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No Good Deed Goes Unpunished, Christmas 2003
We were at CoCoView for Christmas, and Herself (Pam) wasn't really looking forward to it as this was her first ever Christmas away from the cozy temps of 10 below zero in Chicago. Hey- we all have our issues.
Erin (CCV's Manager) found out about Pam's Christmas longings and sent one of CCV's DM's over to FIBR to snag a branch of Ponderosa Pine (as the last pine on CCV, that huge tall pine right in front of the clubhouse as seen in many aerial shots, had succumbed to Huricane Mitch)
When we walked into the Flamingo Suite, Pam was greeted by the "Charlie Brown" in a pink plastic (what else?) foot rinse bucket propped up in the corner of the room. Her eyes lit up as I unpacked and produced about .75 cu.ft. of tightly packed Christmas twinkle and began to decorate. We even had lights strung in the mangroves along our walkway! Christmas she decides, is not so bad when you have twinkle.
Miss Ev and Mr Bill (the owners of CCV) made the lengthy trip down to visit and see what all the resort hubbub was about. What with our rearranging of the furniture in the room plus what was now a noticable electric shock coming up from the walkway through your shoes, she was quite visibly taken aback. Bill, on the other hand, had seen natural and man made disasters up close and personal, so he wasn't all that shaken. They smiled and went home for the night.
Ahhh- the old days at CCV when they would wrap the place from top to bottom in the most garrish of trailer-trash twinkle. Who am I to judge, what with a Jewish father and a Lutheran mother, but our Christmas trees never blinked, and as the blinking ones became available, we stayed with "white" lights. CCV however was decorated with whatever fell off the truck and it was installed technically quite well- but the choice of mixing and matching various effects was roughly akin to my throwing lead tinsel at the tree when I was 6 years old. Not pretty, but it got the job done- kind of like cutting fabric with hedge trimmers.
Then you really had to see the plywood painted cut-outs of Christmas-time characters. I especially looked forward to St.Nick who would get a new coating of white cotton glued to his appropriate points to spruce him up for the new season. The cotton would mold and disintigrate throughout the coming two weeks, similar to Honduran Fireworks.
The bar would be Nayda's responsibility and she took great joy in decor that would make a jaded North American go postal, things like those animated Santas that shuck and jive to Elvis music, gyrating their 16" forms to the drunken amazement of the divers. Flor de Cana makes everything alright.
Miss Ev and Billy and Erin would take turns asking me to be Santa. One year, I did SCUBA Santa and made the entrance from the shore dive. Most years, I claimed Jewish and let Billy do it.
They still needed a Christmas morning Santa and since the Ops Mgr Billy had done the sweaty task of wearing the wig, beard and heavy outfit the night before and capped it off with substantial Salva Vidas, can you just imagine, if but for a minute, that unusual funk of that outfit ? No, I don't think you can.
So I put on the suit. I ride in the back of the pick up truck, airing it out. Billy is driving, and that is the mark of a true professional, blood shot eyes notwithstanding. Miss Ev and Herself climb up into the back of the truck and pass little gifts to me that are age/gender appropriate as the kids approach... no- as they swarm from French Harbor and other stops. I never knew that many kids lived on Roatan.
Fast forward to our last stop, right near Romeos/Geos. We hand out the last toy, this time crowd control, such as it is, is provided by a stern looking, stout black female with a... radiator hose.
Hmmm.
We start to drive off as we had run out of toys and Santa turns around to see a little street urchin hanging over the side and into the pickup bed. He is trying to grab the plastic bag that has our three VHF radios, heavy mechanical objects and whatever else in it while he's thinking that these are the last stash of toys or candy. He has the look of determination equalled only by the look of terror on Miss Ev's face as the bag is entangled in her legs. Pam is trying to hold her upright as Billy herky-jerks the clutch trying to shake this determined kid off. Santa damn near takes a dive off the back of the truck- man that would not have been pretty, not at all.
So Santa, keeper of the reindeer, maker of toys, and man of action... he takes command of the situation.
As Pam says, her final memory of Christmas, the most enduring moment... she has it locked in her head... Santa standing in the back of the now speeding pick up truck, wielding and empty corrugated cardboard box, whomping this kid on the head until he let go of the bag and Miss Ev.
Christmas- it's what memories are made of !
We were at CoCoView for Christmas, and Herself (Pam) wasn't really looking forward to it as this was her first ever Christmas away from the cozy temps of 10 below zero in Chicago. Hey- we all have our issues.
Erin (CCV's Manager) found out about Pam's Christmas longings and sent one of CCV's DM's over to FIBR to snag a branch of Ponderosa Pine (as the last pine on CCV, that huge tall pine right in front of the clubhouse as seen in many aerial shots, had succumbed to Huricane Mitch)
When we walked into the Flamingo Suite, Pam was greeted by the "Charlie Brown" in a pink plastic (what else?) foot rinse bucket propped up in the corner of the room. Her eyes lit up as I unpacked and produced about .75 cu.ft. of tightly packed Christmas twinkle and began to decorate. We even had lights strung in the mangroves along our walkway! Christmas she decides, is not so bad when you have twinkle.
Miss Ev and Mr Bill (the owners of CCV) made the lengthy trip down to visit and see what all the resort hubbub was about. What with our rearranging of the furniture in the room plus what was now a noticable electric shock coming up from the walkway through your shoes, she was quite visibly taken aback. Bill, on the other hand, had seen natural and man made disasters up close and personal, so he wasn't all that shaken. They smiled and went home for the night.
Ahhh- the old days at CCV when they would wrap the place from top to bottom in the most garrish of trailer-trash twinkle. Who am I to judge, what with a Jewish father and a Lutheran mother, but our Christmas trees never blinked, and as the blinking ones became available, we stayed with "white" lights. CCV however was decorated with whatever fell off the truck and it was installed technically quite well- but the choice of mixing and matching various effects was roughly akin to my throwing lead tinsel at the tree when I was 6 years old. Not pretty, but it got the job done- kind of like cutting fabric with hedge trimmers.
Then you really had to see the plywood painted cut-outs of Christmas-time characters. I especially looked forward to St.Nick who would get a new coating of white cotton glued to his appropriate points to spruce him up for the new season. The cotton would mold and disintigrate throughout the coming two weeks, similar to Honduran Fireworks.
The bar would be Nayda's responsibility and she took great joy in decor that would make a jaded North American go postal, things like those animated Santas that shuck and jive to Elvis music, gyrating their 16" forms to the drunken amazement of the divers. Flor de Cana makes everything alright.
Miss Ev and Billy and Erin would take turns asking me to be Santa. One year, I did SCUBA Santa and made the entrance from the shore dive. Most years, I claimed Jewish and let Billy do it.
They still needed a Christmas morning Santa and since the Ops Mgr Billy had done the sweaty task of wearing the wig, beard and heavy outfit the night before and capped it off with substantial Salva Vidas, can you just imagine, if but for a minute, that unusual funk of that outfit ? No, I don't think you can.
So I put on the suit. I ride in the back of the pick up truck, airing it out. Billy is driving, and that is the mark of a true professional, blood shot eyes notwithstanding. Miss Ev and Herself climb up into the back of the truck and pass little gifts to me that are age/gender appropriate as the kids approach... no- as they swarm from French Harbor and other stops. I never knew that many kids lived on Roatan.
Fast forward to our last stop, right near Romeos/Geos. We hand out the last toy, this time crowd control, such as it is, is provided by a stern looking, stout black female with a... radiator hose.
Hmmm.
We start to drive off as we had run out of toys and Santa turns around to see a little street urchin hanging over the side and into the pickup bed. He is trying to grab the plastic bag that has our three VHF radios, heavy mechanical objects and whatever else in it while he's thinking that these are the last stash of toys or candy. He has the look of determination equalled only by the look of terror on Miss Ev's face as the bag is entangled in her legs. Pam is trying to hold her upright as Billy herky-jerks the clutch trying to shake this determined kid off. Santa damn near takes a dive off the back of the truck- man that would not have been pretty, not at all.
So Santa, keeper of the reindeer, maker of toys, and man of action... he takes command of the situation.
As Pam says, her final memory of Christmas, the most enduring moment... she has it locked in her head... Santa standing in the back of the now speeding pick up truck, wielding and empty corrugated cardboard box, whomping this kid on the head until he let go of the bag and Miss Ev.
Christmas- it's what memories are made of !
