A holiday remembrance

   I started writing Christmas stories when I was in Texas, working at the Brady Standard-Herald. This one  centers around a wonderful Christmas memory involving Mom.
Whether you observe Christmas or another winter festival tradition, it is my hope you are surrounded by loved ones and you are safe, happy, warm.
Besos y abrazos.

*****

Christmas Eve, 2013

   Christmas is fast upon us. Heck, in New Zealand, it is well underway. So how do you feel about Christmas? Are you bubbling over with barely-contained joy or are you tempted, in your unnamed fear and dread, to try to outrun it? Perhaps most folks find themselves somewhere between the two extremes, depending upon what circumstances they face on any given day or even how they slept the night before.

   I am partial to the sounds of the season. Music stirs my soul. Some days the stirring is like trailing my fingers through a gentle stream. Other days I feel like I've been through a blender on high speed. No wonder James Bond wants his martini "shaken, not stirred." Regarding Christmas music, I have yet to hear a rendition of  "Carol of the Bells" that is not thoroughly enjoyable, while one of my sisters likes any and all versions of "Little Drummer Boy." There is a melancholy softness to be found in "What Child is This?" and "Coventry Carol." I feel sultry and sexy when I hear "Santa Baby" and I can hardly sit still when "Jingle Bell Rock" is playing. Undoubtedly there are incurable curmudgeons who despise all holiday music, which is their prerogative. So what does music do for you?

   What with the deplorable state of the economy, health care, morals, you name it, it is easy to be very cynical, despite the "magic" of the holiday season. The degree of cynicism is a choice we make when we get up every morning. It may start with the decision whether or not to drag oneself out of bed.

   Sometimes there is no choice: you have a job, therefore you must get up. Your job might be parent, student, rocket scientist or buffer but, whatever it may be, YOU have to do it.

   Besides my paid position, I feel it is part of my job to go out into the world on a daily basis and look for something to write about, laugh about or even sing about. And then share that with others. I enjoy what I do, both vocation and avocation. It is my nature to be a joy seeker but I also consider myself a cynic/realist, having once told a friend that cynicism ran so deeply in my family that we had developed a mutant chromosome and it had become a genetic trait.

   If you find yourself unable to capture that elusive holiday spirit with music, perhaps you can entice it with food and drink. Seasonal foods and beverages abound as do the traditions that surround them. One of my dearly departed friends used to host an annual homemade eggnog bash that heavily emphasized the "nog" portion of the concoction. Let me tell you, there is nothing quite like a three-story house filled with two or three dozen well-lubricated voices belting out Christmas music and show tunes to invite Christmas "presence."

   Tamales are popular any time of year and making them features prominently in many family holiday traditions. The first year my [late] sister Teri came to Texas, we made bean and cheese tamales, since Teri was vegetarian. By the second year we decided that was too much trouble and we settled for bean "borrachos" and masa sticks.
   Christmas 2007 found four of us sisters gathered together. The youngest sister had come to Brady from San Diego, California, one was visiting from Las Vegas and two of us resided there. Our parents came down from Tecumseh, Michigan.

   We girls were up to our elbows in masa, meat and corn husks, preserving a tradition. It was also something of a rite of passage as I realized that I am the viejita-elect. As the eldest of my generation, the torch has been passed to me. Will the flame continue to burn or will it sputter and die? Only time will tell. I think it may flicker but I will probably break down and buy some corn husks and at least make a few dozen masa sticks, from time to time.

    Christmas Eve church services are another wonderful tradition. I grew up in a home strongly influenced by church. It was with immeasurable joy that I joined my parents and the youngest of my siblings at the Brady Presbyterian Church on Christmas Eve 2007 and took Holy Communion with them. We wept unashamedly and it was good for the soul.

   Whatever this season holds for you, I pray you will be blessed with the grace to persevere. Big cry-baby that I am, I get all choked up by the simple phrase, "God bless us, every one." May you indeed be blessed and might we all hear "tidings of comfort and joy."

The Snark Before Christmas

Once upon a wintertime

Well my dear, here we are:
   I was writing out Christmas cards and listening to NPR (National Public Radio) when a pal texted me.
Pal: Can you believe November is gone?
Me: Christmas is right around the corner.
Pal: Yipee!!! Whatcha doin'?
Me: Writing out x-mas cards
Pal: Yeah, I gotta do that
Me: Starts to put me in holiday mood ... the rum and coconut coffee doesn't hurt ;)
Pal: I don't know what would put me in the mood
Me: Getting laid would work wonders for me
Pal: Girl, I don't know about you, lol [In case you forgot, that's textese for laugh out loud]
Me: I still have a healthy sex drive - so sue me

   The frenzy that began with Black Friday is gaining speed, much like a snowball rolling downhill. I recall hearing about Cyber Monday [for online shoppers] and 'Giving Tuesday' - apparently so one can *atone* for all the shopping one has done in previous days. Even when I could physically shop til I dropped, I had no interest in it: waste of time and money as far as I'm concerned.
   Friends are beginning to ask about my Christmas plans and whether or not I'm going to South Carolina. (Unfortunately, not any time soon.) On my immediate agenda: write out cards to global contacts, as those will need to be sent sooner to have reasonable expectation of timely arrival; get haircut; attend Christmas parties at Tecumseh Senior Center and Orchard Terrace; put up holiday decorations; get out of this funk I've been in.
   This is one of those letters that gets written over span of couple days. When I checked Facebook, learned a friend had tagged me in a post to let me know she appreciated my letters to her. It couldn't have come at a better time: had been feeling sorry for myself, thinking I didn't make a difference to anybody. We all need actual or virtual pats on the back from time to time.
   Got cards mailed to far-flung recipients - specifically those outside United States - and just as I had expected, next day brought postcards from Australia. I was a couple days late in sending birthday greetings to Tecumseh Senior Center participants; hope they are kindly disposed toward me and in a forgiving frame of mind.
   Still have quite a few actual cards to address. I readily confess some are postcards with holiday stickers and have already *forgiven* myself on grounds so few people even write anymore, that it will do. I'm big on self-forgiveness: it's good for my mental well-being.
   Out to breakfast recently, told my companion I wasn't sure whether to call this  The Snark Before Christmas or Visions of Sugarplums. Decided on former, thinking nobody even knows what sugarplums are. On that note, shall wrap this up and post.
Wishing you well, Jo Ann

catching the bus

Bus 2019: Destination: Rainbow Bridge

   When Angela woke up outside, she wasn't scared, just bewildered. She decided to look around; see if there were any interesting odors to sniff. She wouldn't go far, as she did not want Cecil to fret.

   Rick's bus had been leaving all year: he was dying of cancer. On the last day of November 2019, he got on and left town. As he boarded, he saw a dog across the road and asked the driver if it were okay for her to come along. "Sure thing, buddy: we're all going to the same place." This bus' destination was Rainbow Bridge.

   As Rick and Angela made their way down the aisle, he saw a familiar face. "Hey Mel, good to see ya again." "Howdy, Ricky Joe. Where'd ya get the dog?" "She was in a field across the road from where I got on. Weren't ya girl?" Angela woofed, "Yes; I figured it was alright to follow you. I'm pretty sure I won't be going back to Cecil's."

   Mel said, "There are people on here I don't know but my oldest daughter, Jo Ann, knew all of us. Did you know her, Angela?" "We never met but I heard of her: she wrote letters to my human."

   It was then Dad took it upon himself to play host, and show Rick and Angela around. The first guy they saw was Pat, a diabetic amputee, whom Jo Ann had met at the nursing home where she had gone for rehab. He had died on Halloween and Jo found out, early in December.

   Passing Carolyn, Dad explained, "I don't recall this woman but we sorta have a history: one of her daughters was married to one of my godsons. Frank died in her house." Both Rick and Angela were surprised. Others present were: Father Rick, a Byzantine priest who had gone to school with Jo Ann; Mary Jo, another schoolmate; Denny, an old fellow who used to have breakfast at Big Boy; Troy, a fellow who died in Virginia: during a trip south, Jo Ann had spent a night with him and his wife; Connie, the egg lady's mother; Hazel, who lived to be 108; Norma; and Dawn.

   "Norma was one of my wife's dearest friends," Mel said, leaning down to give the old woman a hug. Then he explained, "I remember Jo bringing Dawn and her son, Wolfie, over to the house. My wife told the boy, 'They call me "Wolfie" too because I like meat.' That made him smile and put him at ease. I sure will be glad to see Zulema again; it's been almost six years."

   At that point, the bus rounded a curve in the road and was no longer visible from Earth. A week after Rick's service, Bella, another old dog, caught the bus. The day after that, there was a memorial for Wynell, a 95 year old, whom Jo remembered lovingly from Methodist choir. She had died back in October but Jo didn't get the news, until it was mentioned in a Christmas card.
   Souls cross the bridge but memories linger in the hearts of those who remain earthbound.

Celebrate weeds

  Much has been written about the "indomitable human spirit." When one contemplates some of the horrors which have beset humans: famines; wars; pogroms; authoritarian governments; one sees how they were withstood through human endeavors to "rise above." In the space of one month headlines included: a murdered journalist and subsequent attempts at cover-up; several pipe bombs, mailed to prominent critics of 45th U.S. president;  threats by that same president to have military personnel fire at immigrants who throw rocks; and eleven people slain in a place of worship, by an anti-Semite. People are in serious need of good news. I found some.

Dear One,
   Remember when I used to write letters all the time? Then I got caught up in social consciousness and started writing about "issues." Issues are important, of course, but so is personal communication. I love writing letters - so I am getting back into it. After one of the residents here passed away, her family had an estate sale, raising money to cover her final expenses. I purchased the bulk of her stationery and related supplies.
   Saturday morning, I woke to clear skies, after spending the night in a bed not my own. Breakfasted on a piece of panettone, a delightful Italian sourdough bread with golden raisins and bits of citrus peel. This was washed down with a cup of stout tea. Bidding farewell to my host and the dogs, I got in my car, to drive home. 
   Trees around here are showing autumn colors; some of which are absolutely brilliant. Several trees were ablaze in vibrant reds and yellows. It was such a beautiful day, it almost made me wish I had a dog to walk. My canine friend in the mid-west has not felt much like walking lately but I'm sure this day would have roused his enthusiasm.
   Arriving home, I changed clothes and went for a walk. Returning to my apartment, I wrote a letter, then perused social media. Checked in with a friend and we made dinner plans: pizza and beer. I spent some time making notes on subjects to be addressed in upcoming letters and whiled away an hour or so adding subtle shading to my supply of illustrated postcards.
   The notion of weeds came to me because the term is used disparagingly for most part, if not exclusively. I like "weeds," seeing them as underappreciated flowers. That's kind of how it is with some people: they get called names and suffer other taunts and indignities because society doesn't know what to do with them.
   Retirement gives me an appreciation of life's slower moments and I find a vast richness in the mundane. Not everyone is so blessed as I, but a lot of people just don't know how to find joy. If it is within my power, and if a willing pupil should come along, I will try to share what I have learned. I am also a student, willing to learn from others.
   I'm sure I have rambled somewhat but hope you know, this letter was written with love. Maybe it has given you some thought to mull over. Even if it just provided a small diversion, it was worth the effort.

May peace and contentment be afforded you, 
Jo Ann