Two days ago, once again careening into Christmas like the #9 car getting a little loose in turn 3, I noted with some anticipation the delivery of the box of meats and cheeses sent by my brother-in-law Scott that had become a holiday tradition. Yesterday, it arrived. Summer sausage and assorted cheeses that will be sliced and served up for the Christmas Eve football games, candies and petit fours and slices of fruit cake that will be noshed as an antidote to seasonal anxiety disorder. Now, it’s a party.
Scott Kichman is the title character for this post. He is a manly man; a Marine and a Forest Ranger in Montana.
(Sorry, there just aren't that many songs about forest rangers.)
The reference in the title is to Scott's unforgettably poignant appearance on Frontier Force as a man reunited with his lost dog. I’m tearing up just thinking about it now. Anyway, the box of meats and cheeses started coming a few years ago and I know some people find these things tacky but I love them. That’s probably just the sugar, salt and fat talking (sugar, salt and fat are what your brain translates to “eat more of that” because it hasn’t figured out that you no longer roam the prehistoric plains of Pangaea stalking mastodon with your brothers and cousins) but in those hectic final hours of last minute shopping, gift wrapping and emotional recriminations that make this such a special, spiritual time of the year, knowing you have a selection of finger food handy so you don’t have to take those MAOIs on an empty stomach is truly a blessing.
So, here’s to you, Scott. Vickie says the cookies will be there by New Year’s (give or take).
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