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Go. Away. Rudolph.

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Stupid reindeer fur.

When we were younger, my parents would buy one coveted package of foil icicles to put a dramatic finish on our Christmas tree and also give us kids the opportunity to practice our self-control skills. The icicles were so silky and shiny that they were just begging to be held in fistfuls, like a really good pony tail that you can't help but touch. Unfortunately, that was the catch - we were only allowed to hang them (1), one, uno - yup - count 'em - that's a single gorgeous strand - one - annnnnd STOP - icicle at a time! That was the really fun self-control portion. Thankfully, my obsessive-compulsive tendencies blossomed early (like about 10 seconds after my blue eyes opened). If not, I wouldn't have graduated to 'independent icicle hanging' until I was about 35.

As we started our own traditions, Luke and I never wrapped this one in. It wasn't a part of his family's tradition and I didn't miss the ridiculous aftermath that came with cleaning up these lovely pieces of static decoration. Fortunately, because my darling brother cares so much about about the well-being of his niece and nephew, he thought he'd better run buy a packet when we were decorating a couple years ago - despite me begging him not to. He hid his evil laugh behind his eggnog & rum as he watched my desperate efforts to mask my OCD tendencies while the kids inappropriately hung their icicles in pairs, trios (anything other than a single is a CLUMP by my training!). He sat back with Luke and watched our childhood replay in like an old movie as I hustled to the tree frantically to get a system in place before a massive meltdown! Fortunately, J inherited a significant portion of my obsessive tendencies and caught onto the rules rather quickly, so I was able to smack my brother in the head and go back to my eggnog & rum in a relatively timely manner with with he and Luke.

The cleanup was as much of a mess as I'd remembered, with random strands of icicle popping up in the strangest places, long after cleaning, and far after Christmas. It was June when a shiny reflection from the shrubs in our front yard caught my eye. Of course, it was an icicle - a small reminder for me of how much my brother loves me. I quickly gave him a small reminder in a 'clump' format of text messages (anything but one!) to let him know just how much I love him too. I do so each time I find one thoughtfully left behind for me (after I swear and throw it away!)

The reindeer fur has taken a very similar course for all of us. Just when you think the entire backpack has been emptied and it's gone... Just when you think you might never see another strand... One proud piece of reindeer fur stands waving on the shoulder of a sweatshirt - like the flag on top of a 14er! Guess who made it to another stop?! Rrrrrrrrrr. Get out! Get out! Get off! Got it. It's in the trash. Whew!

Oh, and by the way, you've got one on your foot too.

Posted by akgearhard 02:15 Archived in Norway

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