Hello Kitty

Hello World,

Happy Hanukkah! The time-honored Festival of Lights begins next week on the 21st, and the stores are awash with seasonal decorations of all sorts, everywhere you look. I'm kidding, of course - nothing compares to the merchandising juggernaut that is Christmas at this time of year. But I will say that I see more Hanukkah-themed items in the stores now than ever before (which is to say, none at all when I was growing up) so the retailers are finally jumping on board that bandwagon, based on the irrefutable conclusion that if it's in the stores, people will buy it, no matter how arcane or outlandish. In fact, I received a catalogue from our friends at Gourmet Gift Baskets (and please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.gourmetgiftbaskets.com and see for yourself) that featured The Cat Lover's Pampered Cat Gift Basket filled with toys and treats for your favorite feline, which at a whopping $60 is a classic example of what we call around here "This Is Why The Terrorists Hate Us" category of conspicuous consumption. There's no mention of the Kosher version of the Pampered Cat basket, so once again the retailers have missed a bet for Hanukkah gift-giving, and more's the pity for the Jewish cat population, I'm sure.

Speaking of the holidays, I bumped into a coworker in the hallway, who was excited to tell me all about her upcoming plans to celebrate the season in style. She explained that she was going to be throwing a lavish Christmas Eve party for her far-flung friends and relatives, and pulling out all the stops to make it a night to remember - and here I mean, not in the Titanic sense, but something memorable in a more positive way. She gave me a run-down on the menu and decorations that she had planned, and the wide-ranging guest list from near and far. She wrapped up this recitative with what she considered the highlight of the event, namely the anticipated appearance by no less an esteemed personage than one she described as "Barbra Streisand's ex-cousin," at which mere mortals would expect to be suitably impressed. Personally, I don't know what you would need to do to be removed as a relative from La Strident's family, or whether this former cousin was singularly banished, or took the whole rest of the aunts, uncles and assorted other cousins out in one fell swoop, to be forevermore on the outside looking in. Perhaps it's some sort of test that you have to pass to stay in the diva's family, like an eye test, and after a while, people simply don't measure up to the mark anymore, and fall by the wayside. Oh well, whatever it is, at least the ex-cousin in question has something to do for Christmas Eve, and not just sitting around moping over days gone by - or should I say, misty water-color memories of the way we were.

In other holidays news, last weekend I was somewhat under the weather, and a lot of things that should have been accomplished simply never got done. One of which was our annual trek to the nearby VFW Post to pick out our special evergreen from their vast selection of Christmas trees, where Bill's family has been getting their holiday conifers for generations. We didn't look forward to going this Saturday, when the place would probably be packed to the rafters (that is, if they had any rafters) and coming up with just the right tree would be like bobbing for apples in a shark tank, thanks not. So we decided instead to swing by there on Friday after dinner, in an attempt to beat the rush, and scoop up the very best tree that we could find, or know the reason why. This worked out way better than expected, as it turned out that we were the only people on the lot at the time, and certainly got all the attention we could have possibly hoped for, from the idle crew who could not have been happier to see us under the circumstances. Unlike other years, when we have bravely tramped through their rows of trees in bitter cold, icy snow or pelting rain, the weather was perfectly fine, so we didn't have to jump out of the car, grab the first tree that we saw, and bolt out of there before succumbing to frostbite or worse, which has been known to happen. Having the place to ourselves, we were free to wander around at our leisure, and really examine the trees on their merits, all the while savoring that welcome aroma that only fresh pine can impart - and if there's anything more intrinsic to the holiday spirit than that wonderful smell, I don't know what it is. We found a number of trees that we really liked, which is not often the case in the ranks of taller trees nowadays, but only one of them was the first among equals, and we snapped it up without a second thought. Wrestling it into the house was no easy task, I can tell you that, especially with the neighbor's irrepressible kitten Cooper underfoot at every step, and cheerfully oblivious to the danger of a 100-pound 9-foot mammoth fir in relation to a 10-month-old pint-sized kitty, who might weigh all of 3-pounds sopping wet, if that. Through Bill's heroic efforts, we got the tree into the stand, put the angel on top, and it was exactly a perfect fit, not to mention, just like a beautiful Christmas card right in our own living room. Cooper sniffed around for a while, but when he realized there was no Cat Lover's Pampered Cat Gift Basket in sight, he scampered off looking for better opportunities elsewhere. Perhaps even now, he's taking the test trying to get into Barbra Streisand's family.

Normally a Christmas tree would be the only botanical news in our humdrum lives, but not so! After a series of storms, strong winds, rampaging contractors and the inexorable pull of gravity, our yard was looking pretty shabby and unkempt - although it must be said that even in a perfectly kempt state, it's really nothing to write home about for the most part. At long last, the grounds-keeping crew showed up for their final clean sweep of the property, and you can believe me when I say that when they were finished, there was not a leaf, a twig, a stone or a vine left standing that hadn't already been dragged to the curb by their rigorous ministrations. The yard looked like a shivering nude, without a fig leaf in sight to cover itself with, and even the weedy patches plucked clean right down to the bare earth. In fact, their efforts were so meticulously thorough that they even cleaned the leaves out of my bird bath, for heaven's sake, which I thought was going pretty far above and beyond, even for our landscapers - and don't forget, these are the folks who threw out my camping firewood when its ratty appearance obviously didn't meet their exacting standards.

And while we're on the subject of standards, of which there aren't any anymore, heaven knows, I found out something that I didn't know, and in one of the most unlikely spots for it. In yet another glaring example of "Why The Terrorists Hate Us," when I was busy hunting down costume parts in late October, and it seems like I spent one entire week at Party City, I discovered something that party planners and wedding organizers have probably known for years, but came as a big surprise to me. Apparently it has finally dawned on the creative geniuses of various suppliers that people having a special event would be glad to pay extra for color-coordinated accessories to match their party theme - from paper plates and tablecloths, to streamers, flowers and favors. What brought me up short was, yes, an entire aisle filled with bags of single color candies, like mints or M&Ms, rather than buying an assortment and having to pick out just the colors you want on your own. I have to say that it's not only a brilliant marketing strategy on their part, but walking down the rainbow-hued aisle had a mesmerizing effect on someone stupefied from too much Halloween shopping, that's for sure. So now you know that next time there's a call for purple M&Ms, or hot pink mints, you can hurry on over to Party City and stock up on just the right color to match your decor. Just don't tell the terrorists I sent you. Say, is that Cooper with a Kosher version of the Cat Lover's Pampered Cat Gift Basket from Barbra Streisand?

Elle