nerd like I was. I'm not sure how many things I actually purchased over the years on those trips, either for myself or for other people, but it was a magical time when if there was a particular record you were looking for, if you couldn't find it at Best Buy, you likely wouldn't be able to find it anywhere else. In the years where VHS and DVD could be found on shelves together, you could also find DVD-audio discs -- DVDs that were music-only albums and were to be played in your DVD player with apparently "better" sound quality. I never had any, but quirky stuff like this is a lot of what I remember -- aisles filled with tube televisions or big-screen projection TVs (not flatscreens), or giant Packard Bell or IBM-branded computers with a whopping 16MB of RAM and a Pentium 1, 166mhz processor being advertised as "lightning fast" or "this computer will never be obsolete!"

It can all be yours for $1,900! With a 16-inch monitor that weighs eighty-five pounds!

Yeah, electronics shopping in the 90s was wild, all. 

Not to mention the video games. Aisles upon aisles of video game systems, games, display consoles you could play demos on, and everything video-game related. In the mid-90s this wasn't a big deal to me; I just had the Genesis and the Game Boy, and both consoles were on their way out at the time to make room for the next generation of systems like the N64, Saturn, and PlayStation. Once I got the PlayStation -- but more importantly, after my brother got his PlayStation -- I began to pay a lot more attention to the games that were available. 

By the way, the NES I never got? I did get it in the 90s, in a roundabout way. I was one of the first people I knew with the internet and a decent (at the time) computer, at the time when emulation was first getting off the ground. I therefore had an entire NES collection of roms and an emulator on my first computer by 1998. I vividly remember the night we came home from my oldest brother's wedding, I configured it and spent hours playing The Legend of Zelda and the first few Mario games until I was tired enough to go to sleep. 

I did purchase a secondhand NES from a local game shop for $35 when I was in high school. 

Anyway.

When we were done at Best Buy, we'd finally hit up the mall, which was usually (because of the season) a madhouse. But, I always had a plan.

You see, every year for my birthday, my godfather (not sure what else to call him, really) would write me a $75 check as a present. It would come in the mail shortly before my birthday and we would generally cash it at the bank on the way to Pittsburgh. That money was my money to do with what I wished. $75 to a kid is a lot of money, honestly, and it was doubly so in the 90s -- quite literally, $75 then was $150 in today's money.

That $75 check every year was my Christmas shopping budget for the parents more often than not. Sometimes I would use it all, sometimes I would use some or most of it, and sometimes I'd spend more on myself than I did them (I was a teenager and was set loose in a thriving mall, so...you do the math there). Usually I had some other cash to supplant it with -- I'd save any other cash I got for a couple of months for the Pittsburgh trip -- but if I didn't have anything else, $75 was what I was working with.

I don't remember a lot of what I got my parents over these years; I know one year I got my mother a $40-something Bath & Body Works gift basket that weighed a ton because it came in a giant glass fishbowl. I remember getting Dad a book or two, or some various comic-related collectibles (he was, and is, a giant nerd to this day, and he's who really got me into comics) and some various electronic things here and there, but for the most part it's impossible to try to remember specifics for different years.

Century III Mall always had multiple stores I'd hit up for multiple reasons, because it was the heyday of mall culture -- and all of those stores no longer exist: Waldenbooks, Babbage's, Electronics Boutique, Kay-Bee Toys, National Record Mart, and the comic shop in the mall (had various names, various locations, and various owners over most of the 90s and early 2000s before eventually shutting down completely). 

The stores that I hit up that do still exist are Bath & Body Works, Hot Topic, Spencer Gifts, and Suncoast Motion Picture Company. None of them are the same now as they were in the 90s.

Well, okay, Spencer Gifts is mostly the same. I didn't even think Suncoasts existed anymore, but there's one in Westroads Mall here in Omaha that is open and still doing good business, surprisingly enough.

Anyway, once we were in the mall, we'd set a time and a place to meet back up at (usually an hour or so later), and then we'd all split up and go our separate ways. If my siblings were with us, I'd occasionally run into them as we went to similar stores. If they weren't, then it was a marathon run through all of the stores I needed to peruse before I'd have to get back to meet the parents at the agreed-upon time. Throughout the trip, by hitting up these stores and/or a few others at random if/when I had the time, I could almost always do all of my Christmas shopping in one fell swoop. But, if I'd already done some or all of the necessary gift-shopping at Burlington or Best Buy, whatever money I had left at the mall was all mine to use on whatever I wanted.

As the trip was partially a birthday trip for me (well, it was mostly a birthday trip for me every year), I always looked to get at least one thing for myself -- a birthday present to me, from me. More often than not this was a t-shirt or CD or game of some sort. In different years, I purchased Akira and Ghost in the Shell shirts from Hot Topic -- they were one of the only places where you could get anime-related clothing at the time -- and other years I purchased my first Misfits and NOFX shirts there too. One year I bought a t-shirt in Suncoast that was the poster for Transformers: The Movie when all of the G1 stuff was getting a resurgence and being re-released. I used to scour the discount t-shirt racks in all of these stores for nerdy stuff I couldn't find anywhere else. 

I don't own any of that clothing anymore, by the way; this was over 25 years ago now for the most part, and over that time most of it either disintegrated from heavy wear or were later donated in purges of my closet.

At the end of the night, on the ride back home in the backseat, I would either doze off or would be quietly satisfied with the events of the day. It was always a good way to celebrate my birthday and set me in the mood for the remainder of the Christmas season.

We stopped the trips around the time I was ready to graduate from college; I had mostly outgrown the need or desire for them at that point and nasty weather had snarled one or two of them in the later years. Olive Garden was no longer the novelty it once was, and Burlington rarely had anything I was interested in as the years shifted from the 90s into the early-to-mid 2000s. As for Best Buy, as I got older I realized just how inflated their prices were compared to, say, Walmart -- for the exact same things. After 9/11, and after internet shopping began to become the new norm, many of the stores in the mall started quietly shutting down or their parent companies began going out of business or changing/merging with other companies. Waldenbooks and Kay-Bee Toys disappeared. Hot Topic changed its business strategy from goth/punk culture store to more pop-culture store. Babbages merged with Electronics Boutique, which eventually became EB Games and then eventually became Gamestop. Suncoasts began disappearing everywhere. The comic shop in the mall -- somewhere I could almost always find some interesting stuff or back issues in 25-or-50-cent bins, closed down sometime after I started college.

The mall rapidly went through a decline in the late 2000s and closed down for good in 2019, long after I'd moved out of the area. Recent reports say that it is collapsing in on itself and is scheduled to be demolished. The last time I was there was probably 2004 or 2005, and even by that point it was a pale shadow of what it once was. The era had truly ended.


Sunday, December 17, 2023

The Holidays, Part XIV: Time Enough at Last

 (Days of work remaining until holiday time off: 2)

With everything done before the holidays that I can feasibly do at the moment, I've found myself with a bit of actual breathing space this weekend. I can sleep when I want, watch TV when or if I want, play a video game, write something, cook, clean, and/or just actually relax. If I sleep weird hours, I don't really care -- sleep when I can; the last two days at work before I'm off for a week will very likely be extremely easy as we roll into the holidays, and I can put my head down and power through two quiet nights in my sleep. 

No pun intended, of course.

Bonus? I'm no longer the director -- I survived my days as director backup unscathed and, mostly, as an observer. I didn't have to engage on nearly anything personally.

My birthday is four days away. At this juncture, the plans we made (and I mentioned here in previous posts) are still relatively unchanged. It's actually supposed to be partly sunny and in the 50s for my birthday too.

Aside from wrapping the Christmas gifts for Daisy, I find myself with little to do way ahead of schedule, far sooner than I ever thought I'd come to that point. 

And it feels very nice.

Because I've been awake weird hours (read: most of them, including overnight hours), I've been able to keep a close and watchful eye on work email. It's not an obsession or anything, of course, but I like to be able to gauge what I'm walking into when I'm coming back from a weekend. If anything looks wild or if someone engages me while I'm off, I can also forward it to the teams on shift or I can boot up Microsoft Teams here on my normal PC and help out on something in real time without needing to go login on the work computer downstairs. I've made the joke with some of the colleagues I'm closer with that I can and sometimes do have eyes on everything that happens in that place. It is mostly a joke indeed, because about 90% of the time I don't give a single shit when I'm not there. I'll give even less of one from the 19th to the 26th, too. 

Anyway.

I've been spending my newfound bit of free time in several ways, as my body only seems to want me to sleep at weird hours for weird stretches. Yesterday morning, despite Daisy being sick, we had a good lead on another candidate for Empress at the humane society in Iowa again. We went over there, found that she'd been moved to the local PetSmart, went there, and she'd already been adopted out. I never even got to see a picture of her -- we were going on text description only.

In the afternoon we found another solid lead for another candidate for Empress, and this one I did get to actually meet -- and she was perfect. Exactly what I was looking for. But her adoption price was $200 and she was being adopted out by a private organization, not the humane society. The private organization's vetting processes and lists of pages upon pages of straight up invasive bullshit questions and requirements to pay them for a cat was ridiculous, and I flat out said no. I'm adopting a cat, not a child. They wanted personality references and background checks and wanted to consult with your current vet, wanted a tour of your house to make sure it's a suitable environment, and I said no. 

I told Daisy that cat will get a wonderful home with someone willing to jump through all of those ludicrous hoops, but that home won't be with us, not when I can go to the humane society and come back with a cat in less than an hour for far cheaper and I can give it just as good of a home.

But Brandon, you may be saying, you said she was perfect.

She had the exact physical look I was looking for in Empress, but I did not get enough time with her to gauge her personality -- and this facility didn't allow you to even pick up the cats to hold them and see if they were cuddly or lovey. I was in a small room with seven other people and about ten other cats,  constantly on camera, and it was intensely uncomfortable to even try to get to see her for more than ten minutes. She seemed interested in me for a few minutes but really just wanted to hide away from the other cats and people in the room. Because I couldn't get to know her or get a feel for her, I finally just gave up, and we left. I will not have anything to do with that organization again, and the 90 minutes I spent there waiting to go into the room to see her is time I'll never get back. 

I'm a little bitter. Could you tell?

I think I'm just going to give up on actively or even passively really looking for Empress for a while. It's really done nothing but provide frustration and disappointment, and a lot of wasted time. Daisy wants other cats too and knows what she's looking for in them, and if she finds one then I'll be happy for her -- but I just can't keep expending this emotional energy for no reason with nothing to show for it. It's becoming unhealthy for me mentally.

In other news, all but the last flash drive has been mailed out to the extended family. The last one will go out on Tuesday, as I mentioned, once I get the last bit of postage I need. I've sealed up the parents' flash drive as well and it will be wrapped with the other Christmas presents during this coming week.

Daisy is still sick. She went out with me yesterday as she wasn't feeling too awful at the time, and we had a nice sit-down dinner date at the local Chinese place afterwards -- but in the late evening hours she got really ill again and that illness has persisted. There's not a lot I can do to help her, really, as much as I'd like to. This cold or whatever it is she has just needs to run its course. She needs to rest more than anything else, and I can't rest for her -- she has to do that herself. 

As for me, I'm fine -- and despite what I've said above, I have been resting a lot, just at weird intervals for weird hours. Yesterday, for example, I slept several hours in the evening and then a few more in the overnight. I'll likely take a nap again this afternoon or evening just to make sure my sleep amounts remain fairly consistent for today and tomorrow. After I finish with work tomorrow night, it doesn't matter when or how I sleep, or how much or little sleep I get, because I don't have to stay up until 7am for work duties anymore until well after Christmas.

Saturday, December 16, 2023

The Holidays, Part XIII: What's in the Box?

 (Days of work remaining until holiday time off: 2)

So here it is, the final weekend before Christmas.

I don't count next weekend because next Sunday is Christmas Eve, and I count that as Christmas as much as I do the day itself.

And Daisy is sick.

We don't know exactly what's wrong with her, but it's likely another bad cold. She tested negative for Covid, and her symptoms don't seem to be as severe as the flu. But, suffice it to say that she's on the struggle bus at the moment and is basically -- for all intents and purposes -- down for the count.

This means we likely won't leave the house today or tomorrow -- which is, honestly, fine by me. This coming week -- and I'm including Christmas in that, even though it's still nine days away -- has a lot of activities and social energy will be needed for it, and I'm perfectly content to just be a vegetable for the time being. 

Every bit of the digitizing, archiving, and storing of all of the family videos is now done -- the last of the flash drives for the Canadian side of the family arrived yesterday, and I spared no time in getting them loaded up with the appropriate videos as necessary. In front of me on my desk I have the copies for everyone else. I was even able to back up my hard drive (on the new 4TB HDD) to not only double-down, but triple-down on the storage of these precious videos -- they're all on the flash drives, my PC's hard drive, and now on the backup drive as well. This means if anything happens, short of the house burning down or something like that, I can't possibly lose them. 

The international stamps I need to send the drives to Canada don't arrive until Monday. That means the absolute earliest the Canadians will get all of their stuff mailed out will be Tuesday, the 19th. Knowing the speed of the mail during the holidays as well as accounting for Canada's mail speed once it crosses the border, it's almost certain that they won't arrive until after Christmas at this juncture. It can't really be helped; I've done everything as fast as I could. I've been working on this stuff since around Thanksgiving and I've likely failed in this regard.

Yesterday, something else arrived in the mail for us -- the yearly box of things my parents send me/us for my birthday and Christmas. My mother had told me she'd sent it on Monday, but there was no tracking provided for it and I honestly had no clue how she'd mailed it -- if she'd done it via USPS, UPS, etc. Normally if something's sent via USPS, I can track it on my "Informed Delivery," which tells me what I'm getting in the mail every day -- mail, packages, etc -- with pictures of all of it and tracking numbers for the packages. However, this giant box never showed up on there.

We've not opened it yet; I was awake for approximately four hours yesterday afternoon, during which time I ate dinner and watched a little TV with Daisy before being back asleep by shortly after 7pm. I plan to open it later today once Daisy and I are both awake and up/about for the day. 

The way presents with my parents work is a bit strange, but there's always a pattern to it, and it goes like this:

  1. Sometime in November, usually before Thanksgiving, my mother asks us what I want for my birthday and what we want for Christmas for the year. I respond by telling her we don't really need anything, but I'll get back to her. This is usually done by text.

  2. Sometime around or after Thanksgiving, my mother asks me the question again, and adds the secondary question of whether I want her to make her famous Chex Mix (which she makes according to the original recipe that Chex put out in the 70s or 80s, following it to the letter). I tell her sure, because her Chex Mix is fucking amazing. This conversation is usually done via phone.

  3. I select what I'm doing for them for Christmas, and it's almost always a random smattering of things that I like that I want to share with them (coffees, usually some sort of food like energy bars or vegan jerky, and at least one personal item for each of them that is very clearly meant for its designated person). Sometimes I do one large blanket gift -- I've made them canvases of pictures of us and of their dogs, for example, which they have hanging on the walls of their house in NC (I can prove this, we were there). Sometimes the "blanket gift" is an actual blanket, as there was a weird tradition in our family that at least one person, if not everyone, would get a blanket every year for Christmas. Anyway, I figure out whatever I'm doing for them -- with or without Daisy's help (mostly without, but sometimes I get her input if it's a big thing, like something large or expensive), order it and have it shipped to their house in NC.

  4. I then reach out to my parents, tell them their presents are on the way and provide the known delivery dates once I have them so they can watch for them -- and then I update my yearly logs* to reflect what I got and how much I spent on them.

  5. My mother will then reach out to me a third time to tell me she's making the Chex Mix and readying a box of stuff for us -- including both something uniquely for me for my birthday and then Christmas presents for each of us -- even though we've not told her anything we've wanted and when I've actively tried to dissuade my mother from spending money on us or on the shipping of a giant box to us. This is usually done via text message. I acknowledge and thank her warmly without putting up a protest, because she's set in her ways and I also think she feels obligated to send us stuff after she knows I've sent them stuff. Also, I want the Chex Mix, so...

  6. At this juncture my parents' presents arrive -- usually anytime between Black Friday and December 10th. This year I sent them early and they arrived well over two weeks ago. They confirm with me that they received all of them. They will not open any of them until Christmas morning, even if I tell them to.

  7. My mother then texts me that she's sent the box and to be looking for it. Usually she follows up with subsequent texts over the course of the following few days asking if I've gotten it yet, but she did not do so this year. I again acknowledge and thank her warmly.

  8. The box, eventually, arrives -- usually about a week before my birthday, but I've had years where it showed up on my birthday or right before/after Christmas, depending on the speed of whatever shipping service she uses on any given year. The box is always repurposed and home-taped with an excessive amount of clear packing tape, and is almost always a re-used box from pet superstore Chewy.com with the old address labels removed and ours pasted on. 

  9. I tell my mother the box has arrived and she encourages me to open it and enjoy all the treats and presents within.


The dates may vary a little here and there every year, but that series of events is, almost always, exactly chronologically the same from year to year.

What's interesting is what my parents send every year. I wouldn't call them eccentric, but there are a number of things that are almost always inside the box no matter what every year:

  1. K-cups of some sort -- sometimes a box, sometimes an assortment
  2. At least one or more boxes of cordial cherries or cordial blueberries
  3. Candy bars, usually Zero bars or Payday bars
  4. Lindt truffles
  5. Two cards -- one for my birthday and one for both of us for Christmas
  6. The aforementioned Chex Mix, two gallon-sized Ziploc bags
  7. The Christmas/Birthday presents themselves
  8. Fuzzy or otherwise holiday-themed socks, which Daisy will generally wear
  9. Some random assorted household things, such as kitchen towels or a bottle of fancy hand soap or something like that -- one year they sent us some kind of airtag devices called "tiles" that I don't think we ever actually used -- perhaps Daisy did, I can't remember
  10. Utz chips

This list has changed considerably over the years; it used to include loaves of bread from my favorite bakery back home in WV (my Dad could not find them this year, I checked with him beforehand), and before I was a vegetarian it would always include pepperoni rolls and giant bags of beef jerky. It also used to include bags of coffee too, or variety packs of flavored coffee, back when I still used the drip coffee pot and not just the Keurig. 

It'll be interesting this year to open the box later today and see how many things I'm right about. I'll also note that usually my Dad sends over an e-gift card to Amazon or somewhere like that for my birthday/our Christmas gift as well, in addition to everything in the box. 

It's very sweet that my parents do all of this for us. I am my mother's only child and while she and I may not have seen eye to eye on everything over the years, I am truly her pride and joy and even when I'm in my 40s and she's in her 60s, she wants to continue to "take care of me" with these boxes as a way to show her love.


*I keep yearly logs for everyone I get gifts for, including what they were, the dates they were purchased, and how much money was spent on each individual gift, along with a grand total for each "set" of folks. My parents' stuff this year was a total of $122, and the stuff we did/bought for Daisy's parents was somewhere in the $130 range, give or take. I'm not going to mention here until after Christmas is over what everyone got, on the off-chance that my parents or Daisy's parents randomly decide to visit this website between now and Christmas. We didn't just do the videos for the parents, of course -- we also got them other stuff. In addition, I'm absolutely not going to mention what I got for Daisy or what her total was because if I mention the total, she will know what 2/3 of the gifts are, and she did tell me that she went back and started reading through my posts here again recently.