This will be a brief and not particularly good post because I'm on vacation and I don't want to put in a lot of time or effort (insert your own quip about my usual lack of effort here). I went to the usual place for Christmas this year, though now it's just my grandpa's house since my grandma died a few months ago. Since my aunts moved out, their rooms have been reclaimed and one is a guest room that I used this time around. They had a snowstorm and then the window blinds were too weak to block out most of the light reflecting off the snow, which made for a hellish time trying to sleep, but the window was almost the exact right size to stuff with four long pillows that were in the room. I'm a genius. The shelf in the closet was lined with binders full of looseleaf papers containing my great-grandma's journals. Being the incurable narcissist that I am, I made an immediate beeline for June 23, 1993.
It says: "Denece called this morning to say that Brenda had her baby about 5:30 this morning after a long labor, all night - Yesterday when she went for her check-up, her bag of water was leaking and so the doctor put her in the hospital - There was a staph germ present, and the doctor was afraid the baby would get it, so he induced labor - It was no fun! So have this 7 lb 12 oz baby boy, Christopher Randall Nicholson, our first great-grandchild - Brenda said he is the cutest, sweetest baby in the world - She sounds like a devoted mother! and we are glad. Dale is walking on air."
Well, that's nice. I suppose I could have just asked, but I didn't know all those details. I didn't know what time I was born, for example. Years ago I noticed a newcomer to my ward filling out her information on a blue sheet with "I am a girl" written at the top instead of the customary pink sheet because "Colors are not gendered" and "I like blue better," and then I noticed that she had the same birthday as me, and she asked what time I was born, and I didn't know so I had to cover up my ignorance by saying, "I don't remember. I was very young." She stared at me for a moment, then said "Oh, stop it" and turned away to talk to someone else.
On Christmas Eve I went to see the Spider-Man movie with my brother-in-law. It did not disappoint. Then I went to bed, woke up, and couldn't get back to sleep because I hadn't yet figured out to stuff the window with pillows. Then as I lay in bed feeling like garbage while everyone else was up doing Christmas things, I made the mistake of getting on Facebook and seeing eight hundred pictures of happy couples. Even the heathens I went to high school with are settling down and raising families by now. But the day was turned around by getting to collaborate with family members on a 1,000-piece Lego puzzle.
My heart was also warmed by the continued loyalty of true friends.
That night I had a great prayer and cried a lot. I almost never cry, and it feels so very, very good when I do. So that was nice. Someday hopefully I'll be at liberty to write all about what I said and why I cried.
"Guys. Chris's blog is the stuff of legends. If you’re ever looking for a good read, check this out!"
- Amelia Whitlock
"I don't know how well you know Christopher Randall Nicholson, but... he's trolling. You should read his blog. It's delightful."
- David Young
About the Author
C. Randall Nicholson is a white cisgender male and a Latter-day Saint, so you can hate him without guilt, but he's also autistic, so you can't. Unless you're an anti-vaxxer, in which case the feeling is mutual. This blog is where he periodically rants about life, the universe, and/or everything.