Christmas Pig

Christmas Pig hanging out in his yard.

Christmas Pig appears in our neighborhood every year. My son, my husband, and I cheer when Christmas Pig’s owners set him in their yard. “Yea! It’s Christmas Pig! Let the holiday season begin!”

Christmas Pig lives on a street not far from us, but we have to go out of our way a couple blocks to see him, and in early December we start going that slightly longer way home just to for him. Then for a few weeks, we go that way almost every day to say hi.

“Yea! Christmas Pig!”

We acknowledge the season is over when Christmas Pig is no longer on the lawn. “Aww. Christmas Pig is gone. Bye-bye Christmas Pig.”

His owners are completely clueless of our love for Christmas Pig. We don’t know the people in that house. I don’t think they even have kids.

Well, now it is December 20th and Christmas Pig hasn’t shown up. No sign of him. He’s never been this late before, and as far as I know, the same people live in that house. We’ve been driving by the house every single day for two weeks. “Christmas Pig?”

My son and I have discussed the fate of Christmas Pig. Moved? Injured? Forgotten? “What if he’s still in his box waiting for his few weeks of freedom?” And to think that Christmas Pig’s family has no idea the amount of time we spend speculating.

We considered shouting out the car window. “Set out Christmas Pig!” But we’re not really the kind of people that shout out windows.

We’ve also debated leaving a note on the door. “We miss Christmas Pig. Love, The Bacons.” What would the family think about that?

My son and I have gone on to talk about how small things that we do, that we don’t think much about, can have some great significance to someone else. These people have no idea how we wait for their lawn ornament. Maybe they were like, “Meh. It’s too much trouble. Let’s not bother with decorating the yard this year.” It’s nothing to them.

No one else in the neighborhood has a Christmas Pig with wings. Someone one year had a Christmas Pig with a Santa suit. It wasn’t the same, and they moved anyway.

I looked for a Christmas Pig online. If Christmas Pig is gone, we may buy our own when we can afford it. He’s not cheap (of course) and I can’t spring for my own Christmas Pig this year. And buying one of our own is okay. That would be fun. But it won’t be the same.

12 Days of Writermas!

After reading about what vampires get for Christmas, I was inspired to write my own holiday verse (something ink rather than blood inspired).

On the first day of Writermas, my true love gave to me
A contract with a publishing house.

On the second day of Writermas, my true love gave to me
Two coffee gift cards and a contract with a publishing house.

On the third day of Writermas, my true love gave to me
Three good massages, two coffee gift cards, and a contract with a publishing house.

On the fourth day of Writermas, my true love gave to me
Four reams of paper, three good massages, two coffee gift cards, and a contract with a publishing house.

On the fifth day of Writermas, my true love gave to me
Five Star Amazon Reviews! Four reams of paper, three good massages, two coffee gift cards, and a contract with a publishing house.

On the sixth day of Writermas, my true love gave to me
Six radio/tv interviews (including Terry Gross and Oprah). Five Star Amazon Reviews! Four reams of paper, three good massages, two coffee gift cards, and a contract with a publishing house.

On the seventh day of Writermas, my true love gave to me
Seven calls from Hollywood, six radio/tv interviews (including Terry Gross and Oprah). Five Star Amazon Reviews! Four reams of paper, three good massages, two coffee gift cards, and a contract with a publishing house.

On the eighth day of Writermas, my true love gave to me
Eight days of solitude, seven calls from Hollywood, six radio/tv interviews (including Terry Gross and Oprah). Five Star Amazon Reviews! Four reams of paper, three good massages, two coffee gift cards, and a contract with a publishing house.

On the ninth day of Writermas, my true love gave to me
Nine writing awards-a-given, eight days of solitude, seven calls from Hollywood, six radio/tv interviews (including Terry Gross and Oprah). Five Star Amazon Reviews! Four reams of paper, three good massages, two coffee gift cards, and a contract with a publishing house.

On the tenth day of Writermas, my true love gave to me
Ten fans-a-leaping, nine writing awards-a-given, eight days of solitude, seven calls from Hollywood, six radio/tv interviews (including Terry Gross and Oprah). Five Star Amazon Reviews! Four reams of paper, three good massages, two coffee gift cards, and a contract with a publishing house.

On the eleventh day of Writermas, my true love gave to me
Eleven editors cheering, ten fans-a-leaping, nine writing awards-a-given, eight days of solitude, seven calls from Hollywood, six radio/tv interviews (including Terry Gross and Oprah). Five Star Amazon Reviews! Four reams of paper, three good massages, two coffee gift cards, and a contract with a publishing house.

On the twelfth day of Writermas, my true love gave to me
Twelve bestseller weeks, eleven editors cheering, ten fans-a-leaping, nine writing awards-a-given, eight days of solitude, seven calls from Hollywood, six radio/tv interviews (including Terry Gross and Oprah). Five Star Amazon Reviews! Four reams of paper, three good massages, two coffee gift cards, and a contract with a publishing house.

*

May all the gifts you receive suit you. Happy Holidays.

(And you know, you can find me on facebook.)

Hug me! I’m a blog post!

Have you started laughing and been unable to stop? Most likely this has happened when you weren’t supposed to laugh at all.

Years ago, I went with friends to Steve Martin’s film LA Story. In one scene, Martin’s character, Harris, stops to talk to one of those highway signs that light up and give drivers information, like slow down, heavy traffic. But to him the sign flashes, “Hug me.”

“What?” Harris asks.

“I’m a sign post.”

Only a few people in the theater laughed. There weren’t that many people anyway. But I started laughing and couldn’t stop. Several minutes later my friends asked me if I was okay or if I needed to leave. But the more I tried to stop, the more I laughed.

I couldn’t even repeat the story without laughing and tears.

Nobody else thought it was that funny.

“Hug me! I’m a sign post!”

My friends would give me that look. You know. That look you get when you’ve said something people don’t know how to respond to.

“But it’s a sign post!”

Other than Sara Jessica Parker writing her name on the palm of her hand, I don’t remember anything else about that movie.

This week I’ve been reading a novel I wrote. (Unpublished!) I haven’t looked at it in a long time. Some scenes I love. What was happening to the characters was awful, but I love certain scenes. Reading them I feel happy, like I can write, like I could actually be published one day!

And I want to hand those scenes to someone and say read them! (Hug them!)

But I think the sign post is funny, and nobody else does.

This worries me.

Read me!

What?

I’m a writer!