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On a recent trip to the beach I figured that I would dust of my camera and see if I still remembered how to push the button down on top of the thing. One day my son asked to tag along, now that he is eight he is old enough to start learning a thing or two about photography. So I put my camera on it's tripod and we headed out. As we were walking along discussing the finer points of the "rule of thirds" I stepped into a hole in the sand. As I lurched forward and my face sped for the sand reflexes took over and the camera, tripod and all,flew out of my hands. Quickly, my son ran past me and started to attend to my camera. Dusting the sand off he says "hey Dad, you really should watch were the heck you are going, you just broke your really expensive lens."

Lesson Learned.

No, I am not the Easter Bunny. However, I am one of his helpers. I am what you call "part time seasonal help." Most of my duties are rather mundane, taking care of the behind the scene logistics. For the last two weeks I have been spending about twelve hours a day boiling eggs so that kids can decorate them. This weekend I will be hiding eggs for several different Easter Egg Hunts. After that there is a couple of days of clean up, mainly picking up all the fake green grass that comes in Easter Baskets and accounting for all the eggs that were not found in the Easter Egg hunts. The Easter Bunny calls that the "No Egg Left Behind" initiative. It is a new policy he rolled out this year.

The extra cash is nice, but I don't care much for the uniform. The ears are bad enough, but the pink fuzzy tail is just too much.

O Christmas Whisky! O Christmas Whisky!
Much pleasure thou can'st give me;
O Christmas Whisky! O Christmas Whisky!
Much pleasure thou can'st give me;
How often has the Christmas Whisky
Afforded me the greatest glee!
O Christmas Whisky! O Christmas Whisky!
Much pleasure thou can'st give me.

My wife is always at a loss for what to get me. I tell her that I always appreciate another addition to my Single Malt Whisky Collection. She tells me that she doesn't know which one to get. I say what ever I don't already have is fine with me. So year after year I end up getting socks and underwear. So this year I told her exactly which one to buy. I would have to say that this tastes much better than socks and underwear.

"For crying out loud, would you knock it off with the pictures and just drink it"-----My Wife from Christmas night.

Sniggle-fritz is our Elf. More specifically he is my children’s Elf. He has a simple job. During the day he sits on a shelf and watches the kids. Each night he magically comes to life and flies back to the North Pole to tell Santa who has been naughty and who has been nice. When my children awake in the morning they are surprised to find that Sniggle-fritz is resting in a different spot after his trip to see Santa. Each morning they race down stairs to see where Sniggle-fritz will be this time.

Everything was going well for a while, and then I noticed some strange things were starting to happen. In the morning we would find broken ornaments on the floor by the Christmas tree, almost like they had been thrown off. One day all of the candy had been picked off of the gingerbread house. Another day I had found three empty bags of Christmas cookies on the couch, crumbs everywhere. Then, things got really bad. My new bottle of 18 year old Scotch tasted like it had been watered down, quite a bit I might add. A bottle of champagne that we were saving for New Years Eve was missing. One night I woke up and could swear that I smelt cigarette smoke coming from downstairs.

Today when I got up I noticed that my wallet was open on the counter. It didn’t take me long to realize that all of my cash and credit cards were gone. Sniggle-fritz was nowhere to be found. My kids were sad at his strange disappearance. I was more than a little suspicious. Looking out the front window I saw that my car was resting in the middle of the front yard with one flat tire and a big dent in the fender. A couple of the neighbors were standing around gawking as I walked out to examine the damage. I opened the door to be greeted by the stench of stale beer. Sure enough, there had to be at least thirty five empty beer cans strewn about and a some crumpled up wrappers from an all night taco shop.

Fearing the worse, I went in and called my credit card company. That damned Sniggle-fritz and his buddies blew two thousand dollars at a strip club on lap dances and cheap booze. Now I know what Santa really means when he says “Ho! Ho! Ho!” “Take me to the strip club!“ I guess he likes the naughty ones after all. There is no way that the credit card company is going to believe me. That Elf is not welcome back here next Christmas, I don‘t care how much my kids cry for him