First and foremost, Christmas is a time for filling the needs of others and not focusing on oneself. In that spirit, I offer my gift-wish list to family members probably agonizing over what to get me. Again, it’s all about giving at this joyous time of year.
I do need a new microwave oven, since mine is more than 20 years old and about 700 watts short of the 1,200 most nuking instructions are based on. Oh, my Sharp brand was a good one in its day, but like Newt Gingrich’s wives, newer models are always preferable.
I have fond memories of the purchase from my good buddy Scotty. His wonderful mother Bev, who passed at about this time last year after a tenacious, 30-year battle with cancer, won the Sharp in a raffle. With no need for another microwave, she gave it to her son who she constantly gifted, who also had no need for one. Knowing I’d never owned a microwave, Scotty sold me his free microwave for $70. Ah that Scotty, every day is Christmas for that generous lug.
So I really need a good microwave, and during this fuzzy season of goodwill, you sure don’t want to scrimp on wattage. I think most good people would agree that seeing the joy in someone else’s eyes when giving far outweighs any personal satisfaction of receiving.
I also want a new thermos, one of those big, expensive, stainless-steel Stanleys. I lost mine several years ago when I climbed a ladder onto a townhouse porch roof, where a second ladder leading to the scary second-story was anchored by a chunk of 2x4 I had secured. With both hands filled with nail gun, water jug, thermos and full coffee cup, the first ladder resting on a wet tarp began inching out from under me.
It was either slide down with the ladder, landing belly-first but with all my belongings securely held in my broken fingers, or drop everything to swiftly seek refuge. I chose the latter rather than the ladder and deftly reached up and snagged that anchor board with my fingertips. I dangled in that desperate, embarrassing predicament for over five minutes until a city worker spotted me, pulled over and righted the ladder.
I was saved, but the Stanley sustained serious damage, no longer capable of retaining the piping hotness of my coffee. Since my budget was as crimped as my “unbreakable” thermos, I purchased a cheaper, inferior one that doesn’t even keep java hot overnight.
Even worse, my new “Thermax” lid has a maddening, screeching sound upon release. That’s fine on a roof or at home, but at the time, I was attending an addiction therapy group called Celebrate Recovery, where after a meal and service, the guys and gals met in separate rooms to share triumphs and confessions.
One evening a group leader was relating a heartfelt and emotional story when my coffee craving peaked. As I began to slowly twist (like pulling off a Band-Aid, slow doesn’t work) my new thermos lid, everyone’s attention was diverted to the obnoxious screech. Dick didn’t miss a beat even when my second noisy turn drew more glances and had my buddy Al Durham squirming and shaking from barely-stifled laughter.
Finally on the fourth slow twist, Brandon Wasserburger, normally an extremely patient and mellow fellow, suddenly lit me up. “Come on; knock it off, Blough! I’d really like to hear Dick’s story!” he bellowed, as I opportunistically administered the final twist of the troublemaking thermos lid.
So yes, at this time of blessed giving and goodwill, I’d definitely like a good, new thermos. Also, a bunch of Tupperware, since the set my sister-in-law Shelia gave me last year now has no lids. They haven’t left my house, yet few of the lids in my cupboard fit the 20-some containers. I can’t explain it, but I also have four left-handed gloves with no righties in my truck, and God only knows where the mates to my five dress socks went.
Beyond any doubt, this is a time of year when reaching out to others brings inner joy and fulfillment. So on top of those material things I mentioned – oh, I almost forgot, I need a new air compressor too — I mostly want for peace on earth and all that blah, blah, blah stuff. And before I forget, I wear a medium in most shirts with a jeans size of 33x33.
So with my condensed list here and a little imagination on their part, my family has little excuse for not giving until it hurts this year. After all, there is no “I” in Christmas.