The Second Day of Critmus

So, it is the Second Day and you arose early and confronted the magnificent wreckage left behind by the swarm of relatives yesterday. There are stacks of dishes to wash, empty bottles to pitch, wrapping paper to stuff into the recycle bin, and cat treats ground into the carpet. You remember the stories and deeds of song you heard yesterday. You know the ones: how Uncle Harry outran the revenooers up on Pilot Knob in his souped up '40 Ford, etc. These stories are part of your heritage and it devolves upon you to write them down. And there were songs your uncles sang around the kitchen table because someone brought his fiddle or guitar. Write those down too. You should have a journal book full of them by this time.

You must get out your best pen; the one with the engraved white gold barrel and the chalcedony nib; the one that cost as much as a down payment on the Koh-i-Noor. You write on acid-free paper with permanent ink (not the washable food coloring that most pen geeks are in transports over).

You are going to do this. Well, aren't ya, Pilgrim?

Well, the spirit is willing, but . . .

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Originally Posted by Paddler

...Uncle Harry outran the revenooers up on Pilot Knob in his souped up '40 Ford, etc....

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I didn't have an Uncle Harry, but when I was 18 I did have this '40 Ford DeLuxe with a '53 flathead. I never tried to outrun the authorities, but I was used to being stopped by curious cops. I suppose I could write something....

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Hmmm, only my last couple decades of Christmas are recordable but they differ only in the quality of the homilist at Midnight Mass. But...there was the throw down in the church vestibule between my 8 year old son and an ardent 6 year old Miss whom he’d spurned. Hell hath no fury. But that is part of our oral tribal tradition.