Happy something; or, slightly unsettling

So, hey, last post was number 100 (woohoo for me, I kept a blog going this long and actually have slightly more than seven readers, who also get woohoos for sticking around this long) which makes this number 101 and since I didn't commemorate the last one, I'm commemorating this one. Um. Yeah, that was the commemoration right there. (We keep things pretty simple over here at the Scritchy Nib -- which, now that I think about it, sounds like some sort of Dickensian pub -- not to mention I HAVE NO TIME even though it's been freakin' PLACEMENT BREAK for goodness sake and I still didn't get a break. Stinkin' two jobs, gosh!)

But I digress.

Mostly what I wanted to say was that I managed somehow (no, I really don't know how) to get a paper cut on the tip of my right middle finger the other day. This happens to be my mouse/trackpad finger. It doesn't hurt at all now, but it's at that slight paper cut healing stage where there's still a definite groove or bump, so when I use the trackpad or, to a lesser extent, type, it feels like I've got a small piece of grit or a crumb or something stuck to my finger. Which is slightly unsettling. And when I try to get it off it doesn't come off (which also is slightly unsettling) because it's a convalescent paper cut. Am I the only one these kinds of things happen to? And if so, is it because I'm slightly more klutzy than the next person, or is it because my life is unentertaining enough that this sort of thing becomes fascinating in comparison (read: this is the most exciting thing that's happened to me for several days), making me more likely to notice it than someone who's got more excitement in their life anyway? Inquiring minds want to know. Well, I want to know at any rate.

Okay, so I lied a little bit. The gritty paper cut thing is NOT the most exciting thing. The most exciting thing is that I finally got my ring re-plated and cleaned and all that jazz for the first time in almost two years and it is SO SHINY. And we all know how much I like shiny stuff.

What the Dickens

So Gryffinkat had gotten me thinking about this earlier, but last night I was at my parents' house for a visit and got to partake of an old family Christmas tradition.

Every year since I was probably about nine, my dad has read Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" out loud to us. This is a bit of a change from the norm in my house, since my mom is the designated story-reader in the family. So having my dad (who is a wonderful reader) perform for us makes this tradition even more special to us.

We start early in the month and usually finish with the last stave on Christmas Eve. We've started including my grandfather (who lives a block away from my parents) in the tradition and he just loves it as well. It's started to evolve into something aking to the Rocky Horror Picture show (which I have never seen, only heard about), where we all have our parts to contribute.

For example, at several points in the narrative my grandfather will start talking about what an amazing writer Dickens was. In particular, when I was there on Monday my dad read Stave Three, aka The Ghost of Christmas Present, and Dickens goes into an elaborate description of the Cratchitt's roast goose for dinner. My grandpa, right on cue, piped up, "Isn't he so descriptive? Can't you just smell the sage?"

Then we all have to chime in on the out-loud-in-chorus parts. Says Mrs. Cratchitt of the pudding "I had my doubts about the quantity of flour."

And, since our copy is, sadly, abridged, every now and then my dad has to pause and tell us "This part isn't in here, but it goes like this..." I suppose he really needs the full version, but this routine is also part of the tradition now and I think I'd miss it just as much if it wasn't there as we miss the parts that aren't included in our version.

The reason my favorite part is stave three, though, is the visit to Scrooge's nephew's Christmas dinner, and the game of Blindman's Buff with Topper and the plump sister. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, do yourself a favor and pick up a copy of Dickens. This part always gets us in giggles (okay, my brother not so much, but only because he'd be offended if I said that he giggled like the girls do).

I wish you could all join in on this family tradition and hear my dad's reading. He has a wonderfully expressive voice (I always like listening to him "perform," as it were; Sundays when he spoke in church were always my favorites) and his inflections are now permanently in my mind whenever I read A Christmas Carol. I think he should make a recording and sell it to spread the joy around. Does anyone out there have some nice recording equipment?