'Tis The Season

It's December - the time of year when the days are shorter and the nights, longer - at least in the Northern Hemisphere. It is also a time of celebrations, depending on one's faith or religion, as well as where one lives.

I've always loved this time of year: the sights and sounds - the spirit - of Christmas. And yet, there's a reflectiveness to the time of year; as the days get shorter, it's almost easier to have the darkness add a certain melancholy-ness, along with reflections.

This year, we'll most likely be having a quiet Christmas: good food, some small gifts, and having some family over. Thinking of this, I've been inundated with memories of years past...

I wrote about some of these memories in December, 2012. Those memories are wonderful, for the most part, though many times, the memories are easier than the reality of the time.

Example: I was trying to think of the worst Christmas we've had as a family. (Kind-of counter-intuitive, isn't it? Holidays are supposed to be wonderful.) But the worst one had to be the year we had to move. My landlord had lost a job and had to sell all three of his rentals to keep from losing them and the house he and his family lived in. I can't say I blame him for deciding to sell his rentals; I would have done the same.

After months of looking for a place - I won't go into the details - things really looked bad. We had to be out by the beginning of the new year, with little prospect of finding a place.

Christmas, that year, was stressful. We made it through, though, and on the day we had agreed to be out of the old house, I managed to find a place. We're still in the same house. But that Christmas, with its stress, stands out.

"At . it's not as bad as the Christmas we had to move," one of my sons has mentioned in subsequent years, when I've bemoaned being broke.

But, for the most part, Christmas is one of good memories. I have pictures of one Christmas in New York when I'd gotten a bike for Christmas. Somewhere, there's a picture of my sister and me in front of the fireplace in the same house; I think we were getting ready to drink hot cocoa.

There are Christmases in Connecticut that are memorable. One year, my brother, G., had wanted a guinea pig. I think his class had a couple of guinea pigs, and he wanted one in the worst way. Christmas morning, when he came downstairs, he spotted the cage with the cute furry animal and shrieked, "I got a pinny wig!" Of course, after that, the animal's name became Pinny Wig.

There was another Christmas in New York - Rochester, to be exact - before my parents split up. The next Christmas was in Florida; I still remember walking along the beach over looking the Gulf of Mexico as the sun set, that first Florida Christmas. Mom had been working at Red Lobster, and finances were tight. But it made for a peaceful end to the day.

Now Mom is gone. It's been a little more than a year since we lost her. Technically, it's the second Christmas without her. Dad has been gone for more than eight years. So many people gone...and yet, their memories live on, especially at Christmas tme.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

The Holidays Are Here...Is It New Year's Yet?

Thanksgiving is over, and Christmas is right around the corner. I spent a good part of yesterday writing out Christmas cards. It's something I normally do every year on Thanksgiving, after the meal is finished and the dishes mostly done. But this year, the day after Thanksgiving was good enough. After all, I usually don't start sending them out until December 1. Monday will be here soon enough.

Actually, I'm kind-of looking forward to New Year's. It seems that this time of year, so many of us proclaim that "I can't wait until this year is over!" for a variety of reasons. And yes, some years seem to warrant that sentiment. Death, divorce, all sorts of reasons give rise to that can't wait sentiment.

This has been one of those years for us. My son-in-law, B., died in July. Then my step-dad. I can't really say that Jim and I were close; we never met in person, and had only talked briefly on the phone from time to time. But that's beside the point. Then my roommate had a car wreck that warranted a week-long hospital stay and a short cast. During this time, between his family and his actions, I discovered things I'd really rather not have known. My sons J. and M. and I had pegged roomie as a storyteller. We just didn't know the full extent of it.

We finally had to tell him he would have to move, and it had nothing to do with the stories. There were several reasons factoring into this, none of which really need to come out here. Suffice it to say that for a while, things were a little strained.

During this time, my sister called numerous times. Mom was fading rapidly. She finally passed away November 11, never having made it to Oregon with my sister. Although my sister and I knew it was coming, it still hit hard. While I'd been closer to Dad, who passed away in 2007, Mom was our remaining parent, the last wall between A. and I and the future. Now A. and I are the last remnants of our birth family.

Then, last week, roomie moved. He was supposed to be out earlier, and had tried to make his stay longer ("Would it be possible to stay until December 1?" he'd asked; I responded with a firm, "No."). But when last Saturday came, we both seemed okay with it. Maybe resigned might be a better way of putting it. But it looks like it's going to work out nicely for both of us. And it was very much needed - again, for both of us. Now the extra bedroom can go back to being an office/studio/thinking space/library/whatever, at least for the time being. M.H. and G. might have to move in, and if so, that'll be their room. We'll have to wait and see.

Back to Thanksgiving...M.H. had Thanksgiving off, so she and G. came over for dinner. The flip side is that she has to work Christmas day, which stinks. Actually, I feel much stronger about stores that remain open on holidays and that don't pay their employees accordingly (i.e: at least time-and-a-half or more for working holidays), but I'm using my "nice words" this morning.

But as for dinner: Two years ago, M. and I had gone to their place for Thanksgiving, a day filled with memories that I hope they'll love as much as I do. Since M.H. had to work last Thanksgiving, and the bus ride of the year before had complicated things, we'd both done the Thanksgiving-at-home routine, touching base in the morning to exchange Happy Thanksgivings.

This year, I managed to get a couple of pies made, then stuffed the turkey and put that in the oven. Then I headed out for a walk.

We live a few houses away from the back entrance to one of our city's parks. It has plenty of space for riding horses, playing Little League games, walking or running, as well as a playground and plenty of picnic tables and grills throughout fields and woods. Walking through the horse trails became a holiday tradition for me years ago, after I'd stopped driving cab, and during my better-half's last few months driving. It's always a great way to unwind, as well as feeling like I've earned a big meal. Also, I've seen changes in parts of the wooded areas over the years, as well as seeing houses go up around the park. It usually takes me an hour or so to head out and back; by that time, I'm usually ready to put my feet up before putting the finishing touches to the meal.

When M.H. and G. showed up, it was almost time to take the turkey out of the oven. No problem there. But while my stuffing usually gets good reviews, this year I changed things a little; let's just say that the stuffing was definitely memorable, but not in a great way. Some of the stuffing had been cooked inside the bird; that, of course, ended up at the bottom of the pan, along with part of the turkey, in a liquid-y mess. The stuffing that was baked outside the turkey was too crisp on top and basted waaaaaay too much below that crisp top layer. When it got chucked, there was a slight pool of yellow margarine at the bottom of the bowl. Actually, it would have buttered a medium-sized movie theater popcorn. Like I said: Memorable, but not in a great way.

M.H. and G. brought over some mac and cheese that M.H. fixed at our place, along with some rolls and some homemade chocolate chip cookies that G. had baked. They'd also brought along a few other things we needed. (Thanks!) (Also: G., if you're reading this, another batch of those cookies would make a great Christmas present! That's a not-so-subtle hint; they were really good!)

After we ate and talked for a little while, M.H. and G. headed back home and I started rounding up plates and glasses and bowls and pots and pans and got to work.

We still have the month of December to get through, including Christmas. But as long as the New Year rolls around, we'll make it.

Note: You can also check here for some of my other Thanksgiving memories.

Holidays

It's only a few days until Christmas, and while my Christmas tree has been up for maybe two weeks, more or less, I finally got around to decorating it.

Before you ask "a competely bare Christmas tree?", it had three strands of lights on it since the afternoon I'd set it up. Just no actual decorations. It's not that we don't have them, I just haven't put them on our tree for a few years now.

There's a reason for this. (Besides sheer laziness; that doesn't quite cover it.) For years, we'd bought live trees from local tree lots, lugged it home, set it up, then decorated it with lights and decorations. Somewhere along the way, we ended up with two large buckets with lids to keep our Christmas stuff in; one bucket was for lights, the other for all other decorations. The light bucket always came off the utility room shelf first; once the lights were on the tree, the other bucket came down and the decorations put up.

Each year, it was the same thing: each decoration represented a family member who'd made the ornament or given it to us. My grandmother had given us quite a few ornaments: ceramic bells shaped like mice with little ceramic clappers that caused a tinkling sound when the mice moved, several clothespins painted to look like Santa Claus, and other trinkets that held memories of going to her house at Christmas time. My ex-mother-in-law had made a few beaded ornaments that we still have, though she's been gone for decades. There are ones that my kids made when they were in grade school. And of course there are others picked up here and there over the years.

Around the time P. and I had gotten together, my daughter M.H. and her husband moved out of state. One of the things they dropped off at our place was a 4-foot artificial tree. It fit nicely on a table top, which is part of why M.H. had bought it in the first place. It's easy enough to put together: simply pull it out of the box, put the lets on the base, pull the branches down, and viola!

However, P. and I simply kept buying real trees. Using the artificial tree felt, well, artificial.

Then, one year, we were a little short on cash. By the time we finally had the money to buy a tree, three weeks before the big day, there wasn't a real tree on any lot to be found without driving miles and miles. So, out came the 4-foot tree.

After setting it up, we threw several strands of blinky lights on it; that was plenty on a tree that size. Then, grabbing the ornament bucket, we found a few ornaments that fit the smaller tree very nicely. There was no way we could use all the decorations; there simply wasn't enough room. Sighing, I put the bucket back on the shelf, half the ornaments still inside.

This tree seemed perfectly fine for the next few years. Then P. died. When I went to set up the tree that year, the lights went on it, but I only had the energy or desire to put one or two ornaments on it. The next year, the ornament bucket didn't even come off the shelf.

A few years ago, I went out and bought a 6-footer. It's still artificial, but I figured I'd get a few years' use out of it. I even bought a few extra strands of lights, since two tiny strands of blinky lights just wouldn't do. But still very few, if any, ornaments. Until now.

My friend Kevin has been spending a lot of time here. He's more like a slightly strange, slightly goofy kid brother, and a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. Contrary to what Billy Crystal's character thought in the first half of When Harry Met Sally, men and women can be friends. He acknowledged the tree and several strands of lights. My son J. even put a strand of lights on that M.H. had given him last year; this strand has maybe a dozen large blood-shot-looking plastic eyes painted on the white globes.

"Cool lights," Kevin mentioned when he saw them.

But then, after a week or so with no other ornaments, he finally asked where they were. "You got the tree, you got the lights, you need to get some ornaments!"

I had to admit, it might be nice to get the bucket down. Last year, I'd used the excuse that our two cats, Karma Kitty and Drexie Calabash, might knock them off the tree and bat them around the house. But there had to be something I could put on the tree that wouldn't cause problems for the two crazy cats. This meant that the few beaded ornaments in the bucket would stay in the bucket, along with a couple of other potentially dangerous ones (dangerous to kitties, anyway). But then, there were other ones I could put on the tree: there's a plastic one that looks almost stained-glass-like and looks nice with a light showing through; there's a star made out of little mirrors (great for reflecting light), and several others that actually look a little nicer than I remember.

The tree is now officially decorated. It won't rival anything in any fancy home decorating magazine. But that's perfectly fine with me.

Merry Christmas, Happy Solstice, Happy (belated) Hanukkah, and Happy New Year.

Christmas Day

Yesterday was Christmas, and I'm okay with that. That might seem like a strange thing to say; how could anyone not be okay with Christmas? (If you've spent your life celebrating Hanukkah instead, or any other winter holidays, I'm not trying to disrespect you; I'm simply writing where I'm coming from and my point of reference. I'd love to read your writings on the subject.)

But being okay with Christmas: You have no idea how long it took me to be able to say that. Sure, as a kid, especially if you've grown up in a middle-class family, as I did, Christmas was great. What wasn't there to love: First off, there were the presents, the extended family, the food, the lights, the whole ambience of Christmas. We may have had two trees, since I do remember seeing a decorated tree in a corner of the living room by our corner windows, and the big tree - the one where we'd find the presents - downstairs in the playroom.

Most years, it seems, we'd go to both sets of grandparents' places, usually one a day or two before Christmas, the other either on Christmas Day for dinner, or a set would come over for Christmas. Both of my parents had one sibling who lived in close proximity so that whichever set didn't have Christmas dinner with us would have a place to go. All very good.

Of course, these days, with family frequently spread across the country, this is a little more difficult. Thank goodness for phones, though it's still not quite the same. Maybe in some respects, that's not always a bad thing; we all have our weird holiday stories.

But then, life changed, evolved. When we moved to Connecticut, it seemed that one year, both sets of grandparents came one year for Christmas, along with my mom's father's brother and his wife. Uncle George and Aunt Elsie were what could be classified as characters, a nice way of saying eccentric, or at least on friendly terms with it. Of course, I'm not really sure if both sets of grandparents came at once, or if my memory is simply condensing several holidays together. Either way, it wouldn't have been more than one Christmas. I do remember standing around the piano in what my mother called the music room, my mother playing Christmas tunes and hymns Christmas Eve and Christmas night, Broadway show tunes the next evening, while everyone stood around, singing.

(An aside that has nothing to do with Christmas: Off the music room was the downstairs bathroom; that almost deserves its own post: the previous owners painted the entire room in various shades of purple and lavender, including a purple sink and toilet. My mother named the room the purple potty, and the name stuck; forty-plus years later, the term still resonates.)

There were more moves: From Thompson to Woodstock, Connecticut, to Pittsford, New York just outside Rochester, and finally to Florida. There are plenty more holiday memories, mostly good.

When I married my ex, my parents weren't exactly thrilled; somehow, I doubt that it was simply his blue-collar roots. But that's neither here nor there. We did have some pleasant memories, interspersed among the rough spots, and we did have four offspring who I'm proud of more often then not; they're finally at that age when we can have semi-intelligent conversations. My second husband was also a blue-collar man with middle-class roots and enough patience to put up with an out-spoken extravert. He and I had good memories, including holidays.

This year, things have been tight, financially. We'd hoped that, since M.H., B., and G. now live nearby, we'd be able to see them for Christmas, as they'd had holidays for the past 15 or so years with family in Rhode Island. But life happens: their car died an unhappy death after they'd moved into their apartment nearby (but still requiring two bus routes, which, on the holiday schedule, is interesting, meaning a much shorter day), they now have a scooter to get around on (really pretty much a one-person deal, even if it does have pegs for a second person to put his or her feet), and M.H. had to work yesterday from shortly after noon until a little after 6. Finances didn't include cab fare to and from either way. You know the old joke that goes "How do you make God laugh? Tell Him your plans"? That's what happened to our first extended family Christmas in years. I could have copped an attitude, but it wouldn't have helped any.

Added to the fun was that our toilet, which has been acting up - but doing better the past few weeks - decided to act up on Christmas Eve day. This year, of course, it fell on a Monday, which means that a lot of places were giving workers a rare four-day weekend. I hated having to call the landlord about it, but also didn't relish the thought of a holiday with a backed-up commode. I'm funny about stuff like that. (And I'm sure you've already inserted something else into that stuff spot.)

The people coming out to fix it arrived just as I was heading out to meet M. at the bus; he had gone out to pick up last minute stuff from the store that we really needed for Christmas dinner and needed help carrying it all home from the bus stop. But J. was here, so that was cool; he could keep Drexie and Karma from making a break for it whenever the door was open.

As M. and I figured out who would carry what from the bus stop, we heard someone shout, "Hey, Robin!" I looked around in time to see Sandy V., J.'s day care lady from years ago. She lives within a mile or two from our place, but somehow, our lives have gotten so crazy that only occasionally see each other, and almost exclusively when we bump into each other. Usually, it's at the nearby Publix when we're shopping.

But she was out for a run in the misty weather. We quickly got caught up on each others' lives. She's married, has three kids, her daughters are now older than she was when we first met, her son older than most of my kids were when we met. Is it really possible that that much time has passed?

After we said our good-byes, Sandy off toward home, M. and I toward our place, I called J. and told him who we'd seen. Then I asked if the people working on the toilet were still there. No, he informed me; they'd plunged it, got it flushing, and left.

It worked fine the rest of the day. Good enough. Then, yesterday morning, I got up, went into the bathroom before starting the coffee and getting to work cooking, and sure enough, the toilet backed up. I plunged it once or twice, but wasn't thrilled.

Several hours later, after I did one load of laundry (when I'm baking and making holiday meals, I go through a ton of dish towels), I heard M. yell that he needed some bath towels NOW from the bathroom. Yup, you guessed it: there was a definite over-flow problem.

After we cleaned up a little and I started another load of laundry (thank goodness for the extra-hot setting on the washer), I called the landlord. When the property manager called back, she sounded as unhappy to be talking to me as I was. Don't get me wrong, she's a nice enough person, and I'm sure that if we were to meet under other circumstances, there's a chance we might talk over coffee. It's doubtful we'd ever be close best buddies - no BFFs here - but she's a nice enough person. But who wants to have to make or receive a call like that on Christmas? If there's one time of year when most of us want our family time, our please leave me alone unless you're calling to wish me a happy holiday time, it's Christmas.

She said it would be taken care of today, not to flush the commode, etc. This was the scenario we'd both hoped to avoid.

(For the record, she's already mentioned this morning that it will be taken care of today. We both were a little more, well, not okay with the situation, but at least not growling over it; at this point, that's an improvement.)

I finished the preliminary baking - two loaves of pumpkin bread, two pumpkin pies, and a cranberry-raisin pie - before starting the stuffing and turkey. Usually, I bake an apple pie, pouring apple cider into it for extra yumminess (yes, that's the technical term: yumminess), but we were a little short on cash this year. But M. and I decided that a cranberry-raisin pie would be a suitable stand-in. Twice in the past, I tried baking all three kinds of pie for holidays, but have since decided that that was a little much. Once I got the turkey into the oven, I washed a few dishes, had a cup of hot tea, then put my shoes on.

Years ago, when I'd already quit driving cab, and Paul was driving for what he knew was his last holiday season driving cab, I'd taken a walk through the nearby park. This particular park is less than a block away; I can see the back entrance to it from my front porch. It has a playground, horse trails through the woods (there are plenty of stables in close proximity), rings for horse shows, and a rec center which doubles as a local voting precinct. Usually, through most of the year, I walk along one of the horse paths along the edge of the park on my way to other paths during my morning walks/runs. But the Thanksgiving before Paul retired, I'd put the turkey in the oven, watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade on TV (something my maternal grandmother got me into the habit of doing; it still somehow connects me to her), then went through a walk on the horse trails through the woods. It took close to an hour to walk to the end of the trail and back (or, at least, as far as I'd planned to go). I loved taking the walk enough that I did it again on Christmas. (I've been known to walk it on Easter Sunday, too.)

Since then, I've missed a couple of holidays; Christmas, 2004, it rained; Thanksgiving, 2010, I was still sore and nowhere near up for a walk after a fall from a ladder at roof level onto a cement driveway (something like that takes a bit of a recovery, trust me on that), this past Thanksgiving, M. and I went to M.H., B. and G.'s apartment, and so on. Occasionally, I think, This'll probably be the last time I do this for whatever reason; but almost without fail, the next holiday, I'm back out there. It gives me an excuse to walk a different trail, to see the changes since the last time I walked it, and to just let my mind wander along with my feet. One year, I saw a peacock walking parallel to the path. Several years, M. and J. joined me for the walk.

Quick story: the city put lights along the horse path. The path tends to get dark by late afternoon; the lights turn on automatically, making it easier to see the path. They're tall, with an opaque orb at the top. They remind M. of C. S. Lewis's Narnia series. One year, M. walked with me on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the following Easter; each time, he'd spend the entire walk telling me about Narnia, discussing whether I should read the books in chronological order or in the order that Lewis had written them. Narnia and the lights in the park are now one of M.'s and my inside jokes. Every holiday, I remind myself that I really want to read the Narnia series - it's one of those books or series I've told myself everyone needs to read, or, at least, I need/want to. And then life gets busy, crazily busy, and Narnia slips my mind, at least until the next holiday walk.

Yesterday, I walked the trail alone, noticing changes: how a stand of trees that I'd enjoyed was slowly disappearing - a stand of off-white trees with slightly peeling bark, trees that stood huddled together like a lost tribe; the newer houses near the park and how the older new houses - ones that were built in the past six or seven years but are older than the newer new houses; the changes to the stable next to the park; in general, letting my mind wander.

Heading back down the trail, a woman riding a horse approached. Usually, by this point in my holiday walk, I've seen maybe half-a-dozen horse-and-riders in several groups; this time, I was beginning to think I wouldn't see any.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" the rider called, and I agreed. We both wish each other Merry Christmas. Then, as if on cue, the horse nodded, whinnied, and veered a few steps toward me. I'd been around horses as a kid, so it didn't startle me. The woman steered the horse back to its original course.

"Sorry," she told me. "He's just looking for treats." I smiled, and made a mental note to bring carrot pieces on my next holiday walk - after which, I'll start the Narnia series.

By the time I got home, I was in a better mood, one where I could handle stinky bathrooms.

And, in spite of having to work, M.H. apparently had a decent enough Christmas, too.

We still have next year to look forward to.



Note: The path below used to walk through the stand of trees mentioned near the end of this post; enough of the trees have either died or been cleared by the city that the path is no longer there.