Disneyland Lights..

I decorated the fireplace mantle today. Nothing new, just the usual stuff: faux greens, faux poinsettias in whites and brilliant bronze, with glitter, no less. And trees: stylized gold and glittery trees, and bottle brush trees in white. And two cherubs.

Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Just a bunch of stuff I already had, and have used in the past. Before I added all the poinsettias, I threw (literally) a string of white lights on the faux greens and pushed and poked them into place.

By the time I had finished putting it all together, it was dusk. I thought it looked fine. And then, I turned on the little white lights. And it was magical.

That always happens: add the little twinkling lights and it's magic. I've known that for years, ever since I saw the lights in Disneyland. There is nothing more magical than being in Disneyland on a balmy summer night, watching the world enjoy the Enchanted Kingdom illuminated by the little white lights in all the trees.

In fact, we refer to them as Disneyland lights. As lovely as they are on the tree and on the mantle, the kids drew the line at having them encircle the bathroom mirror. I tried that one year.....

I am starting to make the switch from the typical Disneyland lights to the newer LED lights. One tree has the old lights, the other two have LEDs. Yes, I know, three trees. Over the top? Not really. Not to me, anyway.

One of the things I truly need this Christmas season is to be surrounded by my own magical kingdom. I want to get lost in the beauty of the season. The true meaning of the season. And all the traditions that have made Christmas what it is to me.

My family will be here for Christmas. All those delightful grandchildren, my own children, and all the children I have “collected” over the years. They will like all the lights I have put up. They understand about magic and magical times.

And when the season's over, I may just leave some of the lights up.

And keep the magic....

Cobblestones....

Someone was talking about battles today. About being kind to others because you never know what battles they may be fighting. I have thought about that all day because it struck a chord with me.

And now, of course, I'm going to tell you why....

It was more than a decade ago, in the early spring. My stepmother was concerned about my father and wanted me to come take a look at him. Being both a dutiful daughter, and a concerned nurse, I went on my lunch break.

Daddy was sitting upright on the couch, with his arms spread across the back of the couch, on each side. I gasped: it was typical behavior of someone who cannot get enough air. Someone in congestive heart failure.

After talking to him, and listening to his lung and heart sounds, I called his physician. I ignored his “brush off” and asked him point blank: “are you going to admit him to the hospital, or do I need to call someone else?” He admitted him.

Three days later, not responding to treatment, Daddy coded and ended up in ICU. I spent every waking hour with him. Each day, as I went to see him, I walked across the cobblestones in front of the hospital.

And, when Daddy died, I went back to work at that very same hospital. Each morning, as I walked into the hospital to go to work, I saw those same cobblestones. And each day, I had the same thought: this is the last place where Daddy was ever outside. I wheeled him, in a wheelchair, over those cobblestones and into the hospital.

He didn't come out alive. Losing him was unbearable and walking over those cobblestones was part of my healing, I guess....

One day, as I walked over them, thinking about Daddy, a man I know interrupted my thoughts with a supposedly cheery greeting: “Hey, smile! Nothing's THAT bad!!” And he kept walking. So did I: kept walking and trying not to cry.

I know he didn't intend any meanness by his comment. He was merely reacting to the fact that I was not smiling, I'm sure.

“Each of us is fighting our own battle......” Those words rang so true this morning.

And about a week later, I happened to see that man again, inside the hospital, in the hallway. I decided to tell him why I wasn't smiling that day. I shared my story with him, and when he started to apologize, I waved him off. No need to apologize, just understand:

Everyone is fighting some sort of battle, at one time or another.....

Friends....

I have been a lucky person. My life has been rich and full and joyful. I can say that and mean it, even though I have had my share of sorrow. For I have the secret to happiness, and it's friends. Friends like you.

For reasons I don't understand, there is always some measure of good in my world. Before the internet, it was a letter arriving in the mail, or a phone call, or a happenstance meeting in the grocery store or on the street. My friends are always there for me, as I am always there for you.

Since the internet has come along and changed our lives, you have found me sitting alone at home, wishing someone knew how I am feeling. And you must know, because you always know when to send me something uplifting to raise my spirits, or something silly to make me laugh and forget the funk I was in.

You send me little bits and pieces of beauty and joy, in the form of glorious photos and/or inspiring words. I have no idea how you know just exactly what I need and when I need it, but you do. You send me things that give me reason to pause and examine how I am feeling, or how I am looking at things in my life.

You help me see things as they really are: the glass is half full, not half empty. Life is valuable for the simplest reasons. And those with the greatest needs are usually the ones who can see that best....

The last time I saw you, we both knew I wouldn't be back. You were well on your way to recovering from your illness and you didn't need to see a home health nurse again. And we both didn't want our friendship, forged of your needs and strengths, to end.

And so, we exchanged email addresses. I want you to know that there are only two patients I have shared that information with, and you were the first. It seemed so simple, we could “talk” to each other, once in awhile, and keep in touch. I had no idea it would be so much more.

Your messages lift my spirits. I have to smile when you tell me you enjoy reading my blogs. It's nice to know that they are entertaining you, in some small way. I hope you continue to enjoy them and more importantly, I hope you continue to send me your uplifting email messages.

I am grateful to have met you, and to have become your friend. And yes, I'll bet you've guessed by now:

This one's for you, Hazel!

They Look Like Onions....

I was in the hardware store yesterday. I call it Orchid Surprise... Several years ago, I went there looking for marigolds for the front flowerbeds. As I walked in to the indoor plant area, I spotted beautiful lavender orchids. What a surprise....

Yesterday, I needed spackle. Long story, and not very interesting.... While I was there, I decided to look for bulbs. Narcissus bulbs. Paperwhites, if you will. I know I'm a little late planting them, but it couldn't be helped: I've been very busy!

Well, I finally found the bulb display, such as it was. The amaryllis bulbs were all gone. The individual narcissus bulbs were also all gone. All they had was a box with 4 bulbs, an ugly green, plastic pot, and some soil. For too much money.

Not what I wanted, so I didn't get it.

I decided later, in the early evening, to try again. Ever the optimist, I walked into the hardware store through the garden department. Maybe we can build something together, ya think? Alas, no bulbs of any kind.

Undeterred, I walked inside the store. A young man, restocking Christmas items, directed me to the next aisle over and pointed west, with his head. I hurried to the next aisle and found only Christmas lights of all types. No Paperwhites. No bulbs at all.

Bummer.

One last try. I decided to go to The Orange Place and see if they had turned up their doing dial. Again, I walked optimistically into the garden department. Again, I asked the young clerk if they had “bulbs, you know, Paperwhites?”

She looked at me blankly, as several other young people had already. Then, she had an inspiration: “Have you looked in Electrical?” I winced.

Just then, another young woman walked up, wearing her orange apron with her name written on it with a Sharpie pen. She didn't know where they were, either, because she has only worked at this store for two days. But, she did call the garden department manager......another very young man.

He suggested that I look right inside the store, where the indoor plants are displayed. And so, I did. Lo and Behold, they had bags of bulbs! I was able to purchase 12 paperwhites and 1 “Red Lion” amaryllis.

A total of six young people didn't know what I was talking about. One sent me to Christmas light bulbs, and another suggested the Electrical Department. The young woman who finally helped me find them said to Miss Electrical Department: “you know, they look like onions!”

As it turns out, I'm not too late to plant them. They've already sprouted in the bag.

Did I mention? I love Paperwhites....

To Life!

It's that time of year.... Seasons converge, mornings and evenings are cool, yet the sun feels warm in the afternoon, games on television, football, basketball both college and pro.

The stores are selling decorations, and Christmas things. Lights, and baubles, and faux greenery. It is still too early for the real greens, lined up like soldiers, in parking lots, waiting for the right family to choose them....

And yet, it's still warm, still sunny, still November....or at least the end of it.

Bright and early this morning, as promised, my trees arrived. No, not Christmas trees; Raymond Ash trees. Tall and skinny, with green and purple leaves. New trees. New promises. New lives.

It has been more than a year since I stood in the living room, looking out the window, as the mighty Modesto Ash trees in the front yard crashed to the ground, felled by a chain saw. I remember, clearly, the pain I felt. The horror of not only having a “friend” die, but of having to witness it, too.

I never doubted that I would replace those trees. I fully expected to do it much sooner than now. But time and circumstances have come together: now is the time, and those sticks in the front yard are the trees. Perhaps there are other trees, other places, other times, but this just feels right.

I remember when my fallen friends were planted. I was five years old. I don't remember where my parents bought those trees but they, too, arrived on the back of a nursery truck. They sat in the yard, in their nursery containers, waiting patiently for Daddy to plant them.

And they were sticks, too.....all those years ago.

Funny, before they were cut down, I couldn't put my arms all the way around my friends. They had grown that much. But then, it was half a century later, too....

As I grew, the trees grew. From sticks to monuments. Monuments to time and patience and inevitability. And then, inevitably, they grew old, and weak, and had to come down.

Their life mimicked mine. They lived through the same family milestones that I did. The same history that I did. Tall, steadfast, comforting. No wonder it was so hard to lose them.

And now, the cycle begins again. The new trees are here. They will be planted today, and nourished, and encouraged to grow. Yet, it will be different. It dawns on me that, unlike before, I will not be around when these trees are half a century old. I will not sit in their shade and listen to their leaves rustle in the gentle breeze.

No, these are not my trees. We will not grow old together. These trees are my belief....

In the future.

Musings About a Norman Rockwell Christmas....

It's raining quite hard here this afternoon. The house is warm and cozy; the Christmas trees add a festive glow to the living room and family room. It's beginning to feel like Christmas to me.

There's a lot I want to do before Christmas, and I know I won't be able to get it all done. Like a kid at a smorgasbord, I always fill my plate too full. And I like it that way.

I love the holidays and the coming together with family and friends. I don't think it's a coincidence that the happiest celebrations occur in the dead of winter. Crops are harvested and the land isn't accepting new seeds yet. It's a picker-upper in the hardest season of the year.

It's not without its sadness, either. This is the season of the year when I miss my parents the most. All my Christmas memories contain moments with my parents. I still decorate my house--her house--and hope my mother will like it. I still miss making Daddy's favorite walnut and date treats, just for him.

I hear a lot about the economy these days. Overheard sentences, in the mall, begin with “Since the economy is so bad....” and I feel badly for those people. Not because they can't buy the biggest, best gifts but because that makes them feel bad.

The holidays are not about gifts. True, December sales support merchants throughout the year, or they used to, but that's not the point, either. If you think about it, where would the economy of your town be if the merchants didn't have good sales?

Would they stay open? Or would friends and neighbors of yours who are employed directly or indirectly in retail still have jobs? Would you still have a job? See? It is a valid concern. At least, if you are affected by the outcome.

But that's not the point, either.

I used to dislike Norman Rockwell for his unrealistic portrayals of holiday scenes. No one has everybody around the holiday table anymore. Or so it seems. And then I realized what his pictures are about: they are about expectations. Soldiers off fighting wars, imagining holiday celebrations back home. Those pictures were the epitome of dreams. And expectations for another time and place.

I have expectations of myself, too. Expectations that I will accomplish certain tasks by a certain time. I will bake and cook and sew and wrap presents and everything else I have thought of to do. I will be able to provide an appropriate ambiance in my home for all the children and grandchildren. Therefore, Christmas will be a certain, wonderful way..... And what if I don't meet my own expectations?

And that, my friends, is the point: do I have to live up to my own expectations? No. Do I need to lower my expectations? No. What do I do? Live. Just live. Get up each morning and do what I can do in that day.

Rest when I need to. Eat when I'm hungry. Sleep when I'm tired. Work when I have to. And find some way to appreciate all the things I do. And all the people I am. And all the good things in my life.

And the rest will just happen....

Leftovers....

What else would you call people who have been married and then divorced? Especially if the ex-spouse remarries. It makes one feel redundant, kinda.

Lots of things qualify as leftovers. I have been dealing with them this week. I am helping a friend sort through all those family papers that are leftover when someone dies. Actually, several family members have died over the years and he is stuck with all the leftovers.

I am helping because I can be slightly more objective. Well, not really. All I did was save everything in better boxes and better order than they were before. And it's been quite a project.

You can learn a lot about another person just by watching them deal with family memorabilia. He is quite sentimental, it seems. Letters upon letters upon letters. From grandparents to parents. Aunts to cousins. From servicemen in Vietnam. Or Europe. Or anywhere.

Marriage licenses. Birth certificates. Wills and Last Testaments. Mortgage papers. Canceled checks. All those things that seem so important. And probably were, at some other time.

It's hard, though, to let go of the leftovers. They are tangible pieces of one's history. They represent where he came from, and who he grew up with, and where. Yearbooks, scrapbooks, training manuals, lettermen's letters, and Vietnam service medals.

Value can only be determined by the holder of the memories. The leftovers only have meaning to the one who is left behind. The one who is trying to keep everything of value, after determining what is valuable. And what is not.

For now, all those treasures are organized in plastic tote boxes, stored safely in his attic. Someday, when it's cold and rainy outside, he can look through them and decide what to keep. And what to throw away. There's no rush: they're safe right where they are. Waiting.

And there are other leftovers: things from another time in my life, too. They have been sorted and given away, thrown away, or kept for another day. One very special thing I found: I have many of the Hallmark Star Trek Christmas ornaments. They are leftovers from other times, other places, other celebrations.

Enough time has passed to make them usable again. I have taken them out of the attic and will use them on the Christmas tree in the family room this year. A new generation of little ones will be delighted to hear Spock say ”Live long and prosper!”

And we will....