December 23 – “The Boyer Girls and … the gift”

We had a wonderfully unexpected visit yesterday.  The Boyer Girls came by to say hi.  Rita and Kelly we have seen a time or two since Hurricane Harvey.  But this time even LoraPat was with them.  She lives in Seattle now, “chasing boys” (Her words, not mine).  The three of them knocked at the front door wearing headbands of cheer – Rita’s head held light bulbs, I’m not sure what Kelly’s adornment was.  But Lora’s was my favorite of all … Moose antlers.  OK, maybe they were supposed to be from some other far-north creature perhaps related to the season, but a guy who still has “See a Moose in person” on his bucket list can dream, can’t he? 

They even came bearing gifts.  To Chris they handed a tall cylinder containing a delightful collection of pretzels and all the fixin’s for transforming them into holiday chocolate-dipped, candy and sprinkles covered, delectable delights.  The other gift, however, was carefully wrapped in Christmas paper with a decidedly French/Spanish influence.  The words were certainly Spanish.  Something like “Pez in la tiara,” which sounds like somebody adorned a headband with little candies.  Once translated it becomes more like “Peace in the Earth,” though, so it was definitely Christmassy.  It also had small pockets of three men dressed in robes walking around all over the paper.  I’m pretty sure they were French guys.  They all looked pretty smart to me.  The ribbon draped tightly around the box was not your usual Christmas ribbon, either.  It was gold and it was difficult to remove.  That should have been my first clue (if you don’t count the weird wise guys on the wrapping paper) that whatever was inside might best remain there, hidden from unsuspecting eyes. 

Now we talked for a long time, catching up on their goings and comings and feelings since the hurricane nailed the Boyer homestead.  And all the while that second gift sat on the table, mocking me, warning me by its very presence of the danger that lurked within.  I could be strong here.  I could resist the temptation.  I could … not be strong.  I was weak.  I succumbed.  I finally made mention of the beast roaring out at me from across the room.  I humbly suggested that Chris open it, knowing that whatever was inside would be less likely to explode if it re-entered the world in the lap of Mama Chris.  But no.  This one was for me to open.  This one was for me to experience first-hand, up close and personal. 

I trembled at the mere touch of the object placed in my hands.  I struggled mightily with that deceptively beautiful ribbon.  Every tug I made was met with a return pull.  My poor weak fingers were aching when I finally managed to pull one end off the package and slide the remaining bits onto the floor, silently stepping on them in the process.  Hey, I couldn’t be sure of anything.  It might fight back if left to its own devices.  Then I had another decision to make.  Respect the integrity of the foreign script and alien interloper trios on the paper itself by carefully, best bomb removal skill approach, removing said paper, one strip of tape at a time.  Oh, I know how to do it that way.  That’s how my older brother used to open all his gifts on Christmas morning.  And since we tended to open gifts one at a time, it created an interminable delay in the morning’s proceedings.  So as those thoughts leapt into my consciousness, I determined that I couldn’t bear to put these dear friends through the same life-changing agony of anticipation I had experienced as a child.  Nay, for I loved them all too much for that. 

So with a deep breath I worked a finger into one of the tiny openings and let loose with a strong, long tear.  And another.  And another.  And finally, paper on the floor at my feet, now reunited with its former ribbony friend, I managed my first glance at the box in my lap.  Fortunately, it was still covered in the saran wrap packaging, so there was no real danger.  But when I read the first words, I must admit my heart raced.  A single bead of sweat formed on my forehead and began its trickle down my rapidly reddening cheek.  For those first words, the title of the “wonderful gift” from the Boyer Girls, screamed at me.  No, perhaps “yowled” would be a better word.  For there in front of me was what appeared to be a game, a knock off of one of the most popular games in the history of the world, so I would be sure to recognize it as such.  There, in my own lap was a game called … “Cat-opoly.”  That’s right.  An entire game board and playing cards and playing pieces – all cats.  The very description of the game was something I almost couldn’t abide.  Something about finding “cat houses” and “feline spas.”  How could I play this game with my grandchildren?  How could I subject them to such cat-astrophic danger?  In hurricane terms, that would surely be a cat-egory four or even five disaster.  They might even cat-ch some kind of feline fever. 

But I knew they heart of the Boyer Girls was pure.  Well, somewhat pure.  Well, actually, I knew they did it on purpose to torment me.  Yet I love them still.  Thank you, Boyer Family for being our feline-loving friends for many years.  Love you guys. 

Psalms 18:49 says, “Therefore I will praise you among the nations, O Lord; I will sing praises to your name.”

Father, bless those Boyers.  Amen.