Yesterday Chrissa and I had some of our friends over for our weekly Canasta game. We turned the radio on and were shocked to hear Christmas music playing ... on the 4th of November. Our friend, Chad, asked us to change the station because it's "too early for Christmas music". Personally, I don't mind listening to Christmas music ANY time of the year -- but I can see his point. That got Christmas on my mind, though, and I said: "You know what I've always looked forward to? The day that I'm old enough that I start getting Pepperidge Farms cheese, cracker and meat sets." That's when I'll know I have "made it".
Now don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that an expensive Christmas present should be the yardstick by which I measure my life. I don't think anything I own should really say that much about where I am or who I am.
But there ARE certain things I've drooled about for years and would really like to have
. These are a few things that I really want to own and have always figured I would buy when I lived at a comfortable enough level. Here are two of the main ones:
1) A real, honest-to-God library: complete with an overstuffed armchair, built-in shelving, and insets for my collection of chess sets (I have 5 of them now) and other collectables from around the world.
2) A pool table
Chrissa's list is slightly different than mine: a stainless steel kitchen, 2 Polaris snowmobiles (Chrissa: "If it's a Ski-Doo or Arctic Cat, I'll have settled for less"), and a sailboat. Lucky for us, our criteria for having "made it" are not contradictory. 
7 years ago
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Jared gently closed the leather-bound first edition of The Collected Traison des Clercs Volume IX and carefully replaced it among its brethren. He reclined back in the plush armchair and gazed at the well-stocked collection populating the built-in oak shelves of the library.
After another moment, he got up and left the library, entering a short hallway that led to the rest of the trailer. The bathroom door was on his immediate left, and he stopped in to wash his hands. As water hissed out of the faucet, he glanced over at a miniature sailboat, currently landlocked on top of the toilet tank; Chrissa liked to take the wee vessel "sailing" whenever she took a bath.
Exiting the bathroom, Jared was in the living room. He reached across the table occupying most of the available space and switched on a tiny television. He'd nearly forgotten a pool table was under the television and sundry inhabitants of the tabletop, but it was a moment's work to clear the surface for a gentlemanly game of billiards. He sat down to watch whatever preposterous sitcom was on the sole station the television could pick up.
It started as a faint buzz mixed in with the static of the weak television signal, but Jared gradually discerned a distant motor as it became louder, reaching a roaring crescendo just outside. Chrissa had returned from her errands to the post office and grocery store. Jared stood up in the sonic vacuum that followed Chrissa's killing the vehicle's engine. They'd had to sell the Metro several years ago, but the twin Polaris snowmobiles served just as well, for three months a year, at any rate--sometimes four, and once even five.
Chrissa blew in through the trailer's front door chased by a flock of snowflakes. Her arms full, she pressed the door shut with her back and set her cargo on the stainless steel kitchen counters.
"Hi, hon," she said, smiling at her husband. "Look what came today!" She handed Jared a package shrouded in brown paper.
"Ah, Dan's Christmas present," said Jared, testing the heft of the gift. "Feels like Pepperidge Farms!"
He winked at his wife. "We've made it, sugar plum."
Dan...it's like you read my mind.
Creepy.
i'm laughing not only my ass off, but my elbow and toes as well....
To be fair, I omitted a couple of details:
1) The return address on my Christmas present was just a car's make, model, and licence plate number.
2) The Pepperidge Farms foodstuffs contained in said present were already half-eaten. Hey, I was hungry and cold and in need of some comfort food.
I wonder what monetary signals I would take as evidence of having "made it"? Perhaps paying alimony to two different ex-wives?
On a more serious note, I can't really think of any objects I associate with the proverbial good life. It's not I've some deep spiritual nature, oh no; I'm shallow enough to obsess over objects.
I have a blurry mental image of what things should be like when I've "made it", more of a conglomerate. As far as the technological toys I'm always lusting after, rapid advances make it too hard to discern what I'd really want. I'd like a functioning android servant someday, and a hover car of some sort. Although some working teleportation would trump the hover car; let's get on it, scientists!
Enough of the far-flung weirdo answers, let me really think about it.
A summer home somewhere on the shore of a lake swallowed by an evergreen forest. Not just a summer home, either; an autumn home, because I like to see the leaves change. So maybe not in a purely evergreen forest.
Alternatively, or just additionally, a small-to-medium castle somewhere in Ireland, overlooking tumultous ocean. (This would hinge on equipping the castle with some modern conveniences, 'cause I hear they're drafty.)
I think these romantic notions miss Phee's gist with the Pepperidge Farms gift: the little indicators of having "made it". It's not that the gift itself is all that significant, but it is a harbinger of a certain kind of lifestyle. I see it as part and parcel with a traditional mistletoe-and-snowmen Christmas; warming up by a fireplace; surrounded by friends and family. I'm not saying this is Phee's view regarding Pepperidge Farms at all, but maybe I've got a glimmer of what he's talking about.
A final confession: a library and a pool table would be super cool. Ditto the sailboat.
Oh, and Shasta: what happened to your other elbow? Are you okay?
they're alright. they've attached themselves back onto my body, although they tremors (residual giggling) still keep me up at night. i just read jared's blog and your response to my roomate alissa and our friend tyson. they were also 'busting up.' thanks for the laugh. you should follow in the footsteps of david sedaris.
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