The Christmas Tree Catastrophe: Lydia’s Meltdown and Gran’s Grace

Gather around for a holiday tale that’s equal parts heartwarming and jaw-dropping—a classic family Christmas featuring generosity, drama, greed, and a meltdown of epic proportions. The star? Stig’s cousin Lydia, whose bratty antics made her infamous and whose actions at this Christmas gathering earned her a permanent spot in family folklore.

But before we dive in, let me introduce one key ingredient in this recipe for chaos: Barb. Stig’s mother, Barb, was the kind of person who could find the cloud in any silver lining. Known for her greed and knack for rubbing everyone the wrong way, Barb was—how do I put this delicately?—universally disliked. Yet, for reasons no one could fathom, Lydia idolized her. It’s like worshipping a porcupine for being pointy. Lydia saw Barb as a figure to emulate, which perhaps explains why her own behavior had a tendency to make people grit their teeth.

Let’s meet the rest of the cast:
Gran: The ultimate Christmas hostess, whose warmth and generosity could light up even the gloomiest holiday. I loved her.
Stig: My best bud and a natural-born hustler with a knack for turning anything into profit and drama followed him around yeilding memorable stories.
Lydia: Barb’s pint-sized protégé, a princess of entitlement who attempts to make every moment all about her.
Jackie: Stig's Uncle and Lydia’s dad, a sweet and caring man when not overshadowed by his daughter’s theatrics.

The year was either 1983 or 1984 (the exact date lost in time thanks to some misplaced photo albums), and the setting was Gran’s trailer park rec room, transformed into a winter wonderland of lights, food, and presents. Gran had poured her heart into preparing for this Christmas, as she always did. Her holiday spirit was unmatched—she even went out of her way to ensure that everyone, no matter how distant or difficult, had a thoughtful gift to unwrap. And yes, that included Lydia.

Stig, ever the entrepreneurial teen, had been Gran’s trusty sidekick on her pre-Christmas shopping spree. The dynamic duo hit Pensacola’s smaller of the two malls at the time, Cordova Mall, where Gran meticulously checked off her gift list. Jackie had suggested Lydia loves Legos, so Gran headed to KB Toys to find something she’d love. Meanwhile, Stig, true to his enterprising nature, made a beeline for the Sound Shop to scout records for his latest side hustle—bootlegging cassettes using the stereo he acquired and repaired after the hamster invasion of his parents house, and Gran’s Tandy computer and her dot matrix printer to create custom J-cards. (Yes, Stig was ahead of his time in the art of the hustle.)
Gran, not knowing the difference of the different types of Lego's, snagged a couple of Lego sets for Lydia, thinking they’d be perfect, and treated Stig to some Atari games “from Santa.” Their shopping spree continued in Milton with stops at Nixon’s for Aunt Kelly’s outfit, Moores for a Christmas outfit for Gran herself, and K-Mart for wrapping paper and bows. The finishing touch? Groceries from Piggly Wiggly to complete Gran’s famous holiday feast.

The rec room buzzed with laughter and chatter as family and friends gathered for the big Christmas Eve event. Lydia arrived dressed to the nines, looking every bit like a princess who expected the world to bow at her feet. She wasted no time staking her claim to the prime spot by the Christmas tree, ensuring she’d be the center of attention and the first to receive her gifts.

Gran, glowing with holiday joy, began passing out gifts. Before Gran finished passing out everyone's gifts Lydia had already tore into her packages with the enthusiasm of a sugar-fueled child. But then—disaster. All eyes turned to Lydia, who had dramatically toppled the Christmas tree in her tantrum. Standing amid the wreckage with her arms folded and foot tapping, she looked like an 8-year-old “Karen” in the making. Her face twisted in outrage as she shrieked, “DUPLO IS NOT LEGO! I’m almost NINE, NOT THREE!”

The room fell silent. 

Gran, ever the peacemaker, gently assured her, “It’s okay, sweetheart. I kept the receipt. Your daddy can take yoy back to the toy store after Christmas to exchange them.”

But Lydia wasn’t placated. “What am I supposed to do until then? The stores won’t open until the day after tomorrow!” she wailed, her voice echoing through the room. Jackie, mortified, quickly apologized to everyone, collected their plates of leftovers Gran had put together for them as well as their gifts, and ushered Lydia out the door.

Gran, visibly hurt but ever gracious, held back tears and carried on with the festivities. The rest of the family rallied around her, their admiration for her unshakable kindness only growing stronger.
When Gran and Stig told me this story years ago, it struck a chord. Why? Because it reminded me of a certain someone in my own family who has always thought of herself as the queen of the clan. Now, don’t get me wrong—I love my family dearly, but much like Stig, I’ll tell you straight: there’s only one queen in this family (unless, of course, there are a few hiding in the closet). And spoiler alert? That queen is me.

As for Lydia? Her meltdown, much like those of her idol Barb, has become the stuff of family legend—a cautionary tale about entitlement, generosity, and the strength of Gran’s unshakable holiday spirit.
If this story resonated with you—maybe you’ve got your own “Lydia,” “Gran,” or “Stig” in your family—I’d love to hear about it in the comments! And if Gran’s warmth and generosity brought a little holiday cheer to your day, don’t let me stop you from sharing a little love of your own. 🎄✨

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A Christmas Tale from Stig's Gran: The Unraveling of Barb's "Famous" Biscuit Recipe

Welcome to a very special Christmas in July edition! While we may be soaking up the summer sun, it's never too early to dive into a heartwarming (and hilariously awkward) holiday story. So, grab your beach towel and a glass of lemonade as we take you back to a memorable Christmas Eve in December that left my best friend Stig's family laughing for years to come.

It all started with a Christmas story from Stig's Gran about his mom—let's call her Barb—and to this day, I can't help but believe my own sister might have had a hand in the whole debacle.

You see, Barb was infamous in Stig's family, but not in a good way. She only bothered to show up to family gatherings when she knew there was something in it for her. Christmas was her prime target—showing up just in time for dinner, often empty-handed, and mysteriously vanishing before the gift exchange. Classic Barb.

One Christmas Eve, she strutted into Gran's trailer park Rec Room, uninvited as usual, with a Tupperware container full of what she proudly dubbed "Barb's Famous Biscuits." Let me tell you, Barb was infamous, and there was nothing famous about her or anything she concocted in the kitchen. As everyone began to fill their plates from the lovingly prepared buffet, Barb's "famous" biscuits started to disappear, revealing a thin piece of waxed paper with a very familiar logo and restaurant name—Kentucky Fried Chicken. Yes, you read that right. Barb's so-called famous biscuits were actually the Colonel's creation.

The room erupted in laughter, and Barb stormed out, not only without enjoying Gran's delicious food but also without her precious Tupperware. Stig's cousin, Julia, seized the opportunity and claimed Barb's freshly made plate as her own, in addition to the one she had already made. Talk about a Christmas miracle! Nothing goes to waste in Stig's family.

Now, we can all guess that someone Barb had been rude to was handed the Tupperware container and tasked with arranging the biscuits to look homemade. They knew exactly how to execute sweet revenge on the Original "Karen" by placing the KFC paper under the biscuits, ensuring her lie unraveled one biscuit at a time.

From that Christmas forward, Stig and his aunts made it a tradition to pick up Barb's Famous Biscuits from KFC for every holiday gathering, hoping she'd show up. But she never did. And even if she had, I'm sure she would've claimed she didn't remember the incident and projected it onto one of her sisters or her niece, Julia, which was just in her nature.

On a side note, my sister Becki worked at KFC on Davis Highway in Pensacola and the location in Milton during the time frame that this occured. This sounds exactly like something Becki would have done to a rude customer because, well, my sister is just awesome that way.

Do you have any hilarious holiday stories or family drama to share? Drop them in the comments below! And as we celebrate Christmas in July, if this story brought a smile to your face or reminded you of your own family antics, feel free to show some love with a little contribution or a gift. After all, who says the spirit of giving is limited to December? 🎄🎁

Stay cool and merry, everyone! 🎅✨

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The Unforgettable Hamster Incident: A Birthday Tale of Stig Ren

Life has a way of throwing the most unexpected surprises our way, and for my long time friend Stig, one of those surprises happened a few years before I met him, on his 6th birthday. Stig’s life has been nothing short of extraordinary, filled with ups and downs, laughter and tears. Today, I’d like to share an unforgettable story from his childhood that still makes us chuckle and shudder in equal measure. Buckle up and join me as I drag you down memory lane.

My friend Stig’s life has been an epic one. His mom and dad sent him to live with his grandma unofficially when they went on a cruise to Mexico and failed to tell anyone when they got home. His gran was more of a mom to him and, by extension of Stig, me. His parents only attempted to parent during birthdays and Christmas and even then, it was half-hearted and possibly mean-spirited attempts to remind him that he was an unwanted child. Hold on tight, Stig’s 6th birthday present was one such half-baked parental moment that his parents were infamous for.

Stig's parents were wealthy by the standards of residents in Milton and Pace, Florida, but they were stingy unless there was something in it for their benefit. So Stig always got second-best or no-effort gifts from his parents. His Gran, on the other hand, while not wealthy, did better for him. They were known for their half-hearted attempts at parenting, often leaving him in the care of his loving Gran while they pursued their own adventures. Unfortunately, their selfishness and disregard for Stig's well-being went beyond mere neglect. They prioritized their own desires, frequently embarking on lavish vacations and social gatherings, leaving Stig behind with little more than a passing thought.

On Stig's 6th birthday, his parents decided to make one of their rare gestures of "affection." They picked up a bright yellow plastic cage, some wood shavings, hamster food, and the biggest, fattest hamster they could find at TG&Y in Milton. Along with this peculiar gift came carrot cake cupcakes from the Delchamps a few doors down from the TG&Y. Bear in mind, Carrot Cake is NOT something you get for a kid's birthday and in this case, they were also dangerous—since Stig was highly allergic to nuts, and the cake contains walnuts. It was a clear sign of their thoughtlessness, lack of care and evilness.

When Stig got home and saw the hamster in the cage, he screamed like a girl, terrified by the sight. Mice, rats, and anything that resembled them sent shivers down his spine. Gran, ever the caring figure, promised they would find the little critter a new home. That night, Stig tried to muster the courage to bond with the hamster, thinking that as an unwanted child himself, they might have something in common. But as fate would have it, the hamster bit him, drawing blood and leaving him in tears.

Gran rushed to his side, as he held his bloody finger and crying. She asked Stig what he fed the little guy as she noticed something unusual in the cage—the hamster was munching on something. To their horror, they realized that the hamster had given birth and, much like Stig’s own mother, lacked any maternal instincts. The hamster had killed her litter and was eating them. Gran quickly disposed of the remains, sparing Stig from further trauma.

Years later, Gran revealed the full story over dinner at Red Lobster. Instead of disposing of the cannibalistic mama hamster, she had returned to TG&Y and bought not one, but fourteen more hamsters. With Stig's parents away on another vacation, Gran released the hamsters throughout their house, turning it into a rodent playground.

When Stig's parents returned three weeks later, they were greeted by chaos. Boxes of food in the pantry and cabinets were chewed open, leaving a trail of crumbs, debris and poop. Cords to their TVs, stereo, appliances, and even their beloved waterbed heater were gnawed through, rendering many of their electronics useless. The hamsters had burrowed into the sofa cushions, leaving small nests of shredded fabric and stuffing. In the game room, Stig's dad’s prized pool table had been infiltrated, with one of the hamsters making a cozy nest in one of the pockets and the innards of the table full of collected food and the ball return with droppings. They even found hamster droppings in their shoes and closets, evidence of their extensive exploration.

The house reeked of rodent activity, with chewed-up papers and books scattered around, and small teeth marks on the legs of furniture. Stig's parents never figured out that it all started with their ill-conceived gift to their son. This incident was a turning point for Stig, teaching him that love and care come from those who genuinely value you, like his Gran, rather than those who are supposed to by default.

To this day, Stig avoids small animals, though he adores cats and dogs. He often reflects on that birthday, not with bitterness, but with gratitude for his Gran's unwavering love and support.

Thanks for joining me on this wild ride through Stig’s 6th birthday adventure. Have you ever experienced a gift-gone-wrong moment or a memorable birthday tale? Share your stories in the comments below! And if you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the blog—every little bit helps me continue sharing these amazing tales. Here's to more unforgettable moments and the lessons we learn from them.

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The Great Rocking Chair Caper: A Donald Chronicles Story

Family. It's a bond thicker than blood, right? Well, sometimes, in families like mine, it's a bond thicker than… well, let's just say it's complicated. The stories that have been passed down through the generations, whispered in hushed tones and roared with laughter, are the real treasures. And this one, a tale of audacious shenanigans and suburban surprise, is a perfect example. I've heard it from so many relatives and the key players have confirmed its truth. It's a story so good, some have even suggested I include it in my book. While I'm not sure it fits there, it definitely deserves a place here, in the annals of "The Donald Chronicles."

Back in the 70s and 80s, my daddy's side of the family, particularly those descended from my great-Aunt Velma, were known for their… let's call it "spirited" nature. My Granny, bless her heart, used to warn everyone whenever Velma and her crew were coming over: "Watch them like hawks! They'll rob you blind!" I have a mountain of stories about their escapades, but this one, the inaugural tale of "The Donald Chronicles," is a true gem.

My Aunt Beverly, a vision of elegance and grace, was a hairdresser with a keen eye for beauty, both personal and domestic. She kept herself impeccably put together, and her homes were always a reflection of her refined taste. After a stint in a trailer behind my Granny's house on East Drive, she, my Uncle Gene, and their sons, Brian and Darin, finally settled into a lovely, quiet neighborhood in Mobile, Alabama. They were just getting settled into their new home when, wouldn't you know it, word reached the ears of Velma's daughter, Sissy.

One fateful day, Beverly answered her doorbell to find Sissy, a grown woman, standing on her porch, ready to make a deal. Sissy, with a tale of hard times and a proposition too good to refuse, offered Beverly a "perfect" set beautiful rocking chairs. The chairs would look amazing on her new front porch, Sissy insisted, and the price was unbelievably low. Beverly, charmed by the offer and perhaps a touch of familial loyalty, agreed. Sissy and I think my cousins Micha, Aimee, and Tyre (pronounced Ty-Ree) – promptly unloaded the furniture from their beat-up pickup truck and arranged it in Beverly's yard. Beverly, delighted with her new acquisition, couldn't have been happier.

A week later, a knock at the door brought a different kind of surprise. It was a neighbor, looking rather… perplexed. They explained that their rocking chairs had mysteriously vanished the previous week, and, well, the furniture on Beverly's porch looked suspiciously familiar. As Beverly recounted her recent purchase from her "family," the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. The realization dawned on Beverly: she had been unwittingly enjoying her neighbor's rocking chairs, courtesy of a brazen daylight heist orchestrated by our own relatives. Beverly, being the honest and kind hearted person that she is gave back the chairs, deeply apologizing for the embarrassing situation that was not fault of her own.

The story, as it's been told and retold, always ends with a hearty laugh. It's a testament to the colorful characters in my family and the unexpected twists and turns life can take. It also makes you think about the things we value, the stories we tell, and the connections that bind us, even when those connections are a little… unconventional.

What are your favorite family stories? Have you ever experienced anything quite like this? Share your thoughts in the comments below! I'd love to hear from you. And if you enjoy these tales from "The Donald Chronicles" and want to see more, consider supporting the project. Your engagement, in whatever form it takes, is what keeps these stories alive.

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The Magic of the Waterbeds My Sister and I Got After Moving to Florida: A Nostalgic Look Back

Back when my family first moved to Florida, my parents decided to surprise my sister and me with waterbeds from Waterbed Gallery. It was such an exciting moment! I got a super single, while my sister was treated to a queen-sized bed. Both of them were full motion, which was a blast at first. The gentle swaying motion of the waterbeds was something we quickly fell in love with, making bedtime a fun experience. The feeling of the water gently rocking us to sleep was like nothing we’d experienced before.

One of the coolest features of our waterbeds was the heater. During the hot Spring, Summer, and Fall months, we discovered we could turn off the heaters to stay cool while we slept. It was like having an internal air conditioning system built right into the bed! This was incredibly useful during our summers spent under the Florida sun. We were always warm to the touch, whether from a tan or a fever, and the cool bed offered such comfort. When the temperatures dipped in the winter, we’d switch the heaters back on, making our beds warm and cozy. It felt so luxurious to snuggle up in a heated bed on a chilly night. The flexibility of adjusting the bed’s temperature to suit the season was something I absolutely loved.

My granny would come to visit and she would often sleep on my waterbed. Despite it being quite different from a traditional mattress, she really liked it, often stating that her back didn’t hurt as much. Though I would be sequestered to the living room couch while she was with us, losing my bed for the duration of her visit, I loved having her stay. It was worth it to see her so comfortable and happy on my unique bed.

That waterbed lasted over 10 years and through three moves before it finally sprung a leak in one of the seams that couldn’t be patched. It was a sad day when my dad and I realized it was beyond repair. When we priced a new waterbed mattress, it turned out to be too expensive to justify, especially since I was in and out of town a lot by then. So, we opted to buy a conventional mattress and use the waterbed frame as my base. The waterbed had served me well, and I had to let it go. Its durability over the years was impressive, but all good things eventually come to an end.

Not to mention, kids in the neighborhood were super jealous of my waterbed and always wanted to sleep over. But I hardly let anyone on my bed because I was afraid they would mess it up. Years later, my boyfriend in Kentucky had a waterbed too, but his was motionless and definitely not the same. Looking back, my waterbed was one of my favorite beds ever. It had that unique mix of comfort and fun that’s hard to beat. Of course, nowadays I sleep on a Serta iSeries memory foam mattress, which I love for its support and comfort. But there will always be a special place in my heart for those waterbed days and the fond memories that came with them. From the gentle rocking motion to the customizable warmth, it was an experience that brought joy and comfort in equal measure.

I hope you enjoyed this trip down memory lane, reminiscing about the magic of waterbeds. Do you have any fond memories, personal stories, or experiences with unique beds? I’d love to hear about them in the comments. Your stories make this journey all the more special. If you enjoyed this post and would like to support my storytelling journey, any small token of appreciation is always welcome. Let’s keep the joy of sharing memories and stories alive together!

Flora-Bama Polar Bear Dip: A 12-Year-Old's Bar & Beach Winter Adventure

The year I was in the 7th grade, Mama and Daddy became friends with a lady they worked with at Hackbarth Delivery Service named Angie. Angie was a very sweet lady of Mexican heritage who loved painting ceramic figures, a hobby my mom picked up from her. Mama loved any sort of crafts; she had learned tole painting from my classmate Kerry Ferrell's mom, Judy, years before and passed on her knowledge of tole painting to Angie.

My dad and Angie were better friends than what we all thought, but that's a story covered in my second book, if it gets published and no doubt future blog entries.

Angie was married to a biker type named Butch who was super nice. Though his name didn't really fit his stature—short and skinny but definitely rough—Butch was a cool man. He gave me my first hit of weed, and I knew even at the age of 12 that it was not for me. The smell of it reminded me of the time that I got skunked, and I just couldn't get past the odor. Every other weekend, I would stay with Angie and Butch at their house in Pensacola, riding their dirt bike and my go-cart in the area behind their house. Butch and Angie also had motorcyles, which were always fun to take a ride on.

My parents had plans for New Year's Eve and didn't want me to be alone, so they decided to send me to Angie and Butch's house on an odd weekend.

Butch had a son a few years younger than me named Chris and a daughter a few years older than me named Francine, both of whom he didn't have custody of. They would stay with him every other weekend. This was one such weekend, and I slept on the couch rather than in the room Francine stayed in during her visits.

They had all been talking about the Polar Bear Dip and how much fun it would be. I honestly didn't know what it meant, but I was all in. They made sure to tell me I needed to bring swimwear. Cool, I guess. It had been raining a little throughout the day, the high was in the 60s, but when we arrived at the bar, Flora-Bama, it was in the lower 50s.

We went inside. It wasn't the first time I had been in a bar, but it was the first time I was in a bar with other kids. Francine instructed Chris and me to secretly (not letting adults know what we were doing) look for random cups that were left around the bar that were still over half full, as well as beer cans. We found a good bit of them. Francine took it upon herself to drink from the cups with colored beverages. I chose to drink from one of the beer cans because it felt like it was barely touched. Chris' can of beer not only contained a good bit of leftover beer, but someone had obviously used it as an ashtray because his second drink from the can brought out a cigarette butt. He promptly spit it out, and I put my can down and found Angie and asked her if she could get me a Coca-Cola.

When the sparse crowd began to head out of the bar and down to the beach, we followed. Just as everyone was doing, I took my shoes, socks, and shirt off and headed into the water. It was pretty cold, but it was brown and just as dark and cloudy as the sky. I thought we were all going for a swim and that we would get used to it, but once we were all in, everyone turned around and got out. I thought there might have been a shark or something, so I followed. I was confused.

Once I got out, the cold air hit my saltwater-soaked body, and I was ready for a towel down and proper clothes. I got my shirt, socks, and shoes back on but could feel sand in my socks—a feeling I still hate. I thought we were all going to go back into the bar, but Angie and Butch headed to their truck, so Francine, Chris, and I followed them. They turned the truck heater up as far as it would go, and we were on the way to Pace, where they dropped me off before going back to Pensacola. Though it was a Thursday and I love spending weekends with Butch and Angie, I didn't car much for Chris and I didn't like sharing Angie's attention with anyone else and Francine was not really that nice to me.

I was really confused about the point of getting into the water, but apparently, I had just taken part in an annual event known as the Flora-Bama Polar Bear Dip. Did I have fun? Nope. If I were more informed, would I have done it? Nope. Would I do it again? Nope.

As an adult, I look back on that experience with a mix of amusement and bewilderment. The idea of willingly plunging into icy waters, though not exactly icy, on a cold day just doesn't appeal to me anymore. The thrill of the Polar Bear Dip is something I can appreciate from afar, but it's not an adventure I need to repeat. Some memories are best left in the past, and for me, the Flora-Bama Polar Bear Dip is one of them.

I often wonder what became of Angie and Butch after their divorce, as well as Chris and Francine. I have a vision that Francine may still be a party girl over 30 years later, and I hope they are all doing well. As I stated, I may share stories about my time with Angie before she was told that she was no longer welcome in my family's lives not too long after this day. While she was no longer welcome, she and I had some great times together.

A Nostalgic Christmas with Elvis

I still remember the time my dad took me to K-Mart in Milton, Florida. The holiday season of 1985 was just beginning, and the store was filled with the typical festive K-Mart decorations and the sound of Christmas music. As we walked through the aisles, I spotted a record with Elvis Presley on the cover. He told me he didn't really like Elvis, but a couple of my cousins were part of an old gospel group that Elvis loved, and he became good friends with them. Despite his reservations, he bought the record for me. I honestly knew nothing other than the names of the songs, but I loved the color and picture of Elvis on the cover.

When we got home, I eagerly put the record on my old hand-me-down Emerson Disco 80 record player. As the first notes of "Blue Christmas" filled the room, I was instantly captivated by Elvis's voice. It was soulful and full of emotion, something I hadn't expected. I listened to the entire album, which included classics like "White Christmas," "Here Comes Santa Claus," and "Silent Night." Each song transported me to a different world, filled with holiday cheer and nostalgia.

Elvis's Christmas Album, released in 1957, was a mix of secular and gospel songs. It featured six popular Christmas songs, two traditional carols, and four gospel tracks. The album was a hit, spending four weeks at No. 1 on the Billboard Top Pop Albums chart and becoming the best-selling Christmas album of all time in the United States. Elvis's rendition of "Blue Christmas" became a holiday classic, capturing the bittersweet feeling of spending Christmas without a loved one. Though Elvis only recorded a handful of holiday songs, they have been re-released and repackaged in many different ways over the years. My album was one of the various re-releases.

That record became a cherished part of my holiday tradition. Every year around the holidays, and once in a while throughout the year, I would play it just because. It reminded me of that special day at K-Mart and the joy of discovering a new/old favorite artist. Even though my dad didn't like Elvis, he gave me a gift that brought me so much happiness. It's a memory I'll always treasure.