The Bobber Cooler

Every Christmas my sister, brother and their families and us gather at one of our houses for the family Christmas. We used to congregate at my dad’s house, but when he died years ago we started a new tradition. The tradition was tweaked over the years, especially during the pandemic, but I think I can say at this point it is what it is.

Chester is not too happy with the cold weather. Plus I made him wait while I took a picture.

Have you ever played the game where you place a wrapped gift somewhere (usually under a tree or on a table) and someone can pick it? Then you can trade back and forth until finally everybody is all traded out. Theoretically everyone goes home happy. We do that but with the stipulation that the gift should be one our father would likely have purchased.

Dad was a quirky gentleman who bought quirky gifts. He would get pounds and pounds of catalogs (before online shopping) and at one point the mailperson complained. It didn’t matter, he just ordered more. He would keep notes on what he ordered. The problem was (depending on if you think it is a problem) he couldn’t stop. He would see just one more thing for someone and had to purchase it. Then he’d have to purchase something else, and stuff for stockings. Yes, he put up stockings for everyone, and if the gifts overflowed, he would place a paper bag on the hearth and call it the “annex.” His tree was a live one, but small, and stood on a card table with all the gifts underneath.

My dad had good taste, but he enjoyed humorous gifts too. Usually it was appreciated except maybe the egg separator that looked like a nose. The egg whites came out the nostrils. I never used it…I just couldn’t. But we are even—we once got him a little wooden boy that would pee into dad’s pond when you attached the hose just right. He never put it outside. Really? He didn’t mind the snotty egg but drew the line at pee boy? Anyway, when we started our sibs Christmas, we agreed that the gift we purchased should be anonymous, around $30-40, and remind us of Dad.

Dad loved to fish. I have written about his fishing obsession; the fish are breathing/gilling easier now that he’s no longer around to outsmart them (whether he ever was is up for debate).

The great fisherman in younger years, contemplating his prize.

During the winter he would examine his tackle and name the red and white round bobbers…”whatta bobber”, “ali bobber” for example, and write these names on his bobbers with a sharpie.

One of the originals

and sometimes they had faces…

Imagine my delight when I found the perfect Dad gift at Best Buy! It was a cooler that looked like a bobber! I wrapped it up knowing that someone would love this rather large memento. They did, it was a roaring success!

There are quite a few available on ebay for some reason.

The next year, a family member decided to continue the happiness and bought another bobber cooler. Now there were two in the family! How delightful! The next year, I believe someone bought one and filled it up with beer or something, which (hard to believe) actually increased the trading value. At this point there were mumbles coming from the family that the bobber cooler may have possibly outlived it’s appeal. The next few years people actually predicted and avoided the large bobber cooler packages, since everybody (almost) had one. Yes, almost, because I did not have one.

This year, I chose a large package because frankly I’m getting old and forgetful and I had forgotten about the bobber cooler possibility. My brother brought it to the party and he picks…interesting gifts like the cat going Godzilla on the gnomes that I got a couple years ago.

I opened it and to my surprise it was a bobber cooler!

I don’t know if he is concerned about the cooler or what is inside but he isn’t having it.

It was not just a bobber cooler but a bobber cooler full of pork rinds, sweet potato chips, churro chips and pistachios.

My husband has been working on the pistachios and I finished the churro chips already. Not sure what’s going to become of the pork rinds. Chester kind of likes them, as does my husband…but that’s a lot of pork rinds even for a hound. Another surprise was that nobody stole it from me!? I tried to hide it by surreptitiously keeping it in the bag and scooting it behind my legs but nobody even looked my way. Their loss.

At the end we reveal what we purchased so we can thank the person (I wasn’t supposed to know that it was my brother’s but I saw him come in with it so…can’t fool a former investigator!) My sister-in-law exclaimed to my brother, “Did you give away our bobber cooler?” and “I can’t believe you gave away our bobber cooler!” Somebody is in the doghouse…but we are going to take it back for a visit this summer when they host the first official Bobber Cooler Day at their pool. This may be at the end of the “Donut Trail” outing, a trip you can take in Ohio where you visit bakeries and donut shops. Did you ever go to a Krispy Kreme donut shop and watch the glazed donuts go down the assembly ramp? They used to give us a free one and it was still warm. Did you ever want to lay on a Krispy Kreme roller and be coated with glaze? But I digress….Kentucky has their Bourbon Trail, Ohio does donuts!

Hope your New Year is starting off swimmingly! Chester and the cats are all fine and Chester met a new girlfriend, Zoe, a puppy in the neighborhood. I love it when he makes friends! Have a good week!

Zoe tired him out!

The neverending mud and Ohiospeak…

Chester loves the mud. He’s a mudder. I am not. I am so sick of wiping those (used to be white) paws after he goes out. He has decided that the chipmunk under the patio should be dug up. Not just the chipmunk but the bunny under the shed, the cat in the wayback yard, and by the gate. He is digging a hole all the way to the center of the earth as we speak. Now the center of the earth might sound dangerous but it would not be overly hot because of the wet mud that permeates the entire Ohio universe. In Ohio aka Cleveland aka our backyard the everpresent mud is everypresentwhere. Oh, and I mean everywhere. It’s on our carpet, our rug, our floor, our couch, the bedspread (I don’t know why because he NEVER goes on the bed…) my shoes, my husband’s shoes, my slippers, the side of the chair from when he shook, the counter. It’s also on him. This is not ordinary mud, no no. It stinks. Maybe ordinary mud stinks too, I’m not sure. I don’t see how it could. I cannot describe to you the smell of this mud. I sat on the couch and kept smelling it but didn’t see where it was coming from. I got on my hands and knees and sure enough, just like a fish in the car trunk for a few days (been there done that) there was a chunk of it that had come to fruition. I was able to remove the offending odor. Unfortunately if A =stinky mud and B=muddy dog then A+B=stinky, muddy dog. It’s destiny, me and the mud. Ugh.

Due to A + B above, we have been trying to take Chester for walks more. I took him yesterday or the day before, or shoot, could be last week, who the heck knows, and he peed on a fire plug. I started to think of words that we use here in Ohio that may or may not be the same as all over. Our mud is special, maybe our language is too. Take the word fire plug. Is that what you call it? or is it a fire hydrant?

Maybe it’s just my family. Families and friends make up words and phrases that have meanings that others don’t understand. I read once where a long time friend died, and the survivor said the thing they missed the most was not having anyone to understand the references and appreciate them. I think that will be difficult when it happens. My husband and I can quote almost any line from Seinfeld in any circumstance. But we’ve been married almost 40 years, there are alot of references.

Some other words—treelawn is the area between your sidewalk and street, if you have a sidewalk. We do not unfortunately. The Wayback is the, well, way back of a station wagon. We did have a station wagon…several in fact. When my husband first met me back in high school my parents had two Volare station wagons. One had a hole in the floor where my sister’s heel went through. My dad wouldn’t get a new car until the old one literally died on the street. 

When my family first got a television, it was a little black and white one, and there was no such thing as a remote control. The first remote control was dubbed the “clicker.” Not to be confused with the “clapper” which we also had. (clap on, clap off, etc) We say “pop” here in Cleveland, while two of our kids say “soda” having moved to NYC. Drives me crazy. A soda is an ice cream float type of thing at DQ. Speaking of DQ I’m hooked on the oreo-cheesecake blizzard. Or the chocolate brownie blizzard. Or just a SODA. But I digress…

I work in words for my job and can write professionally. When I speak I can go either way. My coworkers say we can make entire sentences out of abbreviated words and acronyms. Every field has its own lexicon. Families too; when our families are together we all lapse into the casual speech we grew up with. I sound something like, well, you know, OK, right? Shut up, seriously? Yeah? Get out. It’s delightful I’m sure.

With our social distancing I have been reading more blogs. I appreciate the writers who keep on keeping on. I like reading about other people and their traditions, customs, activities, and yes, pets! If the speech and words are a little different than mine it makes it that much more fun. I almost said funner. But I didn’t! (I might have if I was talking though)  Thank you bloggers for your time and thank you readers for yours. Read on, reader…

and just because, here is a picture of Chester and the fire plug he just peed on. Also one of my new supervisor at work (at home), Zeus. Okey dokie artichoke?

Mom’s proud of me:)

Get back to work!