It was very difficult for The Baby just a few weeks ago : now- more so than ever- it seems that all of the children celebrate Sinterklaas, not Christmas, not how * we* do. The children in her class felt very sorry for her indeed, poor waif.

She felt very sorry for herself.

I actually felt sorry for her, and wondered why, after all of these years, things seemed so very different.

I still haven’t a clue as to why things have been so different this year. But they have been, they are.

But with a two week vacation ahead of us, and my own upbringing behind me, I relish tomorrow.

We have our usual big old tree, which the children decorate – no Better Homes and Gardens here. The paper we have always used- after a year or two of being out of fashion- glitters and shimmers under the lights of the tree once more.

The shrimp ( big) is still thawing. The shrimp ( tiny) has been cleaned. The eels ( eh, Dutch stuff) are in, the smoked salmon, the tomatoes, lettuce and so on.

The meats for Christmas Day have been ordered at the butcher’s, we will pick it up tomorrow.

Oddly enough, every year there is one child who is very difficult to buy gifts for. It changes every year. This year, it was The Baby. The Boy, The Girl- piece of cake. I hope that The Baby will be pleased with her booty.

I hope that the children will be pleasant to their cousin.

But mostly I notice that the rats have not sent Christmas cards this year. Their wives have always been early with this task, in fact, the cards should have arrived even before we felt the blades between our shoulders….

Hum. So much for the little women not knowing what was going on.

But on to Christmas….

Indeed.

Hey, I’m in for it !

There must have been a remarkable alignment of the stars last week, for numerous and sundry sad, bad and unusual things happened within our tiny realm of existence.

For example, the director of The Girl’s program at her school went out last Tuesday to give a pitch to prospective new students and has not been seen since.

His car was found abandoned by a nearby canal, but neither dredging, scent dogs nor infra red cameras has led to one single clue as to his whereabouts. As The Girl spent many a long afternoon in his office writing down the rules of behavior for her school, she was very shocked.

More so when a few days later, a local boy ( his sister was in The Girl’s class from 1st grade to 6th grade) was riding his bike by The Girl’s school and BAM! was hit by a truck. 18 years old, dead as a doornail, the meaning of Christmas gone forever for those he leaves behind.

And then the remarkable discovery made last week at the company. It was one of those chance encounters, that easily might have never occurred if there had been a slight delay of only a few minutes. But it did take place. While Left Hand Man was visiting a client, he spotted The Postman and Right Hand Man at the very same establishment. Together.

After many years of working for the company- usually after one of his own had gone belly up- The Postman quit about 3 months ago. This was so surprising that even I- when told the news- could hardly believe it : The Postman QUIT ?

Yessiree.

Followed a few months later by Right Hand Man announcing- after working for the company almost 20 years- that he was leaving for another job on Dec. 1st. What, I said, Right Hand Man is leaving ?

Well, hush my mouth.

The gristmill would murmur that this was a classic case of mid-life crisis, as Right Hand Man turned 40 this year.

And the Left Hand Man spotted the two together and bells started ringing and computer tapes were examined, mailboxes dumped, computer specialists brought in. I- in fact- started doing searches, via Google and Whois.

Long and short of it ? Since at least last March, the most trusted employee in the company and two other employees had set up their own company- in the same sector- and were attempting to pull away clients from their employer ( read : us), on company time ( read : the hand that feeds them.)

They seem to have forgotten that when they were hired, they signed a contract, which specifically stated that if they indulged in this sort of behavior, they would be fined X amount of money for every infraction.

We have not forgotten, and I do believe that the first, initial count- on Day 1 of research- was 40 infractions.

Merry Christmas Postman.

Merry Christmas, Right Hand Man.

Merry Christmas, Rat # 3.

The Father has been gone now for a week. In India.

Last heard from him was about, oh, Thursday, today we received a *group email* ( rather like those Christmas letters that some do send..) Today : he is having a * New York* feeling trebled, meeting people who know the Queen, the Hot Shots of Industry.

A Google search will actually give a number of hits on The Father.

We have no idea when he will return, and so today,I sent an email to his brother :

Hi Brother-

The Mother

Mr. Jo turned up at around 4, telling The Mother that he would have to rebuild the whole structure, which meant that it could not be used for at least three weeks.

Read : no car, three weeks, Christmas.

A solution was found.

The Mother has no idea when the Father will return.

But The Mother is planing on a trip to the Big City this Saturday, for we all really need to get out of this house and this town.

We suffocate in inertia.