by Curt Kovener
We are involved in a most deceitful level of human activity in the Jackson-Scott County area. In fact, the little white lies, half-truths, and fibs are not exclusive to just our community but stretch across the American countryside.
And there is not a thing wrong with it. Nope, there is nothing wrong with it because it is Christmas time and many of us must resort to this kind of treachery and untruthfulness in order to pull off a gift giving surprise on Christmas morning.
It is difficult to make gift purchases for your spouse or significant other while shopping with your spouse or significant other. I have accomplished it but it is tiring and only works if you are shopping in a big box store.
First, you spot the gift item and make a mental note of its location. After a period of time, you excuse yourself from shopping to pay a visit to the restroom and agree to meet your partner in about 5-10 minutes.
Then you make a mad and direct dash back to where you spotted the gift, make your purchase and hope that there is no line at the checkout, run like the dickens (since it‘s Christmas that must be Charles Dickens) out to the car, hide the gift somewhere in the trunk, then hustle back to the appointed meeting spot.
But be careful about running out of the store with your package lest you attract the attention of the store security.
Try not to be out of breath when you meet up and are asked if you’re ready to continue shopping.
There is an easier less strenuous way but it requires more fibbing in order to get away to do your Christmas shopping alone.
Becky likes to know my whereabouts at all times. She doesn’t necessarily want to know what I’m doing, just where I’m going to be. But I don’t want her to know when I’m shopping so, I confess, I tell some untruths. But not as bad as the untruths told out of Congress
But on Christmas morning, my misstatements of fact are forgiven.
I suppose I developed my December deceitful ways as a youth. After I thought most of the holiday shopping had been done, I had this habit of Christmas snooping.
I believe I inherited this trait from my mother.
Closets were the usual hiding places at home, either up high where I had to get a chair to spy them or down low where a coat had conveniently fell off it’s hanger to cover a variety of gift wrapped boxes.
But the real fun was holiday exploring at Grandma’s. It was more of a challenge because that big, old farmhouse had so many well-camouflaged hiding places.
The usual hiding place was in the window seat of the dining room bay window. But sneaking a peek inside was hampered because Grandma usually had some rather large potted plants sitting on top of the seat. There they were able to enjoy the nurturing light of a northern window and also keep nosey grandkids away from her not-so-secret hiding place.
Upstairs there are two bedrooms that share a large closet. I can remember slipping upstairs while Grandma worked in the kitchen (probably making some of her famous Christmas cookies) and, avoiding the wooden floorboards that creaked, tiptoeing to the spare bedroom. Crawling along the darkened closet floor my eyes would strain in the dim light to spot anything with bright wrappings.
The one lingering memory I have of my espionage escapades was the smell of my grandpa’s suits in that closet. As I slowly made my way along I distinctly remember the odor of his all wool Sunday dress clothes. The wool combined with the aromas of his pipe tobacco and peppermint (the candy he used to bribe a fidgety grandson to keep quiet during church services).
During those Sunday sessions I was admonished to always tell the truth. But I must confess that during December I tend to be a little blind, feign deafness when some others are whispering, and seem to have a “I’m too busy” attitude to be concerned about loved ones’ whereabouts.
Husbands and wives, mothers and fathers might be prudent to be a little more tolerant of tardiness explained with a very lame excuse this month. Hopefully that kind of fibbing will be washed as clean as the hoped for new fallen snow on Christmas morning.