The Wife teaches piano lessons after school until dinner.
The piano is in the "dining room/living room/TV room/computer room".
It's what's called an "open concept" layout. Actually, it's just not big enough for walls.
So when there are piano lessons, I either take a 2 ½ hour nap -(try doing that with elementary kids pounding the ivories)- or I'm an exile wandering the streets and shops of our town.
Usually I become an expatriate at the Library, but sometimes I go over to see the Sister and Bro-In-Law. Such was the case this week.
We started talking about Christmases as kids. Good times. Great times. Some Christmases do stand out more than others, though.
There was the Christmas that we got Tinkerbell.
Actually, it was Christmas Eve. Dad walked in the door and stopped. He just stood there grinning. And whimpering.
Now Dad was a WWII Navy vet and a drywall contractor. I had heard him say a lot of things. Colorful things. But I had never heard him whimper.
A tiny head popped out of his coat, whimpering. Kids today would have instantly thought of Men In Black and freaked. We started to freak because we knew he had a puppy.
It was a fawn-colored or, if your into dairy farming, Jersey-milk-cow-colored Chihuahua. And small.
Really small. Like kid-hand sized small. And cute.
Mom moved over to the tape recorder and pushed the button. Christmas had officially begun.
The tape recorder was one of those big reel-to-reel jobs you saw on cop shows during the wire taps. Everything of family importance went on tape. The tapes are now all gone. Too old and shot to try to recover 'em. But I think I have most of that evening remembered.
A refill on the Elixir might do it.
Okay. That brings it into focus. I'll play the tape for you now, (with visual cues).
(The kids are squealing while running in place, Dad is grinning while Mom beams.)
DAD: No. No! I'll hold it while you pet it . . . pet it, don't beat it! . . . gently . . . gently . . . GENTLY! . . . Go sit on the couch. NOW!
(With the kids banished to the couch and Mom in the easy chair, Dad puts it in middle of the living room carpet.)
KIDS: It's so little! . . . It's cute! . . . Whaddawegonnanameit?. . . I won't beat it - I promise . . . Is it really a dog?
(The family admires the little creature as it takes tentative steps through its new home. Since none of us have had a dog before we didn't realize that when it spreads its legs and lowers its hips, it is not getting ready to run a 100 meter race.)
(... to be continued ...)