Page 7 - Scene Magazine 45-12 December 2020
P. 7

 The Way I’ve Scene I
    er’s Energy loves us. Every flat surface has some kind of adornment on top of it rendering it useless for anything else for the next month, the furniture arrangement involves rows, and the square footage of the free range area in our den has been depleted by half. No matter! I love it.
expect, she has a spoon tie-wrapped to her index finger, and her other hand is forever holding nothing, unless Aunt Jan has been here, and then, she has a spent cigarette butt squeezed into the tiny space between two of her fingers.
To be fair, in the story in my mind, she was going to live outside in a quiet corner of the house, where she would scare the socks off would-be trespassers in our back yard. She actually did spend nearly five minutes in her corner guarding our house, but she looked dumb there, so then she (wearing just a floppy orange hat)spent a few hours outside on our patio not talking with Aunt Jan. A little later, it clouded up and threatened to rain, so I moved her in- side, so she would not get ruined. She now has a wardrobe as big as mine and stays perched on her chair in front of our picture window, and she looks positively elegant in her Christmas finery.
Hundreds, and I do mean hundreds,
of ornaments adorn the three trees in our house, and the 200 or so 1950s figurines are an impressive lot. The Christmas lady head vases have taken over the curio cabi- net and are simply stunning, but I thought, hey, why don’t I booger all that classic beauty up with something tacky? So, in her festive, tea-length red dress with a tulle skirt, sequined top, a black Calvin Klein shrug, and pair of smart, sparkly $2 shoes from the Goodwill, Marvel-Ann is stealing the holiday show.
I saw her at the estate sale, but her price tag said, “Seriously? Are you crazy?” So
I passed her up. Well, the weeks went on, and there were other sales. At some point, the prices were slashed, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I took a quick shower and was putting on my shoes to head
over and see if she was still there when I saw the dancing reflection of a car in our driveway. I caught Bonnie and Clyde (my boss, Brad and his wife, Lisa) red-handed unloading a naked girl screwed to a chair, holding a spoon from their car! I could not stop laughing! Oh my, this was perfect!
He would never admit to it, but The Hub maybe doesn’t hate her keen sense
of style. As I write this, Marvel-Ann has
a shimmering gold stocking hanging from her spoon, and she is anxiously awaiting Santa’s arrival in a few weeks. Her blank and endless stare might indicate otherwise, but trust me, she is super excited. I’m not sure what she wants for Christmas, but I’m thinking of handing down to her a
real heirloom of a gift given to me by my grandmother many years ago... but maybe she already has a crocheted duck that poops jelly beans. Santa might know.
I’ll ask him.
Who? Named after Barbara Hunter’s character in “The Trouble With Angels,” Marvel-Ann moved in last summer, and The Hub just couldn’t be happier. You see, the DeRuiter’s were having an estate sale, and there she was – quietly screwed to
I got to have her without being guilty of buying her! Back in the late 80’s, when I brought home our first dog, The Hub asked if I was, “Going to let that thing in the
her wooden chair, staring off into space, minding her own business. As you would
Our house is decked out as per Poyer holiday protocol. The whole fiasco/process took somewhere between 15-20 hours, but darn, it sure looks good, and Consum-
house?” Of course I was going to let her in the house... how was she to sleep on our bed from outside! Duh. If he felt that way about a dog, I was pretty sure he would feel pretty much the same way about my Marvel-Ann.
The Marvel of Christmas

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