Trailer Park Christmas –Dec. 25, 2010
It had to happen sooner or later. Larry insisted that the satsang gang come to his house on Christmas Day. If you can imagine Barbra Streisand meets Porky Pig, you have some idea of how it registered on the tacky scale. I loved it.
To begin with, Larry had been cooking for the past week. But he had eaten it all! So we feasted on hot dogs, Bush’s Baked Beans, Make Your Own Smores and Jelly Bellies. Of course there was the obligatory onion dip and ruffled potato chips. Ruin seemed embarrassed by the lack of homemade holiday foods–his long-lashed eyes were cast down as he ate foie gras from Rose’s purse on the q.t.
Jim had brought some good whiskey and I had put together a variety of my favorite things. (And I am making this up so it is calorie-free). I had a plate of homemade fruitcake basted lovingly in rum for the last month, bourbon balls rolled in powdered sugar, peanut butter fudge, Martha Washington candies, spiced pecans, pumpkin pie, a sacher torte and a parakeet in a pear sauce…or was that a partridge in a pear tree? Oh, we feasted all day long.
Swami sat in the middle of our complicated life as he now sat smack in the middle of our little trailer. How we loved our old Saint Nicholas. His tiny little feet were wearing red socks that Myra had made for him and his shiny little pate was covered by a stocking cap.
“Tell you what,” said our little wise man, “I’m gonna tell you the bottom line of why I came to live with Vicki.”
“Oh, please do, please do,” everyone begged. It was, by now, an apocryphal tale beloved by all.
“I came to live with Vicki because she opened the door!”
“She opened the door. She opened the door!” There were hallelujahs and praises ringing to the starry sky. I felt humbled to have been the one to have brought Swami to life.
But all that was about to change. There was a sudden knock on the door. It seems someone had reported us to the police for being rowdy. Were we too loud when we had paraded around the trailer park bearing Swami on our shoulders. Did we yell, “Go, Swami, go, Swami” too loud? Or did they just have it in for Larry and were waiting to get back at him?
Whatever the reason, Swami now found himself at the receiving end of a pointing finger held by a police officer. He obviously did not know the power of one.
Swami smiled at the officer until he could motion for Larry to bring Ruin to him PDQ. When Larry put Ruin into Swami’s hand, it was all over but the shoutin’.
“Look what I got for Christmas!” said Swami with this manipulatively goofy grin. It’s a stick pony that eats. Here, feed him some cranberry sauce.”
The officer took the dish of cranberry sauce and cautiously offered it to Ruin, who promptly snarfed up the whole thing. A Christmas miracle if you ask me. The officer looked on in amazement. He called his deputy to come in and asked if the deputy could feed him some baked beans. Ruin ate the whole can. Holy honkin’ humanity. Our stick pony had stuck it to the law.
After we got rid of the cops, we sat at Swami’s red-clad feet and sang carols and told each other our own version of the Christmas Story. He was born in an iMac so the story goes…on and on and on.
Much love from Vicki Woodyard
Swami’s Scribe this Christmas Season
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