Posted tagged ‘Christmas’

“My childhood smells like a box of Crayola crayons.”

November 30, 2012

I won’t bore you with a description of today’s weather. Ditto ought to be enough.

We all slept in this morning: Gracie, Fern and I. It was really late or early morning depending on how you look at time before I finally went to bed. It was 10 o’clock when I woke up. Gracie and Fern are already back to napping. Maddie is also napping. She is beside me on the couch and right next to the dog. This is monumental. Gracie has been chasing Maddie since Gracie first walked in the door when she was a puppy. Lately, though, Gracie ignores Maddie more than she chases her. They have even sniffed noses, an intimate move in the animal world. I don’t know if its familiarity after 7 years or just boredom which has caused Gracie to give up the chase. Poor Maddie has finally stopped running.

In grammar school, when I was in the first or second grade, we sometimes colored pictures near Christmas. The pictures were always of the manger scene, no Santa and no reindeer. The nun would have us pull out our boxes of crayons and we’d get busy. I remember I always made the straw yellow, a bit bright, but that was as close I could get to the real color of straw as shading colors was way off in my future. The halo over the Baby Jesus was the same color as the straw; a box of Crayola crayons in those days had limitations. The scene also had Mary and Joseph, the manger, always colored brown, a donkey and a shepherd with a lamb across his shoulders. I colored Mary’s dress blue because every statue had Mary in blue, different shades but still always blue. Joseph wore brown. The shepherd wore green and brown. The lamb wore white.

I’d scrawl my name at the top. It usually went all the way across the paper as I hadn’t yet mastered sizing my letters. Most time only Kathleen R. fit, and it was never written in a straight line. It sloped on the right and started going down the page. It didn’t matter. I was always proud of my work. It was perfect for hanging on the refrigerator art gallery.

“The odds of going to the store for a loaf of bread and coming out with only a loaf of bread are three billion to one.”

November 29, 2012

I lost count of the number of envelopes I stuffed this morning, and my back started to give out so I finished around noon. To ease my pain I shopped for a few Christmas presents at the Natural History Museum store.

The sun keeps appearing and disappearing, but the day is bright enough to keep me happy. Gracie, my live barometer, stayed out in the yard a long while: the longer she’s out, the nicer the day. It’s sweatshirt weather.

When I was a kid, Woolworth’s uptown was my favorite store. It was an old store with a wooden floor that sloped in places and squeaked when you walked on it. The cash registers were in the front by the windows. The toys were in the second aisle. Comic books were on a rack toward the front. We’d always pick up and read a couple while we were there. Nobody ever yelled at us to put them down. I remember the balsa model planes we’d buy for 10 cents. They’d have only a couple of flights before some piece would break, usually the tail-piece. Woolworth’s was where we bought our kites and string. It was also our Christmas shopping mecca. With a dollar in hand, we could find something for the whole family. For my dad, it was a white handkerchief every Christmas. He used handkerchiefs all of his life. My mother was a bit more difficult. I’d have to go up and down the aisles until I found the perfect gift. Perfume in small glass bottles made a great present. I suspect it smelled pretty bad, but I thought the etched bottles were pretty. My sisters got doll bottles or doll rattles and my brother often got that plane from me.

I wrapped those gifts myself and used plenty of tape so no one could peek though my sister Moe probably did. She was known for peeking through tiny holes she’d rip in the wrapping paper and was an expert at not getting caught. Over time, she has parlayed that talent into being able to guess what is in just about every wrapped Christmas present. She does her parlor trick on Christmas Eve and scores nearly 100%. Outwitting Moe is one of the challenges of Christmas. It takes ingenuity and guile, and I have both. This year Moe goes down!

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

November 29, 2012

The jarring ring of the alarm woke me this morning. I am going to be stuffing envelopes for this year’s fundraiser at the Museum of Natural History and wanted to make sure I was up early enough for my coffee and newspapers. I will be writing my usual jottings later so please do comeback to visit.

To keep you busy, I am posting the links to im6’s Christmas disks. Every year I look forward to these as my first Christmas presents. The music is wonderful and some of the songs are completely new to me which is another present. im6 said the volume is a bit uneven because the songs come from so many sources. I didn’t even notice. All I heard was Christmas music!!!

Thank you, my friend, for letting me share!!  New links: grab them while they’re hot!

Musical Fruitcake Part 1: http://tinyurl.com/ch6fykm

Musical Fruitcake Part 2: http://tinyurl.com/d996cft

“Gee, do they still make wooden Christmas trees?”

November 26, 2012

Today is a pretty day filled with sunlight and a clear blue sky. It’s even warm at 48 degrees. The leaves at the end of the branches are blowing, but the wind is gone. It’s a day to get out and do something.

My dance card for the week is fuller than usual, with usual being empty. Wednesday and Thursday are booked, and Skip will be by to put up my outside Christmas lights on Friday so I’ll have to scurry and get my wreaths. I love that errand: walking among the trees and wreaths and filling my nose with the smell of Christmas.

My father and his sister and Christmas trees are a part of my memories. My father used to go with my mother to pick out and buy the tree. He was always aghast at the prices and would try to convince my mother to go with a sparser, less expensive tree. My mother, at heart a Christmas elf, would never agree. She wanted the fullest of all trees, and my father usually gave in. The tree took up a whole corner of the room and was always beautiful. My aunt, my father’s younger sister, would drop by to visit and always admired the tree. She’d say something about how expensive it must have been which was really a subtle way to get the price. She and my dad had a yearly unacknowledged competition as to which one of them had bought the cheaper but more beautiful tree. My father always lied. We knew it and I think she did too. No matter how expensive the tree had been, my father always said $15 or $20, and my aunt was always amazed. None of us ever said a word about the real cost of the tree. We enjoyed the family ritual, the always rigged tree competition.

 

“Fairy tales only happen in movies.”

November 23, 2012

It was a sleep-in morning, a result I suspect of the sumptuous meal I ate yesterday as well as having been up late watching the Patriots demolish the Jets. The Pats scored three touchdowns in 52 seconds, two of them so extraordinary they have to be seen to be appreciated. Even the announcers said they had never seen the like of those two touchdowns.

It is again a cloudy day, the latest in a long string of cloudy days, but I don’t care. I’ll just keep taking my vitamin D to compensate! I have no plans for the day except to loll around and read. I do need bread so I may venture out later. I might even do a wash, but that might just be going a bit too far.

I’m a sucker for Christmas movies. As sugary as some are, I watch them anyway. The Hallmark channel is either the best or the worst depending upon your holiday movie taste. Every Hallmark movie has a happy ending. Despite the impeding divorce or estrangement, you know right from the start that everything will work out in the end, and the couple still love each other. It just takes a push from Hallmark to remind them. I love A Christmas Carol, and I watch any version though Alastair Sim is my favorite Scrooge of all. I even watch Christmas horror movies, probably to counteract all that sugar. I have some favorites. Jack Frost is at the top. No, not the Jack frost with Michael Keaton, but the one with the murdering snowman bent on revenge. My mother and I first happened on it late one Christmas Eve, and we stayed up to watch the whole movie. Gremlins is another. I always laugh at the scene of the gremlins sitting in the movie theater eating popcorn, watching Sleeping Beauty and singing along with Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho. Last night I watch Homecoming: A Christmas Story, the very first movie about the Waltons. I’ll admit I really enjoyed it. The kids fight and call each other names, and I can relate to that. Though it wasn’t Hallmark, it still had a happy ending. I always think Christmas deserves a happy ending.

The secret of a good old age is simply an honorable pact with solitude.”

July 15, 2012

Here I am a sort of shut-in behind closed doors in the comfort of air conditioning. When I went to get the papers much earlier, I walked outside and gasped from the heat and, even worse, the humidity so I scurried back inside the house. Given the weather, I don’t see much going out today except to the dump later. The larder is full and the animals have food; that’s all we need.

The Hallmark Channel is playing Christmas movies this weekend. I even watched a couple. I find Hallmark movies comforting in a way. There is no violence and you know all of them will end happily. I especially like seeing the snow, the lights and the fireplaces glowing. In the heat of the summer, the idea of winter is appealing; of course, in the winter I long for the heat of summer.

Last night the deck was the best spot to be. The breeze blew, the insects were elsewhere and dinner was delicious. It got me to thinking about when I was a kid. Back then there were no decks, only patios always made of brick. We didn’t have one, but the white house on the corner did. Their patio furniture was ornate and made of black metal. The table and chairs sat under the grape arbor. They grew big purple grapes.

Most of the houses in my neighborhood have back decks. One exception is my neighbors across the street. They have a patio, a brick patio, and they have metal furniture, ornate white metal furniture. They are much older than the rest of us, and they are a bit of a throwback to my parents’ time. She works in the yard and wears a wide- brimmed hat. When they go out with friends, the men sit in the front and the women in the back. They live behind locked doors. The only time I see their front door open to the screen is when they are expecting company. If I go over, I ring the bell, she looks out the window to see who it is and then opens all the locks when I pass muster. I joke with them all the time. They are good-natured about it, but as she says,”They are who they are.”

“Winter dawn is the color of metal, The trees stiffen into place like burnt nerves.”

January 8, 2012

Yesterday reached over 60°. It was an absolutely gorgeous day filled with warmth and sunshine. Today is no slouch either. The temperature is already 45°. I didn’t see a winter coat all morning when I went to breakfast. The nights are in the 30’s but it is, after all, winter.

The last of Christmas is disappearing as I write. The outside lights are coming down and being stored away until next year. I will miss the star most of all. It was bright and beautiful and had a tail of 5 strands of lights. It stood tall above the back gate and lit up the night. I’m thinking I might just use it this summer in the backyard.

When I was a kid, Christmas and my birthday were the two most important days of the year, even more important than the last day of school, but Christmas had the advantage as it was a season and its festivities lasted for days. We had the decorating of the house and the tree and the cookies. We had to make our lists for Santa which took hours poring over the Sears catalog before the lists could be finalized. We had favorite television programs to watch and an advent calendar for the countdown, and we had the nightly race to see who would turn on the window lights.

I don’t remember when Christmas was dismantled. I think my mother did most of it while we were in school. I know one day we left for school and the tree was there, and when we got home, it was gone. The living room was back to normal with the TV in its rightful spot.

Back then I didn’t miss Christmas after it was gone. For a kid, the anticipation is the best part and that’s before the big day. For me now, it’s the decorations and the lights and the gingerbread houses we decorate. It’s getting together with friends.

I feel a bit of melancholy, a sense of loss when everything is gone. Winter now holds sway and the nights are dark and far less friendly.

“A good book is the best of friends, the same today and forever.”

January 7, 2012

My sister and brother-in-law are coming down today. I’ve held their Christmas presents and Christmas goodies for ransom until they visit. Every Christmas my sisters have certain expectations from me. Moe and Rod, in Colorado, expect English toffee. Sheila, who’s due here any time now, expects her fudge and date-nut bread. She won’t be disappointed. Once I knew Sheila was coming, I made both of them. She’ll open her presents first then we’re going to lunch.

Last night was warmer than I expected. When Gracie went out before we went to bed, I decided to follow her and check out the night. She went into the yard, and I stood on the deck looking at the lights strung across the driveway gate. They’re coming down after Little Christmas. I’m going to miss all of them, but I’ll miss the star most of all. It lit up the night. I’m thinking maybe I just ought to keep it lit, let it keep away the deep darkness of winter nights. It will have to be moved a bit so I can open the gate but that doesn’t seem like a big deal.

Whoever chose December to celebrate Christmas chose well. Joyousness and celebrations and music and color and families gathering together brighten even the darkest days and nights. Fireworks, I think there should be fireworks.

I finished my book today. It was the newest James Patterson, at least I think it was. He seems to write a new book every month. This one was an Alex Cross novel.

Books go quickly for me. If I like one, I take every opportunity to read it. Whatever break I have, out comes my book. When I’m watching a TV program, the commercial is another opportunity to read. Often I get so involved in the book I lose the program I’m watching. A day spent reading a good book is a day well spent.

“The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live.”

January 5, 2012

This is the strangest winter. Yesterday was freezing, literally. When I went to the dump, an open area all around, I thought I’d been whisked to the steppes of Russia. The wind was so cold my hands nearly froze when I got out of the car to toss the trash, lots of trash, in the bins, and by the time I got back into the car, my breathing was as heavy as if I’d be plodding through drifts of snow. Right now it is 36° and feels almost balmy. The paper says 40’s today and 49° by the weekend. I don’t quite know what to make of this winter.

My Christmas tree is gone, lying outside waiting for pick-up. I miss its aroma but most of all I miss its colorful lights and decorations. Winter is drab with its dead leaves, bare branches and early darkness. It is only Christmas which gives winter life and color. Now we’re stuck waiting for spring.

I have these weird bursts of energy. The other day I put away the rest of my Christmas decorations, did a load of wash, watered all the plants, dusted the shelves in my room, changed my bed and filled the bird feeders. I felt accomplished. Today, however, is a day of lethargy. I knew it as soon as I woke up. I didn’t have a single concrete thought, and I just stayed a while comfy and warm under the covers. Gracie sensed my mood. She didn’t move; she just stayed asleep at the foot of my bed.

I don’t know why we pick one road over another. I know I seem to have chosen the right ones for me. My life continues to be a good one. I have found the best of friends and have had the most wonderful experiences. I enjoy every single day even the most mundane of them. My former student, Francisca, is religious. She finds great solace and comfort in God and believes it is God who directs our footsteps. She said I had faith that I would find my students when I went to Bolga. It wasn’t, according to her, mere coincidence that Shetu was at my hotel for the first time in a few years the very night I had dinner there, and that we would find each other. Francisca believes it was God’s will. I would never dispute her. Even if I did, she’d laugh and tell me I was wrong. She’d say she knows better.

“Nothing compares to the simple pleasure of a bike ride.”

December 30, 2011

Today is warm, not your lie on the deck and read sort of warmth, but it is 45°, a long way from yesterday’s 30°. I call this sort of day sweatshirt weather.

One of the fattest gray spawns of Satan I have ever seen drops by each day. I watch him try to manuever around the squirrel protected cage to get at the seeds inside. He holds on to the outside wires and pulls himself around the cage then hangs on from underneath. His last desperate attempt is to try to pry off the top, but he never gets at the seeds. He generally ends up on the deck rail then waddles away. I give a yell of triumph and thrust my arm into the air.

The only time I didn’t wish for snow at Christmas was the year I asked for a bike. The last thing I wanted was not being able to ride it so bare streets were essential. I remember everything about that Christmas. When I came downstairs, the first thing I saw was my bike in all its glory off to the side of the tree leaning on its kickstand. It was blue and had a bell attached to the handle bars and a metal basket in the front. The first thing I did was ring the bell. The next thing I did was try on my bike. I sat on the seat and put one foot on the pedal and balanced the bike with my other foot to the rug. The bike was the perfect height. Right then and there, in my pajamas on a cold Christmas morning, I wanted to take my bike outside and give it a test run. All of the other presents were forgotten. All I could see was that bike and me on the open road riding all over town. My parents said no, maybe later, and reminded me of my other presents so I got to unwrapping, but I kept glancing at that bike hoping later would come sooner.