Christmas Eve Traditions

Growing up, my family's tradition was to open all our presents on Christmas Eve. Rumor has it this was because my father was unable to wait until Christmas morning. We did save the stockings for the next morning, though.

This year, we'll be celebrating another Christmas Eve tradition, The Feast of the Seven Fishes, an Italian-American meal of many seafood courses that celebrates the midnight birth of the baby Jesus. We're not hosting this magnificent dinner, we're strictly guests, thanks to the generosity of another family who is opening their home to us. I am providing my world famous tiramisu, however.

What Christmas Eve traditions does your family observe?

What Do You Like To Do?

"What do you want to do tomorrow?" That's what Ahmed asked me on the phone this morning and I had to really think. Because I have a few favorite things to do, but when he comes home after being gone a whole week I always want to do something very special. Somehow, though... we end up doing the same thing all the time. Most people who know me will predict it: hang out in a cafe and read, drink great coffee, eat yummy scones, then go home and have a nice dinner just-us-two. I know it's predictable but it really does make me happy.

Of course, I like other stuff, too. When the brand new House of Blues opened in Boston we signed on as charter members and there are some shows we never miss. Poor Ahmed probably signed on for the VIP package just so he'd have access to the private lounge as an escape. Get the Dropkick Murphys going and I go completely batty on the floor. He even suffered through J Geils and learned to like them! HOB is another stand-by that always makes me happy. Great music, cool people, incredible wings. And my obnoxious cousin Jim is almost always there. (Hey Jimmo!!)

Of course... the season isn't open yet, but perhaps my happiest of happy places is across the street from the House of Blues. The Cathedral. The Holy of Holies. Fenway Park. Give me a warm day, a sky-box, bleachers, pretty much any darn seat in the house. I'm there. Fenway Frank, root-beer (ok, maybe one Sammy), and my peeps. Screaming obscenities at umpires and Yankees... really, it should be its own sport in the Olympics. *sigh*

But if the weather is good... and sometimes even when it isn't... there's a single, fool-proof stand-by. For as long as I can remember I've loved sitting with a few good friends on the beach. I grew up on the beach; regressed on the beach; figured out my life on the beach; lost loves on the beach; found them again on the beach; and some of the best and longest belly laughs have rolled on for hours there on the beach.

So where is your happy place?

I Got Nothin'

Whenever I am stumped for something to write about I call one of my friends and say "I'm stumped for something to write about." The thing is... I've actually been at this for a while. I started out writing a regular column at a very young age. Recently I celebrated my 25th anniversary as a paid author. Which means, doing the math, I've been slogging away for 25 years.


Good lord, I'm old.

Anyway, one of the great benefits of being a townie-- which is really just code for "too stubborn to leave or too lazy to move--" is that you keep your friends from childhood. So I have the Fictionistas, Romance Divas, the Sceptics' Tank online and around the country. Great people who share a lot of things in common with me. And I have all the college, work, and social circle friends I've found in adulthood-- people I've gathered along the way who have made my life richer and better. But I also have Roxanne, Maria, Petie, Bill, and Timmy. Most of them I've known since junior high school. I've known Petie since pre-school. We've been friends for 40 years.

So I called the gang.

"I've got nothing."

"You always have something," Roxy said.

"I've got nothing."

"What's going on in your life right now," Petie asked me. "Like... right this second?"

I glared at him. "I'm sitting in a coffee shop with you guys cuz I've got nothing."

Petie leaned over and gave me a noisy, sloppy kiss on the cheek. Roxy leaned over from the other side and did the same.

"You've always got us," he said.

And I do. So thanks, guys. I've got a lot more than nothing. I've got a great man, Max blowing snot in my ear, and writer's block. But no matter what else I have or have not got... I got you, babes. Great friends. Always.

In retrospect... that's an awful lot.

If the television ate you...

If you woke up trapped in a television show tomorrow--which one would you hope it was and why? And what kinds of trouble would you cause?

This was a tough one for me--partly because I don't watch TV much.
And partly because the shows I like would be really detrimental to my health. I love Joss Whedon's shows more than anything--but I do NOT want to live in Sunnydale. Ever. Especially as an adult because very few of them had a clue about the little things--like vampires and werewolves. And then Angel turned Los Angeles into an apocalypse. And Serenity is a great ship--but Reavers are a big, fat NO for me, thanks.

House MD? Are you kidding me? I love that show, but I don't want to be the first patient who really does have Lupus.

Bones? If I could just hang out with Agent Booth all day fine. If I have to look at corpses and sludgey insides of people that are now on the outsides of people, I'll pass.

Friends? Okay--but of course they've all moved now, so it would be pretty boring hanging out on the couch at Central Perk by myself all day.

Veronica Mars? She'd be fun to pal around with--and likely would smart enough to help me get back home. But I think she'd get tired of me trying to get her back together with Logan all the time. I know he's not perfect--but COME ON. Do you think anyone will ever love her more than he does?

But there is one show that I used to fantasize about. One show that is much a part of my childhood as mud pies and Garanimals. It was the one place that I could escape to, in my head, when there were things I didn't want to wrap my childhood mind around. When things got tough, I could sing....."Think I'll go for a walk outside now, the summer sun's callin my name...." and pretend I was a Brady.

Yes. I think if I HAD to get stuck in a tv show, chances are good that I'd still pick the Brady Bunch. It's a little sad. Especially considering the unfortunate amount of Polyester I would have to wear.

As an aside, I'd really like to have a little talk with Mike. Seriously--you are some bigwig architect, Mr. Brady. Did you ever think about designing a house with more bedrooms for your six kids and live-in maid?

So, now that I'm an honorary Silver Platter (sha na na na na na na na na, sha na na na na), what show will you end up on?

I Love Books

I suppose if you're here, reading a blog dedicated to the joys of Young Adult fiction, you love books. I love books. My obsession started before I could even read them. As a little child I liked touching the spines, turning the pages, staring at the letters and wondering what they would say to me if I could read them. Needless to say I started reading early. I never stopped.

I've always had a deep suspicion of anyone who claims they "don't have time to read." Why is that always the excuse? Nobody ever says "I don't like books." I've begun to think we have created a culture of "stress addiction" that's really just "excuse addiction." Almost every excuse I hear these days involves a lack of time. We live in an age of ultra-portability and technological amazements, but nobody seems to have time. Microwave your dinner, take the fast lane down the highway, get your appointments sent to your Blackberry, text your kids. But finding an hour a night to enjoy a novel? Impossible!

I'm the first to admit I love television. I love movies. I love spending time with my friends. But if I had a choice between any of those things and books... no contest. Books would win every time. They are my favorite, most treasured indulgence. I probably buy three novels a week at minimum. I do not have a "to be read" pile. TBR? If you count waiting until I'm done with the one in my hand, maybe. And with summer coming, most of the good stuff on tv is going on hiatus, anyway. Most nights I turn on the tv, true, but I also only glance up when I hear something interesting. Or Ahmed bumps my shoulder and grunts. What? Oh. They're doing fiddleheads on Iron Chef. Cool.

Back to my book...

I was thinking about this last night because I had food poisoning, but wouldn't put my book down. Every time I needed to run for the bathroom I stuffed a bookmark in, dropped, and scurried... but I also came right back. This morning Ahmed asked me how the heck I retained any of it. You know, he has a point. But I tend to blow through a novel in one evening, so I'm not worried. I can re-read it. (For those planning to ask, the book is Darkborn by Alison Sinclair.)

Bottom line? If you don't love books, you can't take a prominent place in my life. We can be acquaintances, but we can never be true friends. Sorry. I mean... what on earth would we talk about?

Giving Thanks for Good Friends and Good LOSERS

Long ago, when the world made sense, Marshfield High would be beating the daylights out of Duxbury for a league championship this Thanksgiving. But in this time of madness the Rams play in the Atlantic Coast Conference, where they have a record of 9 and 1. Duxbury's Dragons took the Patriot League, undefeated at 10 and 0.

So Turkey Day is no big deal, right?

Wash your mouth out with soap, blasphemer!

This is a yearly battle between not only two football teams, but two ways of life. There's Duxbury, home of rich people who think they are better than everyone else. And there's Marshfield, home of regular people who find being better than everyone else comes naturally. So we don't have to walk funny.

Yeah, I said it. You wanna make something of it??

All kidding aside, this rivalry is old and fierce. And since these days we are no longer competing for the same league championships, it's all about pride, bragging rights, and talent.

So there will be a few dragons with a lot less fire come Thursday. And I will have no voice from screaming "COME ON RAMS SLAY THEM DRAGONS!" And then we'll all end up in the same place having a drink and some turkey.

I dated the same guy throughout my high school years and he was from Duxbury, as were many of my closest friends. We straddled the borders of Green Harbor and Gurnet, beaches side by side. Many of those Duxbury kids are now Marshfield adults, with their own children wearing Rams green. So the Thanksgiving Day game is a big gathering of friendly rivals, families, and old friends.

But for the few hours on the field it's a blood bath. Don't get the idea it isn't.

This year my Ahmed is going to England for his dad's birthday. My bff Roxy, originally a Duxbury Dragon, now lives down the street and her kids are Rams. She got stuck with dinner and can't cook, so I'm going over to bake her turkey.

And my Rams will be baking some scaly turkeys on the field earlier that day.

Yeah, in the end it's all about the love and the cranberry sauce. But for a few hours it's about mud and colors, fans and feuds, blood and guts and glory.

Then we all get together for pie.

Go Rams!

Dear Girls,

I went to Oxford, MS this weekend. (Actually, I've been the last three weekends as we have a house for sale by owner there and we have to show on the weekends, but I digress.)

So Friday night, I go out with my friends Andrea and Mika. Oxford is a college town and it was a 'game day' weekend, so the square was packed with tons of coeds and frat boys.

And that's when I realized I needed to teach every girl under the age of 25 a lesson.

Less is more.

And I'm not talking about 'less clothing.' I think that's pretty well taken care of as it is. I'm talking about these girls who are out on the town, trying way too hard.

Stilettos, designer jeans, short-shorts or skirts, skin tight tops, too much makeup and way over-done hair.

If there were 500 girls on the square Friday night, 490 of them looked exactly the same.

It was sad. And disconcerting. Not one person really was out there as themselves. And the girls who were trying so damn hard to get a guy to notice them, were going about it all the wrong way.

Because when you slide into those 4 inch heels, and slap on all that makeup, you're not doing it for the guys...you're doing it to impress the other girls.

Here's a well kept secret: Guys could give a shit about all that. Even when you're out clubbing.

It's true.

When I stopped trying so hard, I started getting noticed. I could go out in a cotton tank top, a pair of jeans, and my flip-flops and I would get hit on twice as much as when I went 'all out.' And watching the swarming frat boys on Friday night, guess who they were going for? Not the girls in the glitter and stilettos, but the girls in the shorts and flip-flops.

Guys want girls who are comfortable in their own skin. If you're going out on a Friday night to meet a guy, you need to be yourself. I'm not saying you can't dress up, but don't go over the top and please, try very hard not to look like all your girlfriends. No guy wants to date a Stepford girl. And if he does--I can promise that you don't want to date that guy.

A Whole New Sisterhood

The second Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants movie opened yesterday. Anyone planning to go?

The second movie, which pretty much tells the story of the 4th book, focuses on the summer after freshman year of college, that awkward time when you're not sure how to fit together your high school relationships with your college ones.

OK, I admit it. I'm not a teenager anymore (shocking, huh?). But the Pants movies (and books) resonate just as much with me in my 30s as they would have in my teens. Maybe even more. It's all about female friendship. That's why I like "Sex in the City", too. I didn't watch it so much for the sex, but for the bonds that the ladies shared.

Boyfriends are great, but your girlfriends are forever.