Don't Worry About Your Dad

---

Email Subject: Don't Worry About Your Dad

---

Hi, Emily --

MERRY ALMOST CHRISTMAS! We’re sorry we can’t be with you this year. Who knew when you moved to Charlotte that a pandemic would strike and make traveling so far so very ill-advised?

Probably hard for you to believe it, but we’ve already gotten several inches of snow here, was sort of a mess on the Turnpike from Framingham to Natick earlier this week. Saw a couple of cars spin out past an icy patch. Or as dad likes to say, a summer tire convention. Ha, that never gets old.

We were running curbside errands on Wednesday, popped the trunk to pick up a firepit, a camp stove, an outdoor heater and what we’re calling his and hers weighted blankets. We also replenished the pub cheese and crackers for while we’re watching the Pats and some boxed wine for during The Queen’s Gambit. At some point, I just had to acknowledge that people were really going to talk if I didn’t start placing fewer bottles in the curbside recycling bin.

I don’t think you’ll hear about this from any of our neighbors on Facebook, but just in case you do, I am talking to your dad and I think he’ll listen to reason, but he’s been a bit out of sorts lately. So I think that’s why George’s Holiday Garage came into being.

He started out cleaning the garage this fall, rumbling about a man cave and a place to get a bit of fresh air, away from my QVC and competitive cooking show watching, I suppose. Have you ever met a more Gordon Ramsay-like man who just couldn’t abide Gordon Ramsay?

When we couldn’t all get together for Thanksgiving, he needed a project, and decided the town needed some holiday cheer. So he bought 11 holiday inflatables: Rudolph keeps blowing over cattywampus, Frosty’s listing like a drunken sailor. There’s a laser-show Santa sleigh that flies across the roof, and I think he’s just days away from trying to sync it to AM radio carols. From there, he began handing out flyers for people to drive past George’s Holiday Garage.

Then he figured St. Nick would hand out gifts. I certainly did not know he was so familiar with the mail-order offerings of the Vermont Country Store. Some of the gifts have been a real hit. Marge Smithfield keeps Zoom calling me in her new flannel Lanz nightgown asking if I think her Tangee lipstick has changed colors yet. He’s given several of the neighbors packaged boxes of gift soaps. Though he went for Apple Cider Vinegar, Maple and Baby Powder scents. It’s a long winter, guess he thought it would be adventurous to hand out a few new fragrances? LOL.

People started to get a little annoyed when he started gifting the old-timey tonics. I know everyone tapped into some plague vibes with the overkill on the Halloween decorations: the ghosts, the skeletons, the relentless outdoor fires. But no one wants to ward off evil spirits at Christmas. I said if he really wants to restore the neighbors’ vigor, he should stop giving them elderflower, ginger and turmeric herbal tonics. You know and I know that Peter Darrington would much prefer a nice single-malt to get through to the end of 2020. I think his decision to hand out first-aid kits and LifeStraws to children as stocking stuffers may, in fact, have been the final straw. I suspect some of the nervous neighborhood mommies may call in some kind of municipal violation to the Town Council. Excessive lights or traffic?

At any rate, what started out as a way to spread a little joy seems to be backfiring. Rob Baker has started doing drive-bys in his RV, and last night he wrapped it in blinking holiday lights, blasted Mariah Carey Christmas carols and hollered at dad that his generator might be building up unsafe levels of C02. Dad’s looking a little put out. He’s still talking about dressing up the dog as a reindeer, renting a Grinch costume and having a one-man Whoville car parade through the subdivision, but I’m just not sure his heart’s still in it.

Much love,

Mom

-By Betsy Taylor