Wired

Centuries ago, somebody realized that if a woman’s voluminous layers of petticoats were kept away from her body she would be less likely to cook like a lobster in a pot of lace. (Apparently, the obvious solution, just decreasing the layers of petticoats, was completely overlooked.) Thus, the hoop skirt, an underskirt with stiffening materials to hold its shape, was created. It really was a clever concept until someone, probably a man, remembered that bigger is better. Hoop skirts became larger and larger until women took up as much space as bloated cows. And that brings me to my performance in precisely such a vintage tent.

We dance with a fantastic bunch of people.
We dance with a fantastic bunch of people.

This December, Jason and I danced again at the Festival of Trees, a fundraiser for Primary Children’s Hospital, in attire appropriate for the 1860s and also appropriate for causing some exasperation. The circumference of the hoop skirt I wore to this affair measures just over 231 inches. Trying to squeeze that overinflated balloon through the festival crowds was like pushing an orange through a flour sifter.

I know Gay Gordons so well, I only mess it up if I actually think about what I am doing.
I know Gay Gordons so well, I only mess it up if I actually think about what I am doing.
The Oslo Waltz is danced in a round and makes inflated skirts sway like bells.
The Oslo Waltz is danced in a round and makes inflated skirts sway like bells.

Our group of six couples danced nine numbers in the half-hour we were on stage. Since this was our second time performing at the festival, Jason and I were unruffled by the little pack of spectators that gradually expanded during our show.

The Windmill looks impressively complicated but really isn't.
The Windmill looks impressively complicated but really isn’t.
There is quite a bit of bowing, curtsying, and hat tipping done at the end of our performances.
There is quite a bit of bowing, curtsying, and hat tipping done at the end of our performances.

After our routine, my imposing underskirt infrastructure slowed our movement across the exhibit hall. I got stared at and stopped frequently by excited youngsters because of my resemblance to a princess but I didn’t mind being mistaken for royalty.

My girth was exponentially enlarged at the Dickens' Ball also.
My girth was exponentially enlarged at the Dickens’ Ball also.

A week or so later, we attended the Dickens’ Ball. I donned that same wired slip and gave up fitting through doorframes in exchange for an evening of spirited stepping. For, although simple tasks, like sitting, are rendered unpleasant when you’re wearing a skirt bulkier than a bath tub, dancing in such an outfit is a stimulating drama. Your dress’s momentum doesn’t always coincide with your own and its insistent will makes you feel like you’ve a mixed mind about you. It’s quite an amusing commotion. Incidentally, if you know a family of four looking for some new housing, I have the perfect skirt.

No Silence This Night

Every December, we invite a small group of friends to join us for an energetic Christmas gathering. This celebration has evolved over the years and now has its own long-standing traditions. Those traditions range from tasty to tacky… and sometimes borderline nasty. Here are a few of them.

Wouldn't you want this prancing around your rooftop on Christmas Eve?
Wouldn’t you want this prancing around your rooftop on Christmas Eve?

Dinner is served. This time it came in the form of blackened chicken pasta, provolone and salami salad, cheesy breadsticks, chocolate cake, and buttermilk pie from Magleby’s. The food they provided seemed ample enough to feed a mass much larger than our little crowd.

Games are played. Common among them are pool, shuffleboard, Just Dance, and ping pong. I love Just Dance even though it tends to repellently jiggle everything the good lard gave you.

Jason wore a Star Wars sweater and I wore a Doctor Who one. Remarkably, we weren't the only couple dressed in that exact combo.
Jason wore a Star Wars sweater and I wore a Doctor Who one. Remarkably, we weren’t the only couple dressed in that exact combo.

We go around the world. A few matches of Around the World involving everyone are a standard at our Christmas party, although most of us don’t have the ping pong skills to even go around the net.

Christmas sweaters, mostly of the ugly variety, are worn. (Is there any other variety?)

If it is juvenile, puerile, vulgar, or detestable, it is likely to occur at our party.
If it is juvenile, puerile, vulgar, or detestable, it is likely to occur at our party.

And, of course, a white elephant exchange game is played. In our version, nothing is opened until the end. We like our guests to fight over the boxes that inevitably end up containing old socks or something with Justin Bieber’s face on it.

This year, I did add one new diversion to the merriment. I brought my camera equipment and took some shots of any attendees that desired them. I’m not entirely sure if I will do this again. It ate up too much time and it was hard to focus on my photography with so many distractions swirling around me. Still, it’s not every day you get a picture of Jeremy in tight sweats and antlers… oh wait, it is.

We encourage the wearing of tasteless attire to our party.
We encourage the wearing of tasteless attire to our party.

Cheers to the tacky-sweater-sporting and outrageous-present-begetting gang that joined us this year. Thanks to them, Santa’s got a brand new bag, a bean bag, and moose knuckles, in a miraculous feat of science, have been transplanted onto reindeer. I’d say the party was a success.

Gobbling a Holiday

Thanksgiving, as far as holidays go, gets grossly overlooked. It’s often just seen as a stepping stone to Christmas, a marker passed on the way to the shopping season. Heck, now stores don’t even wait for the turkey to get cold before opening their doors for the holiday rush. The fixings and gatherings of Thanksgiving may seem modest compared to December’s showy gifts and twinkling lights but I appreciate its simple focus.

Like a prophet in their own country, no one listens to a photographer in their own family... and this is what happens.
Like a prophet in their own country, no one listens to a photographer in their own family… and this is what happens.

For me, Thanksgiving means making delicious foods from scratch for the people that matter most. It means enjoying some sunshine on a pre-gorging run and then forgetting about calories. It means consciously acknowledging the many things I’m lucky to have in my life.

Jason requested I make caramel apple pie again this thanksgiving.
Jason requested I make caramel apple pie again this thanksgiving.

I usually get assigned the desserts for my family’s Thanksgiving dinner and I don’t skimp on the cream or the preparation time. This year, with assistance from Jason, I made caramel apple pies and almond fudge cake. Yes, of course my crusts were created from scratch. Duh. Both treats turned out pretty tasty.

Every family has a silly side. I think my family had had a few silly <a style=

After staying up late to finish those dishes, we rose early on Thanksgiving morning to compete in the Pilgrim 5K. This is an entertaining race where participants dress as pilgrim folk and pretend they’re courageously running across Plymouth instead of lamely over a golf course. It was absolutely frigid during the event. Temperatures were in the 20s but it was the wind that really cut through our bonnets. Still, clouds of exhaled mist hanging over packs of respiring runners were a curious and amusing sight.

This cake had a chocolate glaze and cream-cheese filling so it's a good thing calories don't exist on Thanksgiving.
This cake had a chocolate glaze and cream-cheese filling so it’s a good thing calories don’t exist on Thanksgiving.

We spent the afternoon with just one family, mine. We got to enjoy dinner with Jason’s family on a different day due to work schedules. I won’t lie, not having to hurry between two feasts made the holiday feel much more like an actual holiday instead of a cramming circus.

Thanksgiving is one of the many things I’m grateful for in my life. It doesn’t demand much, just a home-cooked meal and a few laughs with kin, yet it leaves you with a satisfied belly and numerous sweet recollections.