Well, there we all are. Slightly more numerous than last year. Another grand-baby-boy with somewhat inconvenient Scandinavian citizenship, and another engaging daughter engaged, who will soon tie the lasso with a handsome Texan fiancé. God’s goodness has crowned our year.
Happy as we all may appear, do not be fooled. Several in this bunch are plotting, scheming mean gift-givers. Yep, MGGs. And though they oh so calmly deny it, the rest are MGGs in training. Once again, and to prepare any unsuspecting readers — or to remind all 9 of my followers — it’s often the closest relatives who give the meanest gifts. So, at gift exchange time, be on your guard. And trust no one. In this vein, I give you (for a fourth time I think) A Charles’ Dickie Christmas.
Once again, headed to the holiday neighborhood literati bash at which all comers are to read or recite a Christmas-themed page or two, and at which the above tale has been read before. My want to be a paperback writer work product has been meager this past year. Sadly, that itself is a recurring theme. I did just happen to happen upon some interesting Icelandic lore I’ll bring along and throw down. Little known fact: all literati – aspiring and established – are intensely competitive. But, this year’s guest list is chock-full-o-newbies. So if the hostess permits, I may just recycle the above number. As most of you reading this are not on said guest list, and to prepare any unsuspecting readers (or to remind all 9 of my followers) for a close relative’s mean gift, I re-post, for a third time (I think) A Charles’ Dickie Christmas.