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2002-11-17 - 6:31 a.m.

My Saturday afternoon was spent in purgatory.

I wrapped Christmas presents--or what few presents I’ve so far purchased. Wrapping Christmas presents isn’t a satisfying side bar to the season, it’s stepping into the ring with Stone Cold Steve Austin. I grapple with the paper, obtain a choke hold and eventually wrestle it around a box. But more infuriating than wrapping the presents is shopping for them. I’d rather be drawn and quartered or suffer the indignities of a female exam at the ob-gyn’s office than Christmas shop.

I hate Christmas shopping. Don’t go thinking I’m singling out the attendant joys of the Big Kahuna Holiday, I’m not. My aversion is unbiased. I hate all shopping. Still, on occasion, I’m forced into it. While attending a conference two weeks ago, diva forced me through the Village Outlet Mall at Osage Beach (Lake Ozark). She gallivanted happily about the shops picking up gifts for her mother and her sons and daughters-in-law and grand kids. I spent the late afternoon and evening throwing temper tantrums. She left the mall with the car loaded with gifts and her shopping nearly complete; I was carrying a handful of gifts and a wagon load of frustration.

Maybe I am--as is so often said of me--a damned Scrooge when it comes to Christmas! Whatever it is I am, it’s an annual affliction.

It’s not like I have a lengthy list of people to buy for. My mother, diva and two or three other friends. And the dogs and Mavis, of course. Except for the animals, I never have any idea in hell about what to buy! The lack of inspiration, and my mother’s stubborn refusal to give me gift ideas, is what drives me stark-staring mad!

Like clockwork, in mid October the fracas begins between Mom and me. She doesn’t need or want anything, I don’t need or want anything, and we spend the next several weeks sparring, trying to pry loose gift lists. Neither of us surrenders. I end up in a last minute race through shops--muttering obscenities sotto voce and slamming through the mass of bodies--trying to find some special gifts for her. And she’s off traipsing around doing the same thing for me. If this is the glad tiding of the season, pardon me, but I don’t want any!

For a long time I fooled myself into thinking I disliked Christmas shopping because Dad was no longer with us. That isn’t true. It is true that without him with us I no longer wholly relish Christmas. But I despised Christmas shopping even when he was with us. He was even more frustrating to buy for than my mother.

And so it goes.

Two years ago I actually complied with Mom’s long-time wish of having a professional photo taken. My compliance, however, was tempered by my mulishness. I would not put myself in some snazzy little frock, adorn myself with baubles and thick face paint and sashay into a studio. In the early fall I arranged for a professional wildlife photographer to meet me at the landing at the lake, dressed myself in khaki slacks, chambray shirt and leather moccasins, loaded both dogs in the car and went off to the photo shoot.

We spent several hours searching out and posing in picturesque locations around the lake. The dogs, after the first two or three shots, were even warming to the task. The shoreline site would be our final photo. I was perched on a large boulder jutting into the water with Emma in front of me, and I was trying to lure Blue into a position beside Emma when she slipped and toppled--ass over tea kettle--into the lake. I was leaning at a precarious angle and had a hand on her collar and I went in, too! I drove home wet, with an indignant, drenched dog on the seat next to me, but we did get some decent pictures. Mom, who loves both dogs, was thrilled with the gift.

But here I am again, the monster holiday is fast approaching, my idea bucket is dry, and the shopping goblins are threatening me. I need an infusion of gift ideas and endurance for the malls. Of course, once I lug all the stuff home I’ll have to wrangle with wrapping paper and ribbons and bows and name tags and scissors and tape. I’m going to also need an infusion of design ingenuity and patience.

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