holiday Archives – Lisa Scottoline

Column Classic: ‘Twas The Night Before

January 3, 2025December 29, 2024

By Lisa Scottoline

For Christmas, I got broken pipes.

Again.

Let me explain.

Just before the holidays, I went down to the basement.

First mistake, right?

Going down to the basement is asking for trouble.

There was water all over the basement floor. It didn’t take a plumber to figure out that one of the overhead pipes was leaking.

Correction. Actually, it did. It took four different workmen to figure out what was leaking, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

I called my plumbing and heating company, and they sent over a plumber, who said I needed a heating guy instead, and next a heating guy came over and said I needed a plumbing guy instead, and then a third guy came over who could do both and told me it would take four thousand dollars to fix my problem, which was a combination of plumbing and heating problems.

That’s all I understood, as I stopped listening after the four-thousand-dollar part.

But it had to be fixed, so I said yes, and they put me “on the schedule.”

This was two days before Christmas. I stayed home and waited for the plumber/heater guy to come, though I had three zillion things to do, among them buying last-minute gifts and turkey for Christmas dinner. When no one showed up, I called the company, and they said I wasn’t “on the schedule,” after all.

Oops.

No problem, any other week but Christmas. I had no gifts and no turkey. Time was running out. The company said they’d send somebody as soon as possible, which was Christmas Eve day. This was a problem, because it was the last shopping day until you-know-what, and all I had for the holiday dinner was cereal. Also, the tree had to be decorated, so never let it be said that I leave some things until the last minute.

Because I leave everything until the last minute.

Also, if you recall, my last Christmas Eve was spent with plumbers and heating guys. If it’s a federal holiday, I’m spending it with plumbing and heating guys.

So, I said to the company, no thanks, don’t send the plumbers on Christmas Eve. Send the plumbers on Monday, after the weekend.

What could go wrong?

You’ll see.

Francesca and I enjoyed Christmas Eve day, picked up our turkey and fixings, and stopped by the mall, where we were interviewed by a TV reporter as one of those crazy last-minute shoppers. I blamed it on Francesca. On camera. That’s the kind of mother I am.

So we came home all happy, but as we were decorating the tree, we noticed it was getting cooler in the house. And long story short, on Christmas morning, we opened our presents in fifty-five degree weather.

Inside.

Whatever had gone wrong in the basement had knocked out our heat, but no worries, we were warmed by tidings of comfort and joy.

Until the house temperature dipped to fifty-two.

Hmm.

We had put shopping ahead of heating, and now we’re going to pay for it.

Still, no worries. We remained calm. We would tough it out for the weekend, then the plumber/heater guy would come on Monday.

But a snowstorm came instead.

And the plumber/ heating guy couldn’t.

So, you know where this is going.

We have no heat, for five days now. Francesca keeps a fire burning in the fireplace in the family room, and I keep the hot chocolate coming. We sleep on couches, huddled with the dogs, in the flickering light of the fire.

So, I asked her if we should have done the prudent thing and let the plumber come, instead of having Christmas Eve.

“Nah,” she answered, with a smile.

Good girl.

Chew Toy

January 3, 2025December 15, 2024

By Lisa Scottoline

Week one of new puppy Eve is over.

It’s been a very busy seven days.

With a very long list of Things to Do, like:

Cuddle.

Hug.

Feed.

Cuddle.

Kiss.

Cuddle.

Feed.

Cuddle.

Feed.

Sleep.

Pee and poop.

Feed.

Cuddle again.

I had forgotten how 24/7 a new puppy could be, and ain’t it great?

All the other things I should be doing haven’t gotten done yet.

Like, take a shower.

Or buy holiday gifts.

Or do my actual job.

And you know what?

It will wait.

Welcome to my new attitude.

I’m not sure if it’s perspective.

Or dereliction of duty

I know I’ll get to everything else, in time.

But before then, I have to cuddle something small, warm, soft, and furry.

Eve is ridiculously cute and adorable, and I can’t tear myself away from her.

I hang with her in her ex-pen, where we take naps together.

If you’re not familiar with an ex-pen, it’s where you put your ex-husband.

Just kidding.

Or maybe fantasizing.

An ex-pen is something that a genius friend of mine recommended, so the new puppy could have a place that was all her own in a house dominated by Boone and Kit, who have lived here for twelve years and like things to stay the same.

As in, we didn’t need a sibling, so why did you get us one?

I was worried they would be less than welcoming, if not murderous.

So I set up a large ex-pen in the kitchen and the family room, where Eve can hang out with her toys.

It’s like a dog playpen.

Or protective custody.

But in the good news category, Boone and Kit are taking her appearance surprisingly well.

So even that is going better than expected!

Meanwhile I’ve had a week of furry bliss and puppy breath.

Although I’m getting nothing done, I’m adding years to my life from endorphins bubbling in my veins.

Or wherever endorphins bubble.

If they bubble.

At this point, the only holiday shopping I’ve done is to buy dog toys, so Eve has approximately twenty, most of which squeak, rattle, and roll when I throw them to her. She would play all day, if she got her way.

Basically, she gets her way.

Sometimes we play fetch, which means that I throw the ball and then I go fetch it.

We go outside 45 times a day and three times a night, but I don’t mind. At my age and hers, we’re both fighting urinary incontinence.

The only downside is that her favorite chew toy is me.

She likes to bite my clothes, hands, arms, and basically any part of me that she can reach, flying across the ex-pen like the killer bunny in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. It’s pretty funny but I know it’s not great behavior.

In this mode, she’s not Eve, she’s Evil.

My dog training books say that I can’t let her bite me and I have to start saying no.

I hate No.

I love Yes.

But I’m going to give it a try today.

Maybe.

Column Classic: One Down

January 3, 2025November 10, 2024

By Lisa Scottoline

Mother Mary never forgets anything. Take the Case of the Crossword Puzzle Cookie Jar.

Our story begins when I see an ad for a cookie jar in the newspaper. It’s a square white jar with a real crossword puzzle on each of the four sides, and it has a special pen that you use to fill in the blanks. Plus it comes with heart-shaped cookies that I don’t have to bake myself.

Mother Mary loves crossword puzzles, though she doesn’t much care for cookies, regardless of shape. Bottom line, the crossword-puzzle cookie jar struck me as a great gift for Mother’s Day. At the time I saw the ad, it was a month in advance of the holiday, so I ordered it online, charged it to my credit card, and specified that it be sent to her. Then I ordered her flowers like I always do and figured I had Mother’s Day squared away.

But when I called her for Mother Mary’s Day, she’d gotten the flowers but not the crossword-puzzle cookie jar. It never came. She was happy with her flowers and didn’t mind not getting the jar. She told me to make sure I wasn’t charged for it. I wasn’t worried. I assumed they hadn’t charged me, because something had clearly gone wrong. The next week, she called me.

She said, “I saw an ad for that cookie jar, and that thing cost a hundred bucks.”

“I know.”

“That’s too much to spend on me.”

“No, it’s not,” I say, because I’m such a sport. I’m the kind of daughter who promises her mother gifts that never arrive. And cookies that other people bake.

“Did you check and see if they charged you?”

“The statement didn’t come in yet, but I will.”

“Make sure you do. Mark my words.”

Then, every time I call to say hi, the first thing she asks is:

“Did you make sure they didn’t charge you for that cockamamie cookie jar?”

“Not yet. Don’t you want it? I can call and ask them to send you another one.”

“No, I don’t want it. It costs too much. I just want to make sure they don’t charge you.”

“They won’t.”

“How do you know? Don’t be a patsy.”

I smile. Patsy is a great word. More people should use it. “Okay, I’ll check.”

I hang up, vowing to check my credit statement when it comes in. The next week, she calls me.

“I slept terrible last night,” she says.

“Why?”

“This thing with that cookie jar. It’s keeping me up.”

“Why?”

“It’s a scam.”

I blink. “What?”

“Lots of people like crossword puzzles, right?”

“Right.”

“And lots of people like cookies.”

“Except you.”

“Right. So. The company says they’ll send the cookie jars, but they don’t, and nobody checks to see if they got charged, and the next thing you know, they’re off on a cruise.”

“Financed by cookie jars?”

“You got it!”

I hang up, this time vowing I will never order her anything from the newspaper, or anywhere else. Every gift I will buy and carry to her, or else she’ll have a heart attack for Mother’s Day.

But last week the statement finally came in, and I checked it.

You know what?

They charged me.

But I’m not telling.

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