Santa Claus Is Coming To Frown

Bless his heart. The poor man is incredibly busy right now. He’s making lists and checking them twice. He’s overseeing the massive production of millions of toys. He’s getting the reindeer in shape, filing flight plans, pouring over the most efficient way to cover the entire world in one night. And now he also has to fend off criticism about his appearance?

It’s tough to be Santa Claus. Last week the Surgeon General of the United States said that Santa needed to go on a diet. Santa is a bad role model for all the children he comes in contact with. What we need is not a jolly, roly-poly Santa, but a thin, healthier, weight conscious Santa.

I suppose if you are the Surgeon General, you would take your job of being very serious about health issues; well, very seriously. And overweight children are no joke. But let’s just leave Santa out of this issue, shall we?

The man does a lot of good. He’s a little heavy, yes. But depending on whose research you believe, he is anywhere from more than two hundred to more than two centuries old. Maybe Santa should be giving us some healthy living tips.

He is environmentally conscious. He doesn’t use gasoline or diesel to get around. You never hear about a chemical spill or fire caused by Santa or his workers. The news isn’t full of toy recalls coming out of Santa’s workshop. Elves don’t go on strike because of bad working conditions at the North Pole, a minor miracle considering that it is at the North Pole.

The Humane Society doesn’t have to investigate complaints of animal abuse. There was that one time when the other reindeers were being mean to Rudolph, calling him names and not letting him play with them; but Santa put a stop to that pretty quickly.

Santa enforces good behavior among our children. He gets them into bed early on those frantic nights right before Christmas, when it is the most important that they behave the best. Let’s face it. We are all exhausted right before Christmas. Our kids get treats they normally wouldn’t, and are around all the relatives and friends they don’t usually see. The kids are hyper from excitement and exhaustion. But when they normally would be at their worst, just a reminder about Santa settles them into well behaved little ladies and gentlemen.

Santa seems like a pretty smart guy to me. He manages to handle a multi-dimensional empire all year long and only makes the news once a year. Not one reindeer has come forward with a scandal. Not one elf. Mrs. Claus hasn’t asked Dr. Phil for help with her marriage, or cried on Oprah’s couch.

I think we ought to just leave Santa’s waist line alone. With all the good he accomplishes, the man deserves his milk and cookies.

Rollin' On The River

It’s just not safe when we get together. My husband has suggested that we should come with a warning label. That might have been helpful this past weekend, when I celebrated a little early with my sister in Little Rock.

The only day Gary and his Mom both have off is Christmas Day. That happens to be the day the rest of my family are going to be down in Little Rock with everyone else. So we are going to celebrate with the Jonesboro side Christmas Day, and the Little Rock side....well, we haven’t quite figured that part out yet.

They are a fluid bunch, spreading out in all directions. I can’t seem to keep all of them in one place at one time long enough for all of us to get with all of them. Throw in my husband’s unusual work schedule, and, of course, the almighty, not-to-be-messed-with deer season; and things get complicated.

Since I knew I wouldn’t see my sister again before Christmas, I bummed a ride with my Mom and Dad when they had to go to Little Rock. We planned on a little quiet conversation, very subdued. Not.

We planned on eating as much as possible, as often as possible. We planned on shopping until the credit cards melted. We planned on staying up and staying out and playing and laughing as much as we could in the 24 or so hours we had.

The only problem with that on-the-go scenario is that I had to be in a wheelchair. My mom has a brace on her knee, after injuring herself cleaning house. She’s pretty serious about a clean house. That’s another column entirely. I will say that, after knowing she was hurt, she continued to clean for several more hours. Like any good southern lady, she knows any injury short of death is no excuse for a less than spotless home.

So here we are, my mom limping along with a brace on her leg, me rolling along in a wheelchair, and my sister. Oh, and my son. The wheelchair driver. The 12- year-old wanna be Nascar driver wheelchair navigator. Did I mention it has been suggested that we should come with a warning label?

Logan had to continually reminded to slow down. He wanted to help by pushing me, but his version of slow was our version of very fast. The only threat that seemed to work was for Aunt Teresa to offer to push. Teresa was darting in and out and over and around, trying to take care of all of us.

My idea of looking at something is to read everything on the box, read everything on the other boxes of other brands around it, and then to compare them. Logan’s idea of me looking at something was for me to be able to glance at the box and possibly speed read it as he drove me by that particular section. Shopping is not his thing.

We made it through. Little Rock survived, and so did we. We ate as much as possible, as often as possible. I drank really excellent coffee, something that always makes me very happy. I met my niece’s new significant other, and we all stayed up talking so late that my Dad fell asleep on us and Teresa was about asleep between sentences.

It was exactly the weekend I had hoped for, although it might have been easier on Teresa if Mom and I had been a little more mobile. We did manage to get around though. The credit cards coming due in a few weeks will be proof. It was too early for Christmas, but it wasn’t too early to get the holiday started.

A little fun, a lot of family, some silliness and some saneness. We didn’t blow anything up, we didn’t shut anything down. We were perfectly safe, with no warnings needed. This time.

Rolling Along

I'm still limping around from the stray needle hitting a nerve a few months ago. I'm getting better, but it is a slow process. Last week I was in Little Rock with my sister, and I was in a wheelchair.

As we navigated around the crowded aisles, I was reminded again that so many places that say they are handicapped accessible aren't. The stores were packed, not with people, but with stuff in the middle of the aisles. It made getting the wheelchair down a straight path impossible. The regular aisles were so narrow that often times my wheelchair wouldn't fit. Quite a few stores lost business because I couldn't get to the product I wanted to buy.

When I'm in Minnesota, just about the entire city, and definitely the downtown area near the clinic is set up for people with any type of disability. You almost feel different if something is not physically wrong with you. Most of the time that I spend in a wheelchair is up there, in a city accustomed to dealing with people that have different needs routinely.

By the time I come home again, I am better and over whatever procedure put me in the wheelchair (usually) so I don't have to be in one down here that often. Having to use it this weekend, on a busy crowded holiday shopping weekend, reminded me of how difficult it is for people who don't have the advantage of being able to get up and walk away from their wheelchair.

The truth is many, many places that say they are accessible are not. I can't tell you how many checkout counters I couldn't reach, how many times I couldn't see the amount I had paid, I couldn't swipe my debit card, all because the counter was too high for the wheelchair. There were stores I couldn't go in and areas in the stores I couldn't get to. That is in all of those malls that have ramps and signs telling you how accessible they are. They aren't.

I think every store owner should have to spend a day in a wheelchair, trying to navigate his store. Perhaps then, stores would truly be handicapped accessible.

Getting It Right

No, I don't know exactly what happened. But they sure as the dicken's don't. Pardon me while I go on a not so mild mannered rant. I'm a reporter, so getting things right is very, very important to me. You can laugh if you want, but most reporters have integrity. Getting it right is vital. Some don't. Thank God they are a minority, but they do seem to get all the attention.

Because those that don't care if they get it right as long as they get it fast and first do get the attention, most people believe all reporters are like that. We aren't. And those Others make Our job harder.

I'm not so silly as to beleive a certain radio station in Memphis that is somewhere on the dial between, oh, say 102 and 104, purports to have anything remotely close to journalism as its purpose. It is about entertainment and ratings. I get that. I really do.

Today the entertainment and derision was at the expense of the good people that live in my home town of Blytheville, Arkansas. Those that are on the morning talk show thought an incident of the police tazing someone was a more than hilarious. They didn't bother to deal in the truth of the incident or consider that those people they were making fun of are real people with real families.

Blytheville isn't a perfect city, and our people aren't perfect. From my own personal experience, I would say that Memphis is a long, long way from reaching perfection themselves.

The fact is, there just wasn't anything funny about what happened, and making fun of the incident wasn't in the best interest of anyone. Not the victim, not the officers, not the city. Except perhaps by stretching and reshaping the truth for ratings for station in another state, for people who have no concern about the people who live Around Here.