Neanderpundit

Dick’s better half is talking about Christmas songs, and it takes me back.

I love Christmas, and I love Christmas music, Christmas specials, everything. I’m past the age that the presents mean anything, except to the kids, but to me, the music, the specials, the shows.. it’s all comfort memories.

How the Grinch stole Christmas. Charlie Brown Christmas. A Christmas Story. The Andy Williams Christmas Special. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. “it’s a wonderful life”. ‘Miracle on 34th street” ” A Christmas Carol”(the Alastair Sim one, in which Alastair Sim looks like many of my brothers-in-law.)

And the music. Burl ives singing “Holly Jolly Christmas”. Andy Williams “Most Wonderful Time of the Year”. Eartha Kitt. Boston Pops.

I remember lying in my bed at night, three or four days before Christmas, listening to the all-request Christmas music from WTAS crete, while watching the lights in my window blink. I could look outside and see the lights on the rest of the neighborhood homes, and think about the weekend to come. We’d drive down to my aunt & uncle’s house (mom’s sister) and celebrate there, food, candy, treats, big meals, long afternoons sitting in front of the TV set, playing mini golf in the basement with my cousins. Then we’d go to the other aunt & uncle (dad’s sister) and spend new years, mom& dad playing bingo & drinking till the wee hours with rosie and calvin, and the kids all being rambunctious in the house until we passed out from exhaustion.

Sometimes we wouldn’t get home till january fifth or so, if we had the time off school and dad had the vacation time. If the weather was particularly nasty, we might leave early so as to get through the snow. More than one year we drove in total white out, hundreds of nearly immobile cars traipsing north on US 41 at eleven at night. Mom and sis peeing in coffee cans, dad and I standing in the snow peeing, as we inched along, mile after laborious mile. And then, when we got home, another round of presents, that were just too much to take along with in the car. One year I got a new Schwinn. Another, a Silvertone arch top guitar like the one dad had played in his youth. Mostly it was stuff i needed- clothes, shoes. Sometimes a treat thrown in, like my first camera. Sometimes a couple of books. At one time I had a whole bucketload of the Tom Swift Jr books, which I wish I had today.

Anyway, all good memories. I thank god for those memories now, and wish I could give good memories to those I know who had none.

Take care to make good memories for your children, if you can. Make sure they have good memories to look back on.

Beginning to feel like a cubs fan.

SO I spent my official last day in a tree stand.

I had zero luck.

so far this season I missed two opening days because of morons, worked all the best days of the year hunting wise, saw one deer that was scared away by an idiot in a car (I later discovered this fucktard had been arrested for what the DNR calls “Hunter Harrassment”, I guess he’s in the habit of “Saving bambi” from those mean old hunters)I saw two deer way to far away to shoot at, and got seriously skunked.

I guess there isn’t much shame in that, a LOT of guys got skunked this year, there were 161 cards issued at Kingsbury this morning, which means 161 guys hadn’t got their deer this late in the season (tomorrow season closes) so I’m not in bad company. And I personally know a half dozen of these guys, they’re veterans, far better hunters than I.

A lot of the season seemed to be about luck this year. Overall the season was warm, and the deer seemed to want to stay bedded down during the day, and late into the evening. If someone scared up a deer close to you, you might get a shot, Otherwise, even the diehard stand hunters, a lot of them, anyway, went home emptyhanded.

All in all, it was good to be in the field. I forget how much I like it. I forget how much I want to be away from all the technology. It was nice to sit and meditate. It was a shame I didn’t get what I hoped for.

Now:

For all you fucktards that couldn’t seem to remember to pack out the garbage you brought in, for all the beer cans, bottles, candy wrappers, jerky packages, hand warmer packages, etc. etc. etc., you should all have your asses kicked up past your shoulder blades. I took bags with me and toted that shit out for you, you asshelmets, and you should be ashamed. I’m not Mr Clean, by any stretch of the imagination, but I don’t inflict my garbage on everyone else. My truck is a mess because I won’t throw shit out the window, I keep it until I can throw it in the trash. Learn, fucktards.

Also:

For all you assholes who gutshot deer and let them off to die in pain, alone, I hope you have the opportunity to understand how that deer feels, someday. I WILL NOT TAKE A SHOT unless I can be certain that it will cause the creatures immediate and painless death. Nine deer, I saw with my own eyes, that died painful, slow deaths because you were too lazy to get out of your stand and track them. Nine deer that might have ended up in someone’s freezer, had they not been eaten by possums. Who knows how many I didn’t see. And for the little lady that picked up her arrow, saw it was covered with blood and pieces of intestine, and decided “it was too small anyway”, get out of the field. You are not a hunter. No matter how expensive your bow was nor how good a shot you think you are.

Now I’m gonna go have a cheesebureger, in utter disgust.