photo #1695185

The MOST entertaining Christmas stories from my past are after my brother and I were old enough to visit my parents from wherever we lived. After my second Florida debacle, I moved back to my parent's town and my brother was living in Montana. It was coming on Christmas, and my brother and his family decided to come down and we'd share a hoot. My mother hated it when we dipped into the holiday "spirits" too much, so we had a tendency to physically relocate certain beverages. I'd gone down to the store, and decided to buy a bottle of eggnog with the nog already in it. The store had it on sale for $2.00/bottle! I inquired about that, and they said it was true, but it was past the expiration date and could possibly have "turned" bad. They had two cases, and eventually agreed on $1.00/bottle if I took both cases and agreed no refund/exchanges for any. That was 24 bottles ! I gleefully loaded them into the car and proceeded to my parent's house. When I got there, I met Dad in the garage and told him what had happened. We unloaded them into the shop, and he grabbed one, opened it, sniffed it, and took a big swig. Verdict? PERFECT ! Naturally, to be safe, I had to confirm. Yep! But, what to do with it? We were like little kids. We hid it in the storage closet in the garage, taking one bottle out to put in the electrical service box next to the patio. We were really "cool" that first night. Every time we let the dog out, we had to "check on her". We soon learned we'd have to put several bottles in there the next day when Kurt arrived. That was the "Incident of the Christmas Tree " episode. After my brother arrived, the women stayed in the house klatching while my father, brother, and I were going to put the tree in the stand and bring it in the house. Our stand had been made by my Dad many years ago, and was a real pain. We cut off the stump, measured the top from the base, and trimmed to length. Excess limbs were used for "plugging" holes in the tree and a wreath for the front door. After measuring and cutting, we stuck it in the hole in the stand, and cut/pounded wedges in/around it to hold it up. THIS year was epic, however. The three of us were feeling absolutely wonderful ! Dad's knife slipped while cutting a branch, but paper towel and electrical tape cured that. Back to the box. Instead of surface drilling the trunk for a "plug", Kurt saw fit to drill all the way through ! Back to the box. Needless to say, there were many others and many more trips to the box. We FINALLY accomplished the task in three times the normal time. My Dad's hat was on sideways, and Kurt had tears in his eyes as we proudly proceeded to march that tree through the front door. Since I'm the only one left of the three of us, my story is the official version now. I say Dad had the base first, I was holding the door open, and Kurt had the top. There was a step up into the front door, and Kurt tripped on it. THAT caused the tree to proceed at a very accelerated pace, causing the butt to proceed up my Dad's butt. Dad was a former Navy man, too, and he hollered and jumped, dropping the tree and falling down. I jumped to check on Dad, and the door hit Kurt square on his head, which resulted in a torrent of blood and eventually four stitches. Yes, we were all three in hysterics when the klatchers arrived. Yes, they'd been "sipping" wine, but wound up driving Kurt to the ER for stitches, while Dad and I stayed home because we couldn't stop laughing. We'd calmed down by the time he'd gotten back home after a couple more trips to the box, but, alas, we saw the bandage and the look on his face, and we lost it again. Even he was laughing after a trip to the box a couple of times for "medicinal purposes" and "fresh air". My mother never did learn the secret of the box that year, but it eventually came out. She wasn't amused, though. In the slightest.