Ever since the day after Thanksgiving, some invisible force field has taken over the area surrounding my bed. If I get too close to the bed, my body is ensnared by the field and forced into the bed for long or short periods of time. The dog has been similarly affected. A few hours of sleep reduces the pull of the magnetic field and those recumbent upon the bed are allowed to arise and resume a bit of normal activity.

This is a serious problem. Not only do I enter my bedroom often to access the master bath, it is the room where my clothes are kept. I have been unable to dress for three days now, because the closet is directly adjacent to the bed and I cannot escape the bed’s force field long enough to dress for outdoors.

Errands have gone undone and I’m beginning to worry. Just yesterday I strode carefully into the bedroom, holding a cardboard shield covered in aluminum foil, hoping to thwart the force field long enough to grab some clothes from the closet and attend to business. However, the foil was foiled and the mission failed. Sucked into the strong grasp of the field, I joined the dog in an extended trip to slumber land; awakening to find the afternoon had vanished into evening. This force field has visited the house before, but never has it stayed so long.

There is no logical reason for the emergence of the field. No depression, no tired-to-the-bone disorder, no yearning for oblivion, but my body clearly knows something my head does not. I suspect turkey fumes are behind the latest visitation in some way. Several hours of blissful baking aroma from the textbook perfect bird produced on the day of gratefulness may be behind the lingering necessity to blot out thought. Whatever it is, I’m dealing with it in the only way I can: surrender.

Now that Thanksgiving is over, the holiday season begins in earnest. I just can’t get into the spirit prior to the third Thursday in November, despite holiday decorations in stores before Halloween.

My admiration for those who camp out the night before the Friday stores open for bargains knows no bounds, even if I can never see myself in similar circumstances. These are dedicated bargain hunters and even more dedicated shoppers. A shopper such as myself may be a disappearing breed. After identifying the desired object, I simply go buy it from the closest store. No comparison-shopping at all. For me, the hardest part is finding the gift to fit the intended recipient. Once that huge task has been accomplished, the heavy lifting is done. I identify a time when stores are unlikely to be crowded and complete my purchase. I am perhaps missing out on the group frenzy of getting into the spirit of the season, but as I age, expediting errands trumps everything else.

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It is gratifying so many people are enjoying the search for The Dude. It is amusing to me to hear the guesses and correct responses on our voice mail system. No one, and I mean no one, just says, “Hey, I found the dude.” To a person, they response is always something like, “Hey man, I found The Duuude on page so and so.” Everyone says the phrase the dude like they just smoked a doobie and found nirvana. Even when I changed the outgoing message on the machine, I did the same thing. My voice and cadence changed when I said the dude. Wonder why that is?

For the record, The Dude was the brainchild of the newest member of The Beachcomber team, Donna Weidenbruner, whom I have known for a number of years in another incarnation of our pasts. We first met as board members of Shelter House, Inc. Donna is the kind of person it is hard not to like. She is always upbeat and enthusiastic, with a tendency toward saccharine solutions. Were it not for the fact that she’s genuinely sweet, completely thorough and engagingly honest, you’d think she was a phony. We are happy to have attracted such a person to our wacky crew and you may stumble across Donna as she whips around the area taking pictures and thinking up new ways to make our modest little publication more fun.

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