Okay, I'll get into the spirit of things. What about this awesome bag? I'm a sucker for typewriters despite how utterly useless they are. Santa can bring me a cool colored vintage typewriter for Christmas. That'd be nice.
For the second part of this post, I wanted to share a little Christmas-time experience. It's that time of year, and a lot of the regular bloggers are sharing some Christmas stories and traditions, and mine is a little odd... just like everyone else, I image.
Every Christmas Eve, my family goes to Christmas Eve service at my Grandfather's church. It's almost an hour away, but my dad grew up there, and my older sister and I went there every Sunday until I was about 7, when we moved.
But I love it.
First, we head out to Ridley. (That's where I first grew up.) And the first thing we do when we get there is order Inside-Outs. But what is an inside out?
These things, as far as I can tell, are pretty exclusive. If you want one, you'd have to go to Double Decker Pizza in Ridley, PA. (Delaware County.) But what is it? Well, it's basically pizza dough that has been filled with sauce, cheese, and (optional: toppings,) folded over, and then thrown into a deep fryer. I guess that's basically the recipe for a calzone or stromboli, except for the fact that it’s deep fried instead of baked in the pizza oven, which is way better. Some people say it's nothing special, and refuse to admit that I'm right about this, but anyone who has tried it tends to side with me.
oh the hot, greasy mess! (wrapped.)
So we get them to go, and then eat them in the church parking lot. These things come hot so the cheese and sauce is melted, like liquid or magma or whatever, just sitting inside the dough. So when you take a bite, well the top is empty, but once you reach the mess, it drips, and it's hotter than hot candle wax. It's nearly impossible to eat a fresh one without spilling it all over oneself, but it's part of the tradition to spill it on our nice church clothes. You'd think after all these years, we'd learn our lesson and bring a bib or something, but no.
Then we go to church. A whole bunch of my Grandpa's friends whom I can't remember come up to me saying things like "oh remember me? I remember when you were just this tall." Thankfully, that attention has started to shift to my sister's daughter. We go in. The choir sings kind of out of tune to an organ that is out of tune. We listen to an odd message that I illustrate twice as odd in the program. (I'm still trying to live down the "Baby Jesus in a Bubble" year.) ...(The message was that God was the word, and the word was God, so I drew a picture of Baby Jesus in a bubble, and when the bubble popped he was born, and he told us the word was "God" like in Sesame Street... in case you were wondering.) My favorite part of that is when we turn the lights off and all light our candles and sing Silent Night. It's because of that I always associate the smell of candles that have just been blown out with Christmas. I even don't mind when the hot wax drips on my hand in the middle of a silent prayer.
So that's what I look forward to every year. Christmas day is great and all, but really nothing compared to the night before. (Hopefully I won't get scheduled to work. We close at 6, but I have to be at church by 7.) And we have a nice Christmas breakfast with Bacon (a rare thing our our house) and orange juice. But even as a young adult, the anticipation of "Santa" (or as my niece calls him "Tee-ta") is the best part.