There are moments in life when one cannot deny the distinct possibility of divine intervention. One such moment was when I opened my Christmas presents from my parents. The order in which I opened them made such perfect sense, that one could almost see fate's little hands tinkering away. Let me elaborate:
Package number was unwrapped and one pristine pair of white bandmaster gloves drawn out. Now some people might tell you that such white cotton gloves are used to moisturize severely dry hands by applying lotion in the evening, donning the gloves, and giving your hands a 6-8 hour moisture party. Once again, my dear readers, I must advise you to ignore the hoo hah, blather, and poppycock of the masses and to continue diligently reading my blog. These are most certainly bandmaster gloves made of lightweight cotton for optimal summer band direction. Needless to say, I began directing immediately. And really, who better to direct than one's self. Oh dear, I'm getting ahead of myself now. We'll move onto gift number two now and everything will become so crystal clear to you.
Scrawled on the top of gift number two in my mother's lovely penmanship was "For an Os Mutantes Christmas". For those of you unfamiliar, Os Mutantes were a Brazilian psychedelic band in the late 1960s. My parents and I got very into the music of Os Mutantes this summer, basking in their amazingly refreshing take on their American and British musical contemporaries, adding unconventional instruments such as the slide whistle. Although there was no question in my mind of who Os Mutantes were, the message remained cryptic, until I opened it. Inside was a red slide whistle; a plastic, lime green, see-through recorder; and a tin whistle. Maria and I proceeded to play both along with Os Mutantes and to compose our own pieces. Maria, as it turns out, is both a recorder and tin whistle virtuoso, but that didn't stop me from getting in the action.
Gift number three could only have been the grand finale--it wouldn't have fit in anywhere else. Gift number three was a stuffed pomeranian dog purse. Yes, a perfect replica of a pomeranian with a zipper on its back and a short leather carrying strap. I dare not try to explain too much, for it might ruin the simple humor and absurdity of this gift. Instead, take a moment to observe the purse and its owner in the pictures.
With bandmaster gloves, our arsenal of instruments, and a pomeranian purse, Maria and I danced around, tooted our horns, and laughed hysterically until 2am, when the downstairs neighbors pounded angrily on the door and then scolded us for being so loud. I really regret having all that fun . . . NOT! But really, the night wasn't over quite yet . . .
In the end, things got pretty saucy under the mistletoe . . .
