Well, in addition to my heart-rending visit to the media hospital…

I actually had a pleasant flight from LAX to St. Louis, except that I once again got randomly pulled out of line at boarding time and thoroughly searched. I had my passport and ticket out to show, and thought that I replaced all when I was done with the search. But upon arrival at Lambert, in the baggage-claim area, my passport was nowhere to be found. I suspect that the security guy, either through some legerdemain, or just sloppiness, caused it to disappear. I’m hoping that it will be in the mail when I get back to California Friday night, but if not I’ll have to call LAX and see if I can track it down. It would have expired shortly anyway, but it had lots of neat stamps in it. Anyway, consider it another 911-related loss, as I certainly would have had no call to take it out of my briefcase prior to that date, since it was a domestic flight…

I met Patricia at the airport, and we drove down to the Lake of the Ozarks and then up to Columbia, MO to spend the weekend and Christmas with her family. She is one of ten children, and most of them show up at these events with their many descendants, so there is a large variety of kids around. She had picked up a teddy bear at the Grande Supermarket in Isla Verde just prior to leaving Puerto Rico. It was white (no doubt a tropical polar bear), and when a button was pressed, it sang. It sang to a salsa, or perhaps merenge tune–I’m not sure which–in impeccable Spanglish, as would befit a boriqueno bear.

Mamecita

Dond’ esta Santa Claus?

Dond’ esta Santa Claus?

And all the toys he brings…

And it repeats. There’s no chorus.

It’s just adorable, and I could listen to it all day, except that after about five repetitions, I develop an overwhelming urge to take it out in the driveway and thoroughly flatten it into ursine bits with an SUV.

But she gives it to one of her many toddler nieces, and it is taken away to her house, safely out of my hearing, and thus is spared. In a visit to the ACE hardware to purchase some other Christmas sundries, and repair items for her mother’s house, she spies a Christmas moose (a Christmoose, as it were) with similar musical talents. However, instead of singing in Spanglish to a single Caribbean beat, it has a larger repertoire of Christmas carols, and it dances as it plays them (just the upper body), and since its dance is really a sort of wiggling of its upper torso as it belts out the tunes, and it actually does it in a sitting position, it sometimes, in its melodious excitement, topples over to the side as the song reaches a crescendo.

Very cute. Being cute, and being a moose, for which she has a notorious weakness, I purchase it for her.

Anyway, many presents were exchanged, much food was eaten, and much rum and wine was drunk (as well as bourbon, but not by yours truly). The rum was also procured in Puerto Rico–she picked up some Bacardi Reserve, and some Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum–just the thing for an old buccaneer like me.

That’s all for now–I’m working on a description of my journey from St. Louis to Detroit, which was a travel disaster, and not because of 911. More later.