Catbox Christmas
by Ross E. Lockhart

I came in through the kitchen door, grabbing a beer from the refrigerator before strolling out into the living room where I found Bax and Allyson, still in pajamas, a riot of Christmas wrap and empty boxes scattered around them. I cracked open my beer and glanced at the clock. Nine thirty. A.M. “Wrapping presents?” I asked.

“Something like that,” said Bax, emptying one ashtray, then another into a small cardboard box. He closed the lid, taping it shut, then handed the box to Allyson, who wrapped it with sparkling red and green paper, tied a bright green ribbon around it, then curled the ribbon with a scissors blade. She handed the box back to Bax.

“Beautiful,” he declared, inspecting it, then tossed the box into a pile of other nicely-wrapped boxes in the corner.
I took a swig of my beer.

Allyson grinned, but was already in the process of emptying the kitchen trash can into a large corrugated carton. It didn’t quite fit, but she forced it in, taping the bulging flaps down with packing tape. This one she covered with red and white paper spotted with tiny cartoon reindeer, accenting it with a thick, gold bow. “It’s all about the presentation,” she said, placing her hands on her hips before shoving the box into the corner with the others.

I took another swig. “I thought you guys weren’t doing Christmas this year,” I said.

“Oh, we’re not,” said Allyson, holding open a little gift box for Bax to fill with used coffee grounds. “It’s entirely too commercial, it’s phony as hell, and the music sucks.” Bax nodded in agreement, then ground out his cigarette in the middle of the coffee grounds. Allyson delicately closed the box, taped it shut, then covered it with blue and silver snowflaked paper.

“Exquisite,” announced Bax, lobbing the wrapped box onto the pile.

“And another thing,” continued Allyson, dropping a pair of worn-through boots into a box and wrapping it with festive candy cane-covered paper. “This whole ‘put the Christ back in Christmas’ thing. Drives me nuts. You don’t see me out there insisting that people put the ‘nail ya’ back in Saturnalia, do you?” Bax stuck his right index finger through his joined left index and thumb, grimacing and twisting it as he did so.

“I guess not,” I said, taking another pull from my beer. “But why…” I began, indicating the pile of nicely-wrapped packages in the corner.

Allyson laughed. “We had to go to the mall last night,” she said. “’cause knucklehead here needed new pants.” She jerked a thumb at Bax, who had disappeared into the next room only to reemerge dragging the steaming, reeking catbox behind him.

“Couldn’t have worn them out in October or November, nope, had to do it on December twentieth, when every evil mother in the world is at the mall.” She held open a cardboard box as he hefted the overflowing plastic tray up and emptied it into the opening. A cloud of dust and stink wafted into the air as the two of them fastened the flaps with tape and covered it with snow-scene and Santa paper.

“Well, while we were in Sears,” continued Allyson, tying on a green velvet bow. “Some nitwit got into Bax’s truck, swiped his tools, the carton of smokes from under the seat, my jacket.” She pointed to herself with a jabbing thumb. Bax nodded. “So we figured we’d get ‘em back.”

“Wanna give us a hand with this?” asked Bax, picking up an armload of boxes and heading out the door.
I finished off my beer, then handed the empty bottle to Allyson, who wrapped it with silver foil and red ribbon. I grabbed a few boxes and followed Bax outside.

There, we loaded the boxes: trash, ash, boots, broken glass, coffee grounds, empty cans, bottles, banana skins, fast food wrappers, Halloween’s moldy jack-o’-lanterns, cigarette butts, and kitty litter, into the bed of Bax’s pickup. It took three trips to load everything.

I had another beer with Bax, then one with Allyson as each, in turn, got dressed and ready to face the outside world.

“So, what’s the plan?” I asked, following them back out to the truck.

“We’re headed to the mall,” said Bax, as he and Allyson climbed into the cab of the truck. “We’re going shopping.”

Allyson glanced at her watch. “I figure two, three hours should give the nitwits plenty of time to empty out the truck. It’s win-win. We get a clean house, and they get very special Christmas presents.”

“And come Christmas morning,” began Bax, miming opening a package and a disgusted reaction through the cigarette clutched in his teeth.

They laughed, then Bax started the truck, Burl Ives’ rendition of “A Holly Jolly Christmas” already playing on the radio. He backed out of the driveway and headed off into the distance, toward the dreaded shopping mall, festive music growing smaller and smaller as they drove away.

I picked up the tune, singing along as I went back into the house for another beer. “Have a holly jolly Christmas, and in case you didn’t hear,” I sang. “Oh by golly have a holly jolly Christmas this year.”




Hope you enjoyed it. And here's the question: Jennifer thinks that Bax's hand gesture in ¶8 is gratuitous, particularly considering that this story will probably end up in a family-oriented chapbook. I, on the other hand, think the gesture makes more concrete the point of Allyson's comment. What do you think?

We're down in San Diego this week, a family vacation for the Easter holiday. So far, Maddie's been having a great time at Grandma's house, rolling on the rug, sleeping the couch, and begging bits of bread from Grandma. Oh, and...

"Munch munch munch," went Maddie, her jaws working on whatever she'd found in the back yard.

"What are you eating, Maddie?" I asked, approaching from the house, already dreading the answer.

"Candy," said Maddie, picking up yet another tiny dark sphere and chomping into it.

"And where'd you get candy?" I asked.

"Easter bunny," replied Maddie between bites.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah," she said. "I saw him, and tried to say hi, but he ran away. He dropped this yummy candy, though." She picked up another. "You want some?"

I shook my head, queasy at the suggestion. "No thanks, Maddie."

"Your loss," said Maddie. "Bunny candy's one of my favorite things about Grandma's house."

---

Yesterday, Jill took Jennifer and I to see a matinée of Smokey Joe's Cafe up at the Lawrence Welk Theatre. The Lawrence Welk Theatre attracts precisely the sort of audience you'd expect; our seats were behind a pack of purple-sweatered red hat ladies, it felt like a scene from "Confessions of a Geriatric Girl Gang." During the show, a withered old biddy nearby kept complaining that the show was too loud. "Why do they have to keep screaming?" she repeatedly asked the woman sitting next to her. I considered suggesting that she turn off her hearing aid, and that she should steer clear of rock and roll in the future, but decided against it, since I was considerably outnumbered. It was a great show, but then again, it's hard to go wrong with Liber and Stoller; however, the performance was plagued with sound problems, including wireless mic drop-outs, feedback, and actors' voices that were way too big for the small space. Considering that this was the first show of the run, I'd call it a play well worth checking out.

Today, after brunch at El Galleon (best Mexican breakfast in Escondido), Maddie and I made the trek from Escondido down to North Park while Jennifer and Jill went shopping. Maddie and I picked up Baxter, then attempted to drop in on his sister (kathputli_girl - Maddie's a big fan of her BlitheJournal), but alas, she wasn't home, so the three of us headed over to Balboa Park and wandered around for a few hours, Baxter and I discussing pop culture, people we know (but never talk to), and the myriad projects we're working on while Maddie sniffed her way through the park, marking territory as she rambled. Eventually, we dropped Baxter at home and started the trudge northward, with its inevitable five lanes of stop and go traffic, back to Escondido.


On the way down, we stop at Pea Soup Andersen’s so Maddie can pea.


A flower we found in front of Jill’s house.


Spotted on a dumptruck. Danger, don’t lie under the dumper.


Maddie visits the Old Globe Theatre: “I didn’t know William Shakespeare lived in San Diego.”

( Lots and lots of pictures behind the cut... )