December 21, 2021: On the Forty-Eighth Day of Christmas -

My mom has swum into my head in the past few days, not in a teary, "I miss her at Christmas" sort of way, but in a head-shaking "my mom was a character" way that makes me laugh. 

For instance: Mom liked to pick the last tomatoes off the vine, green, and put them on a towel in a cool spot, and let them slowly ripen til Thanksgiving. And I do the same. 

Except Thanksgiving was too easy! This morning, four days before Christmas, I'm finally using the very last tiny nubbins. Are they good, you ask? Better taste than storebought, but thick skins. However! They were neither wasted, nor heartlessly thrown in the compost bin. They are rescue tomatoes, as it were. I think the rescue bit was as important to her as the thrift. Poor little tomatoes, born late....

She had a soft spot for waifs and strays. Hi, Mom! Thinking of you!

Another instance: at one point, Mom took a shine to a particular clothing company, and started ordering Christmas presents from their catalog. The company is long gone - for good reason - and the name escapes me, but I do remember the first thing of theirs I owned, one of those cowgirl-style denim skirts that were very trendy over clunky Frye boots, back in the day. Best skirt ever.

(I am pretty certain that Camille Paglia once wrote of "Frye boot feminism," but the Google is not helping me prove this. So be it. I was definitely a Frye boot feminist.)

That skirt was the highlight of their wares, though. Shortly thereafter, items began arriving in the wrong size or color, or they'd be missing buttons, or they'd come apart in the wash. Twice, at Christmas time, Mom got cards in the mail from them (before internet! before email!) saying that something, or perhaps everything, was on backorder, and would arrive in the new year. 

Her devotion to them struck me as nuts, but when pressed, she explained that she kept ordering from them because she was afraid the company would go belly up. 

Yes, Mom. That's how it works. 

She reacted to my saying this as if I were torturing defenseless kittens. How could I?

So this week, I got an email from the folks at Calamityware, suggesting that it might be fun to give their new Christmas ornaments and Christmas Cliche plates to one's Valentine - because thery can't ship them in time for Christmas. It's a very appealing email:  

"Nothing says "I love you" like red and white porcelain. And if your valentine isn't very perceptive, they might not even notice the snowmen, elves, Christmas trees, and Santa hats...."

They left out the malign Nutcracker. I really like the malign Nutcracker. 

Also:

"If you order now, you also probably won't be able to get these lovely holiday mugs in time for Christmas. In fact, everything on our site will not make it to you in the next week or so."

This appeal is like a siren song. I am resisting, resisting. I have all the Calamityware I will ever need. But Mom wants me to order some stuff, to keep these people afloat.