Save me: Intervention Time


I have never been a part of an intervention before. I have only ever seen them on TV sitcoms. Usually a bunch of friends gather at the person’s home who needs help, accuse them of a bunch of stuff and demand they change. Sounds awful.

I need one.

I was the person who would have coffee with my best friend and tell her our friendship would be over if she didn’t take her Christmas lights down – because it was February for crying out loud. To be fair, it is always -gazillion degrees F and no one wants to be on a ladder in a blizzard. Yet I judged her and everyone else on the street.

I was the person who mocked people when they confessed that their Christmas Tree didn’t come down by January 7th – I gave them a week after New Year, I was being kind. You see, I grew up in a home where the Christmas Tree came down on Boxing Day (December 26th for those who don’t celebrate it) Because my mom always said, “when Christmas is over, it is OVER!” Sometimes she would take it down right after Christmas Dinner because…say it with me…”When Christmas is over it is OVER!”


Guess what?

Karma is real and present in my life.

Today is January 31, 2013 and my Christmas tree is still in my living-room in all her Tiffany & Co glory. She is still beautiful. I No longer light her up because THAT would be wrong, it is January 31st for goodness sake.

Not that excuses are okay, but I have a few. School is nuts, I started my own consulting business and THAT has kept me super busy. Lets face it people, I also have a life! I read, I run, I go out for coffee, I am a busy girl!

The good news is, my daughter is just like me. She will pick up odd jobs and hoard her money away. I may have to hire her to take it down. I know, I should just TELL her to do it, but that will only work if I help. Typically she has a host of other chores she must do because to live in THIS family, one must contribute to keep the house running. The Christmas tree is not part of that…or is it?

My home has fallen apart. I have laundry drying in the kitchen, clean dishes sitting in the drip rack, the vacuum sitting at the front door, dust bunnies lurking in corners, and here I am blogging instead of doing something about it.

The solution? I could invite people over, that usually motivates me to clean up. I could hire someone – but that costs money and I am cheap. I could ignore it – I am AWESOME at ignoring, or I can rely on my friends to come over and give me the stink eye and shame me. It may come down to that – SHAME ME INTO TAKING DOWN THE TREE!

Wow, and just when I thought I had it all going on, clearly I am delusional.

Please, this is my cry for help, save me.

The Chain Smoking Angel is a Christmas Tradition in my house

I have spent considerable time reflecting and remembering on Christmas past. I decided to take on the Weekly Challenge at WordPress: Just Do It. My buddy over at Brown Road Chronicles inspired me and reminded me of the oddball assortment of Christmas decorations that adorn my tree. I am one of those Christmas Geeks who ‘theme’ out my tree. This year I have a Tiffany & Co tree,151071_10151349105206337_749003960_n

a Disney Tree,577823_10151359535226337_541165187_n

a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree404982_10151307316561337_1108099625_n019

and of course, the regular tree.

Decorating the tree was always a huge deal in my house. It was my mom’s favorite time of year. Now that her favorite little one’s (the grandkids) are all bigger than her, some of the magic sparkle has left the holidays. We cheer her up by sitting around after dinner/breakfast/lunch/dinner and reminisce about Christmas Past.  (Proof that I existed):73256_10151359512121337_124215547_n

That is me (pre-clown hair) in 1968 with my groovy cool dadeo.

When I was 4, we moved to row housing in Sherwood Park. This was my first Christmas memory. I remember getting Baby Tenderloin and 64 crayola crayons. All I remember of my brother was him in flannel pjs. I remember my mom hanging a box of angels on the tree. It was the 60’s, angel’s came in bulk. These fancy angels all were holding ‘so called’ candles. They never fooled me for one minute. These angels were chain smokers.

In those days everyone smoked, so it never occurred to me that angels wouldn’t. This drove my my crazy, “THOSE ARE NOT CIGARETTES!!” The more she denied it the more my brother and I were convinced she was lying. Mom carefully bent the ‘candle’ perpendicular with the angel and my brother and I spent hundreds of hours bending the candles so the angel could smoke. Tell me what you think.

Non-smoking angel:photo 1 (2)

Smoking Angel:photo 2 (1)

She even had a groovy black filter and kind of looked like Phyllis Diller. See for yourself:Phyllis-Diller-post-new

This year the after dinner conversation will start with “mom, why did you hang Phyllis Diller on our tree every year?” This should generate some heated frustrated conversation from my mom. You can’t call it Christmas and not have the mom go a little crazy.


Merry Christmas to all my Edmonton Tourist readers. I appreciate you more than you can every really know. Happy Holidays 🙂