Festivus

Last year I gave Ron a lovely red and green striped cane for Christmas. He was suitably grateful, and at the first opportunity he showed his gratitude by trying it out on my bottom. The experience was less than gratifying. The cane was just too thick for our liking, and produced too much of a thud. It was rather like being spanked with a small baseball bat. So we agreed that it has been a lovely thought, but the implement would not be included in the regular rotation.

"It would make a good Festivus tree," Ron observed. So that's what I did.

For those of you who weren't fans of the long-running comedy show Seinfeld, Festivus is a non-commercial alternative to Christmas, celebrated on December 23. "A Festivus for the rest of us" is how it is explained in the show, as a reference to the day's non-commercial aspect. A Festivus celebration traditionally includes a dinner without turkey or ham, followed by the "Airing of Grievances" and "Feats of Strength".

We'll include the Festivus tree in our holiday decorations this year, but I don't know about the rest. Meatloaf just doesn't cut it as a substitute for the traditional turkey.

Musical Interlude

 

In this holiday season we enjoy listening to all the old favourite Christmas songs on the radio. We also play our Christmas CDs in the kitchen while preparing dinner together. The other evening Ron was stirring something on the stove and I was bending over in front of a low cupboard, looking for a baking pan. The music was playing, and suddenly I felt a stern hand on my bottom, smacking it in time to the music.

"That's your song," he explained. I listened, and heard Joan Baez singing "The Little Drummer Boy".

"Rum pa pum pum, on my bum," Ron sang.

I guess he had a point.

* * *

The next afternoon I was bent over the end of the bed, struggling through our weekly spanking session. Ron had brought out the big wooden spoon. We both like it (him more than me, though) because of its unusual musical capabilities. When he whacks my left cheek, it makes a distinctive sound. When he whacks the right one, the tone is different. Ron decided to have some fun. He tapped out a rhythm  then stopped.

"Can you guess what I just played?"

"I have no idea." Wrong answer.

"Let me play some more," and he did.

"Still don't know," I answered. I was getting a bit sore from all the percussion.

"It's 'God Save the Queen'", Ron announced proudly. "Listen." He proceeded to play the first verse over again.

"Yes, yes, I get it. That's lovely." I laughed with delight, surprised that Ron had chosen that particular song, since he's quite opposed to the monarchy. I guess he knew I would like it, since I'm quite an enthusiastic supporter of the Queen.

I was even more surprised to hear what came next.

"You can use that in your blog."

So I did. See how obedient I am?

Seasons Greetings from Hermione and Ron

Ron and I wish each and every one of you joy and peace this holiday season.

And to all a good night.

Ending with a Bang

For the holidays I have been concocting some interesting beverages in the traditional colours of the season. I'll admit that the intriguing shape of the bottles had something to do with my choice of flavours, but the green sour apple and red cranberry are both delicious. A little of either poured into a glass filled with seltzer or diet tonic water, ice and a dash of bitters, makes a zesty, low-calorie, non-alcoholic drink that's tasty but not sweet.

Diet tonic water is very hard to come by in small quantities, so when I buy a big two-litre bottle, I decant it into two smaller bottles that will fit into the tiny fridge in the family room. Last night I was doing just that. Did you know that tonic water at room temperature behaves much like champagne when the top is removed? I was doing my best to be careful, but some spillage was inevitable. I topped up the smaller bottles, capped them and put them away, and then Ron arrived.

"You spilled," he observed.

"Yes, just a little."

"Clean it up," he ordered sternly. It was only a little liquid, but I got a paper towel and swiped it over the bar. When I was finished Ron picked up the empty plastic bottle and held it by the top, brandishing it at me. I turned around, bent over and put my hands on my knees. Whack! Whack! I got a half-dozen swats on my bottom with the bottle. I felt the sting through my clothing.

"That makes a pretty good whacker," Ron commented. (He rates implements according to how much noise they make.) He kept the bottle in his hand and took it upstairs - whether he was taking it to the kitchen recycler or the bedroom toy box, I couldn't tell.

I'll find out soon, since it seems we are still celebrating the twelve days of Christmas.