LETTERS FROM HOME: GETTING READY FOR THE DOG DAYS OF CHRISTMAS

Dec. 5, 1996

Dear Pat,

When the bouquet of toxic chemicals mixes with the scent of spicy potpourri warming on the stove, Christmas must be nigh.

The annual threat of holiday visitors always makes DC newly serious about our uncompleted house projects. The banister need to be stripped of paint before the greenery can be hung, the wall requires re-papering or else the festive candles will illuminate ancient tears, the ceiling needs touching up so the top of the Christmas tree doesn't point right at the water stains.

All the while trying to keep the dogs from eating the Christmas gifts not intended for them.

There's already too much going on at Christmas, I plead. But DC likes it that way, struggling against the odds and time and my inertia.

This weekend she has us attending a fancy Christmas party someone I don't know is giving 100 miles away, staying overnight, spending the next day shopping and the next night taking a candlelight stroll through the historic neighborhoods of Cairo, Ill. That's in addition to whatever banister-stripping, wallpapering and ceiling-painting might occur.

Sing it:

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me: An extension ladder in the foyer.

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Two gift-chewing dogs and an extension ladder in the foyer.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Three headaches from toxic fumes, two gift-chewing dogs and an extension ladder in the foyer.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Four emergency phone calls, three headaches from toxic fumes, two gift-chewing dogs and an extension ladder in the foyer.

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Five sweet kisses, four emergency phone calls, three headaches from toxic fumes, two gift-chewing dogs and an extension ladder in the foyer.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Six parties filled with strangers, five sweet kisses, four emergency phone calls, three headaches from toxic fumes, two gift-chewing dogs and an extension ladder in the foyer.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Seven reasons why I can't go to a movie instead, six parties filled with strangers, five sweet kisses, four emergency phone calls, three headaches from toxic fumes, two gift-chewing dogs and an extension ladder in the foyer.

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Eight minutes to shave and shower and dress, seven reasons why I can't go to a movie instead, six parties filled with strangers, five sweet kisses, four emergency phone calls, three headaches from toxic fumes, two gift-chewing dogs and an extension ladder in the foyer.

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Nine rolls of wallpaper, eight minutes to shave and shower and dress, seven reasons why I can't go to a movie instead, six parties filled with strangers, five sweet kisses, four emergency phone calls, three headaches from toxic fumes, two gift-chewing dogs and an extension ladder in the foyer.

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Ten places to be at once, nine rolls of wallpaper, eight minutes to shave and shower and dress, seven reasons why I can't go to a movie instead, six parties filled with strangers, five sweet kisses, four emergency phone calls, three headaches from toxic fumes, two gift-chewing dogs and an extension ladder in the foyer.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Eleven last-minute gifts to buy, 10 places to be at once, nine rolls of wallpaper, eight minutes to shave and shower and dress, seven reasons why I can't go to a movie instead, six parties filled with strangers, five sweet kisses, four emergency phone calls, three headaches from toxic fumes, two gift-chewing dogs and an extension ladder in the foyer.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Twelve boxes of Christmas cards to address, 11 last-minute gifts to buy, 10 places to be at once, nine rolls of wallpaper, eight minutes to shave and shower and dress, seven reasons why I can't go to a movie instead, six parties filled with strangers, five sweet kisses, four emergency phone calls, three headaches from toxic fumes, two gift-chewing dogs and an extension ladder in the foyer.

Love, Sam

~Sam Blackwell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.