The More Things Change...

I've been doing a bit of thinking lately about how much things change, and not just the little things, either. October does that for me, puts me in a reminiscent-type frame of mind.

As far as the big/little things are, what might be a little thing to one person can be a big thing for someone else. If you don't see someone for a while, it might (or might not) be a big thing. But if that person has died, it's definitely a much bigger thing for that person, and his or her family. I'm thinking my friend Kevin. While I hadn't seen or spoken with him in several years, and while it might have been a small thing in the grand scheme of the world, it was still sort-of a big thing for us (my family and me), and definitely a much bigger thing for him and what's left of his family.

There were reasons we hadn't spoken for a while, but that's neither here nor there. I figured we had known each other for several decades. He's also the very last person I knew from when we both drove cab whom I had had even the slightest contact with, so with his death, it's like an entire chapter of my life is closed.

My sons and I have lived in the same house in what seems like forever. While some of the neighbors are the same ones who lived in the neighborhood when we moved in, the majority have moved. I can point to a house, and remember that the guy who drove a race car on the local circuit and worked on the car on weekends lived there, then sold the house to S. and C., who had their twins while they lived there, who then sold it to B., who...Well, you get the idea. And while some of the change, no matter how minor, is understandable and do-able, some of it can be almost disconcerting.

I used to walk/run for years. It's easy enough exercise: you put on your shorts and a t-shirt, sneakers, and head out the door, work up a sweat, then come home and get on with your day. I even blogged about it for a while.

I'm trying to get back into it, though I haven't done it near as much as I used to. When one hasn't exercised for a while, it takes time to ease back into.

For a while, my walks included bringing Osha along. (I've posted about Osha here in the past, including "A Tail of Two Cats (and a Dog and another Cat.") She was a sweetheart; it was tough when she passed.

Osha





When I wasn't walking Osha, I'd pass by a nearby stable and house on maybe 10 acres or so of land. For a while, there were quite a few horses stabled there. Then, slowly, the numbers dwindled until there was only one horse, a graying old mare named Smoky.



She would frequently be grazing in the middle of one field. One morning, I brought along a carrot, and managed to get her to come over to the fence, where she received the carrot for her troubles.

"Don't forget to bring a carrot for the horse," Paul would tell me when I'd start lacing up the sneakers. It even got to the point where Paul would ask if we had carrots whenever we'd go to the store.

Finally, the stable started filling up with horses, which made the scenery nicer during my run. (Smoky was still the only horse who got carrots, though.)













Maybe two years ago, I noticed there were no longer any horses at the stable. Smoky had died, according to one of the old men who worked at the stable. And then, the house started looking rough. The city bought it when the renter could no longer afford it, and the owner couldn't sell it. The house got demolished and slowly, the stable started falling apart. It was a little disheartening.

Another change, though I've posted it here once or twice: Paul has passed, as have numerous family members.

Paul



A friend rented our spare room for a short while, years before he quit driving cab, before his health took a dive. Family members were here, then moved; jobs, gotten and lost; scenery changes.

Thank goodness for memories...

'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.

Thanksgiving stories and meals

Whether you're a Christian, Jewish, Muslim, B'nai, atheist, chances are you have holiday memories. Most of us have them, and, if we've been exceptionally lucky, most of those holiday memories are good.

A few of mine deal with having my grandparents on either side coming to our house, opening presents (at Christmas), and large meals involving turkeys and/or ham, depending on which set of grandparents were coming over. In one house, when we lived in Connecticut, there was a music room (it was a large Colonial house), where we'd all gather to sing holiday music while Mom played the piano. Very Norman Rockwell-esque.

Now, I'm sure that things weren't always wonderful - someone would have too much to drink, this relative wasn't talking with that one - but we tend to forget those less-than-stellar memories, or, if we remember them, gloss them over into something bordering on amusing.

Once I moved out on my own, the memories changed. Better? Just different. There was the first Thanksgiving that my ex- and I spent together without going to either set of paretns' homes. Although I'd fixed mashed potatoes before, the potatoes that year never quite cooked enough to mash, yet somehow managed to burn. Thank goodness, the cooking skills improved...

There are several Thanksgivings that stand out...

My ex- used to tell me that cooking a large holiday meal was a waste of time and energy; his mom used to settle on meatloaf and a dozen deviled eggs. "How about meatloaf?" he'd ask.

For Thanksgiving? Christmas? I'd think. It was what we might have for Sunday dinner, not holidays.

"I'd be happy with just a dozen deviled eggs."

Deviled eggs ended up on the menu, but they accompanied the turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, rutabags, peas-with-pearl-onions, and pies; they weren't the main dish.

Yet every year, we'd hear that "I'd be happy with just a dozen deviled eggs."

After we split up, I invited him for a holiday meal. When he showed up, I handed him - yup, you guessed it - a plate with a dozen deviled eggs.

"But I smell turkey and apple pie!"

Aren't you the one who said...? Finally, I let him off the hook; yes, he'd get the turkey, et al, if he didn't mind sharing the eggs, The eggs may've been hard-boiled, but that didn't mean I had to be.

Later, after my ex- passed away too young, I met my future second husband. Thanksgiving was coming, and I invited him for dinner, as well as one or two other co-workers (we drove for a local cab company at the time), and several relatives.

The deal was that Paul would stop by around 4:00. Around quarter til, I realized I'd forgotten something at the store and told my oldest son that I was running out to pick it up; would he please keep an eye out for an older gentleman who, I hoped, would be stopping by?

"Sure, not a problem."

I left J.A. chopping up the rutabaga in the kitchen.

But Paul drove by while I was out, didn't see my cab, and kept going. I heard dispatch talk to him once while I was heading back to the house, but didn't tell dispatch to tell Paul to stop by; I figured he simply would. And the driver I really didn't care about did show up, after we'd eaten, and I'd dropped J.A. back at home in the Ybor section of Tampa.

The next morning, when I went to cash out, Marsha - one of the cashiers - asked, "What's this I hear about you standing someone up?" That's when I learned that Paul had driven by while I was out; he thought I'd stood him up, while I thought he stood me up.

I offered to bring him some turkey, but by that time, it was too late. He also wouldn't come for Christmas dinner.

By the next year, we were married. We kidded that it was funny that we had to get married to insure that he get a home-cooked Thanksgiving dinner. We also planned how things would go when we cashed out the next day.

Friday morning, as we wandered into the office and saw that Marsha wasn't busy, we started in.

"You promised that if we got married, I could have a turkey dinner," Paul said loudly. "Instead, you handed me a stupid bologna sandwich!"

"It was turkey bologna!" I shot back.

"Can it, you two!" Marsha said. "I'm not buying it!" Busted!

Years later, Paul died in October, three weeks shy of our anniversary.

The first week in November, when I went grocery shopping, I picked up a turkey. I wasn't sure I was up to Thanksgiving, but I figured my sons deserved a dinner (and one with more than a dozen deviled eggs). Besides, Thanksgiving had been Paul's and my holiday.

A few days later, a friend - who happened to be my oldest son's mother-in-law - called from Tennesse. "A friend of mine is going to be calling you in a little while. Her name is C___, and when she calls, just accept what she's doing and thank her."

Sure enough, C___ called maybe fifteen minutes after I got off the phone with Linda. "Just wanted to let you know I found out from J.A. which Publix you shop at, so I ordered a complete Thanksgiving dinner for you and the boys. Comes with corn bread stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans, an apple pie and a pumpkin pie. It's already paid for so you can't say no. Just pick it up after 3:00 p.m. the day before Thanksgiving."

After hanging up, I got to thinking. The turkey I'd already bought would stay frozen until Christmas.

A few days later, I was on the phone when J. informed me that the next door neighbors were walking up the sidewalk pulling their year-old twins in a wagon.

That's nice, I said.

"They're carrying a large box," J. said. I was curious, but stayed on the phone. "They're coming up to the house!"

That got my attention, so I cut the phone call short and went to the door. Turns out, we were being handed a third turkey and all the trimmings! After thanking the neighbors, I set about putting the extra turkey and trimmings away.

Then, about three hours later, another neighbor came by with her mom...who was handing us - you guessed it - turkey number four!

Now the freezer needed to be repacked to accomodate three frozen turkeys (the one to be picked up the day before would be pre-cooked).

The next morning, I called my friend Kevin so I could head to the store. On the way there, I told him about the four turkeys. He kept giving me these weird sideways glances.

Finally, as we waited at a traffic light, he informed me, "I'm glad you told me about this now instead of later." Turned out the $5 I was about to hand him for the ride to the store would have been enough to allow him to buy a complete turkey dinner from Publix, to be picked up the day before Thanksgiving.

"No, please don't," I told him. I also told him that, while I really appreciated the gesture, five turkeys were definitely a little much.

I'm sure Paul was looking down at this, smiling, and thinking that it sure beat a bologna sandwich and deviled eggs...