On the first day of Christmas….blah, blah, blah…..

“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
a drunk opossum in a box!”

Emerald Coast Wildlife Refuge

(mother’s late circa 1950’s mistletoe ball / Julie Cook / 2017)

See this garish, yet oh so festive green, red and white bedecked ball of plastic??

This ball of plastic, aka mistletoe, has been a part of every Christmas of mine since
I began having the capacity to actually remember memories…..

Every year, sometime in December, Mother would haul down the boxes of Christmas
ornaments and lights from our attic.
Down came the stuffed Coca Cola Santa who would sit on the fireplace hearth.
Down came our stockings knitted by my aunt.
Down came all manner of bauble and ball.

The wooden beamed, insulated tomb which housed our poor ornaments,
as they would spend 11 months out of the year, was
in this wizened sense of hindsight,
a really dumb place to keep real keepsakes….

You know how hot it gets in Georgia in the summers right??

So is it any wonder as to why those festive little dough ornaments
we made in kindergarten didn’t much survive past grade school…???
all before succumbing to the elements and reverting back to their powdery,
albeit now colorful, days of floury finery….???

Mother would pull down that wooden drop down hatch in the middle of our
hallway ceiling, the one with the sad little raveling cord and the plastic knob
at the end, as she’d precariously jiggle the pull down rickety wooden ladder
attached to said little pull down hatch, as I was instructed to hold the ladder
very still while she maneuvered boxes both up and down.

I now marvel at how Mother never fell and broke her neck.

Ceremoniously Mother would pull down this and that box…
She’d survey the contents determining the survivors and discarding the broken.

And each year she’d head to the kitchen in order to literally tack up that
plastic ball of mistletoe over our back door,
as in with a thumb tack in the door frame.

I always imagined being kissed under that mistletoe…
because isn’t that what you’re suppose to do when you happen past a boy
under some mistletoe…????
You get kissed by someone magical and special under that mistletoe???

And I always wanted it to be someone other than my dad’s peck on the cheek
each evening when he’d return home from work throughout the holidays….

I wanted a kiss, a real kiss from a real boy…one day…much like something Prince
Charming might offer….
Yet what I knew of real kisses back then, eludes me now… but I
certainly thought it was something every young girl would dream of…..

Fast forward about 50 years….

So there I was Sunday night, unpacking our own boxes of Christmas treasures
and memories, most of which oddly spend their 11 months out of the year in a very
hot Georgia attic (as some lessons are hard learned)… when low and behold,
what did my wandering eyes behold….but that same ball of mistletoe with
Mother’s tack still stuck on the strand.

Proudly holding up my childhood relic as if it were some trophy fish dangling from
a stringer, I call for my husband to see my prize….
to see if he remembered where my plastic treasure came from and as to its
magical importance….

As I was all ready for my sentimental walk down memory lane,
full of a cherished warm glow from recalling those oh so happy days gone by,
all the while anticipating that long awaited kiss from my very own prince charming…

He looks over in my direction, away from the football game, then practically screams—-

And so goes another cherished memory right out the window….gone to our overtly and
off its freaking rocker society….


And so on that note…I figured since we’ve all probably been taking ourselves just
a wee bit too seriously as of late—-
I wanted to share a story I read yesterday out of the News….
a story coming out of Fort Walton, FL….

It seems that a possum…of which you must know I do find cute and always have, as
I hold a soft spot open in my heart for these poster children of all things
roadkill ever since I can remember….

It seems a possum found its way into a Liquor store in Fort Walton.
Or actually found its way into the ceiling of the building.
Yet it appears that this possum fell out of the ceiling….
Falling onto some bottles of whiskey—of which broke.

When the proprietor of the store opened up the following morning,
imagine the surprise of finding a staggering, foaming at the mouth and
obviously very drunk….possum…
a possum who just so happened to have lapped up all that spilt liquor.

So the kind and caring folks from the Emerald Coast Wildlife Refuge had to come get
the staggering and very sloppy drunk marsupial.
They in turn had to give the sot possum a bag of IV fluids to flush the alcohol from its system.

Once the hangover had passed and the possum had sobered up,
it was released back into the woods…as it was heard to exclaim,
before it went out of sight…
Merry Christmas to all and to all no more bourbon tonight!!!!


Be glad in the Lord, and rejoice, O righteous, and shout for joy,
all you upright in heart!

Psalm 32:11

29 comments on “On the first day of Christmas….blah, blah, blah…..

  1. bond0servant says:

    I would love to kiss my wife under the mistletoe, but she is not romantic, sigh

  2. atimetoshare.me says:

    Lolololol. I especially love Gregory’s comment. We do tend to take ourselves and this world too seriously, especially at this time of year. It is the season to rejoice and frolic, but not like a Georgia possum 😜

  3. hatrack4 says:

    I never had a plastic mistletoe ball. We’d go into the woods and knock mistletoe out of the trees each year. As for the possum story, my wife and Dad rescued a bunch of possum babies when their mother became road kill. Thanks for that.

  4. Tricia says:

    Very cute possum story Julie! They frequent my backyard to devour the oranges from my tree. How very nice of them to leave me the hollowed out, ant covered shells.

    What girl didn’t have dreams of being kissed under the mistletoe by her Prince Charming? I predict zero appearances of them at office Christmas parties around the country this year. Sad.

    • yep—-and the possums here eat the stale bread I throw out back. At the former house we lived in right after we were first married…the house sat way back in the woods. The possums were rife in those neck of the woods and they would harass my poor cat to no end—as they’d climb on the deck forcing her to scurry up a tree. They’d also climb into the trash cans—as I’d have to tip over the trash cans, getting a broom to “sweep” out the listless possums, who were in turn playing possum….only for them to hiss at me once I extracted them from said trash bin….got to love an American marsupial πŸ™‚

      • Tricia says:

        Yes, you do gottal love them! My former cat and backyard possums had a pretty good “let’s pretend the other one doesn’t exist” relationship. One night I remember flinging open the door to the back porch and all I could see in the dark were the glowing eyes and sharp teeth of a surprised possum sitting on the railing two feet in front of me. I don’t know who was more shocked, me or the possum!

      • so when this society of ours gets to be just too much—just remember…the possum : )

  5. Wally Fry says:

    A drunk possum is just what I needed. Thank you

  6. Oh. My. Goodness. You are absolutely hilarious! Tears streaming as I belly laugh!! Live this post. ❀️ and hugs!!

  7. This post was great fun, Julie. Thanks for the chuckle. πŸ™‚

  8. oneta hayes says:

    My granddaughter was studying a Christmas song with “mistletoe hung with care” or something like that. She didn’t know what mistletoe is, so I explained and even went further and told her why the couple tried to stand under it. Oh, my, I just now realize how rash I was to set her up for such untoward behavior! Nite, Julie. Love your blog.

  9. SLIMJIM says:

    Man Christmas time is a time of lots of family memories among other things of course such as Christ coming to save sinners. I totally laughed with the last story of a drunk opossum!

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