If We Make it through December

While decorating this morning, I put a country music Christmas CD in the player. Merle Haggard’s song “If We Make it through December” brought about a heart-weary nostalgic feeling.

In many ways, that song was the story of our lives in the early, struggling years when our kids were little. Instead of being the joyful time of “Jingle Bells,” December was the most stressful time of the year.

The cold, winter weather became an endurance test. We lived in drafty old houses that were hard to heat and slept under cold-weather rated sleeping bags to stay warm. That is, when we could sleep. I remember Jim getting up all hours of the night to start the car so that it would start the next morning. Of course, it was futile if the roads were drifted shut.

Just to add to the anxiety, there was always the problem of coughing up enough money to fill the propane tank. One year, right before Christmas, we filled our tank just to have it all leak out during a snowstorm. The truck came back and only because the driver was determined, he managed to get close enough to the tank to re-fill it.

Too often jolly, ho-ho-ho people don’t realize how hard the holidays are for those who have lost a loved one. Christmas doesn’t seem the same when someone you’ve always celebrated with is no longer there. When a white Christmas turns into a blue Christmas, it isn’t easy to exorcise that pesky inner Grinch and infuse oneself with the joy of the season.

A decade of Christmases were changed because of Jim’s dementia. The first few years were a blessing in that being a grandpa gave him a new joy in Christmas. Later, I ate Christmas dinner with him at the nursing home. The meal would be a mixture of nursing home prepared and care packages from his mom.

We are all individuals with countless memories of Christmas. Memories could be of a time of separation, grief, heartache, loneliness, and the bitter cold of winter. Other memories could be the elation of happy reunions, the perfect gift—given or received, the look on a grandchild’s face, hugs, a heart overflowing with love, and a landscape of glittery, fluffy snow.

My memories of Christmas are as packed and varied as Santa’s bag. Opening memories are much like unwrapping gifts at random. Which gift shall I open next? Will it be the booby prize? Will it be a heart-leaping memory of joy? Happy? Sad?

Although the song this morning brought back some bittersweet times of December, I choose to focus more on the precious memories I have of Christmas past. As I put up my village this morning, I was reminded of the time when my grandson Colby was just a little kid and helped me with the village.

I put the cotton batting “snow” on a small table. “You take the houses out of the boxes and I’ll set them on the table,” I said.

Colby went to work. He opened the boxes, peeled off the protective tissue, tossed the boxes and tissue in the floor, and handed me the houses. When we finished, we admired the village. Then Colby looked around and said, “We sure did make a big mess, Grandma Linda.”

I had to laugh and agree. “We sure did!”

Christmas wouldn’t have been Christmas without a huge dinner prepared by my mother-in-law. The house would be overflowing with family and the air fragrant with turkey, ham, homemade light rolls, and pies. The table would groan beneath the weight of the food. The house and yard would be overflowing with family. Remembering those special times, makes it easy to feel the jolliness of Christmas.

Now, Christmas is a quiet time at our house. We will have our get-together with the kids and grandkids this Sunday. I plan on going to candlelight services on Christmas Eve. I believe some quiet reflection on the real reason for Christmas may be an excellent way to put it all in perspective. It seems like a good way to blend all memories into a greater meaning of life, love, and the reason for the season.

Copyright © December 2016 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

The Day After Christmas

Ever thought about how the day after Christmas is so different from the night before our biggest holiday? Before is filled with anticipation, excitement, and preparation. The day after is clean up the mess time, work on leftovers, procrastinate about undecking the halls (sounds like a New Year’s Day project), and maybe a twinge of depression that the big day is over.

This year, the day after fell on Sunday, so the normal “day after” seems to me like it’s on overdrive. The house is quiet—holiday music seems so “yesterday” and I just couldn’t Face the Nation this morning. Why would anyone want to hear that squabbling on the day after Christmas?

Overnight, more snow fell—okay, we already had a white Christmas so I’m ready for it to stop. I decided to stay home instead of braving the slick roads to go to church this morning. Instead, I watched Joel Osteen on TV.

Joel’s message this morning, “Enjoy the Journey,” really hit home with me. The gist of his message was how we get too busy to enjoy the simple things in life. He talked about how we rush through life in anticipation of the big events and don’t have time to savor the small moments that make the memories. We need to squeeze time in our busy schedules to spend with family and loved ones, instead of zapping our energy with work and obligations.

I guess if a busy man like Joel Osteen can take time to savor the moment, it should be easy for me. When I examine my life, it seems to be mostly hectic, and too often hectic turns to frantic. I’ve just kept piling on obligations until they’ve taken on a life of their own. For the past week, I haven’t worried about all the things I should be doing, but have pretty much just shoved them aside. For once, my holiday has been respite from responsibilities.

Holidays were especially hard during the ten years of Jim’s dementia. Christmas activities pretty much confused him and he didn’t like the house being changed with decorations. When he was in the nursing home, he enjoyed the small Christmas tree I put in his room.

Each year is different in some way. If nothing else, the kids or grandkids are getting older. After our family get-together this year, my oldest grandson got behind the wheel of the family vehicle to drive them home. It doesn’t seem that long ago that we bought him Woody and Buzz Lightyear for Christmas.

While some really relate to the ho-ho-ho and jolly part of Christmas, others are filled with dread as they struggle to establish new traditions, or wonder how they will put on a happy face for everyone else. There’s a lot of internal and external pressure to be merry at Christmas. It’s expected.

As far as Christmas, I think I’ll just go with Joel Osteen’s idea to “Enjoy the Journey.” Each Christmas is different, but that doesn’t mean it is necessarily better or worse. The Christmases that may have seemed the most challenging at the time yield happy moments that turn into cherished memories. I can still see Jim wearing his Kansas City Chief’s shirt, mesmerized by the fiber optic tree. When I walked into his room, sometimes he would turn to me and his eyes would light up.

Life’s journey seems to be flying by and Christmas is a mile marker. Christmas is over, again. Now, it’s time to think about how to make the most of the 365 days of 2011. No one but me can put the “happy” in my New Year, but I might as well start with this day after Christmas. No time like the present to make a memory.

Copyright © December 2010 by L. S. Fisher
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Sparkle Bright with Fairy Dust

If I hadn’t been so busy the week leading up to our family get-together, I would have been better prepared. I spent my day off this week writing articles about Alzheimer’s, so my “to-do” list turned into the “didn’t-get-done” list.

Saturday, I woke up at 6:30 with the idea of getting an early start. My philosophy turned into what gets done is done, and what doesn’t just will not happen this year. While I jumpstarted myself with coffee, my daughter-in-law made biscuits and gravy for breakfast.

My granddaughter stayed with me while the rest of the family went to town. I wrapped presents behind closed doors and handed her gifts to place beneath the tree. I vacuumed and worked on laundry. My granddaughter helped me fold clothes, sort through paper plates, and bring up more decorations from the basement. “Grandma Linda, you sure have a lot of stuff down here,” she said. She read from labels on plastic storage boxes, “Here’s Thanksgiving, St. Patrick’s Day, and more Christmas.”

The day flew by, but when the rest of the family arrived everything was ready. My youngest granddaughter was Santa’s helper and distributed gifts. My four grandchildren range in age from 2 to 15, and have a variety of interests. The older two prefer doing their own shopping so it made more sense to give them pre-paid credit cards. Santa’s helper prefers Barbie dolls and princesses. My youngest grandson likes trucks and cars.

In the midst of tearing Christmas paper and prying gifts out of the packaging, shiny pieces of foil flew from the Peter Pan book and sprinkled the carpet. “Ooops! Glitter is all over the floor!” my niece said.

“That’s not glitter, that’s fairy dust,” I replied. “Cathy Rigby put it inside the book when she signed it.”

Cameras flashed as we captured moments—revving up Monster Trucks to jump Matchbox cars and assembling the Barbie TV Cooking Show set. It’s hard to believe that Barbie can cook in those high heels and wearing that mini skirt.

After we—I mean the kids—played with their toys for a while, everyone began to gather up paper, boxes, and debris scattered throughout the house. A heroic attempt was made to scoop up the fairy dust, but it was everywhere so I volunteered to vacuum later.

Considering the chaos yesterday, everything is remarkably back in order. I have a lot of leftovers, but microwaved biscuits and gravy hit the spot.

After church this morning, I switched on the fiber-optic tree, put my feet up and read the paper. I haven’t vacuumed yet, and fairy dust winks at me from the carpet. Yesterday my house was filled with love and laughter. Today is silent, peaceful, and a time to reflect on all the magic that has graced my life.

With family time behind me, Christmas seems to be over. The bright sparkle of fairy dust and the lighted tree remind me that Christmas isn’t just a “holiday season”—it’s a way of life.

Let it Glow

Black Friday is theoretically the biggest shopping day of the year, but I did my share of helping the economy during my Branson trip. Friday, I slept late and spent the day leisurely dragging out my Christmas decorations. I usually start with my Old World Santas, but this year began with the nutcrackers instead. With careful arrangement, most of the nutcrackers fit on the shelf above my entertainment center.

It was a beautiful day and ideal weather to string the lights on the back deck. Last year, the day of our family get-together, a friend and I wound the lights around the railing wearing gloves and heavy coats.

Once the tree was up and the fiber optic bear lit, it was time to relax with a spot of tea and flip the switch for the lights. I’m still a far cry from the Griswolds, but this as glowing as lights get around my house.

It’s not like me to decorate for Christmas this early, but for some reason, I was compelled to begin on Black Friday. I’ve enjoyed a leisurely vacation this week staying close to home. I worked on my manuscript, but didn’t push it too much and opted for some much needed downtime.

Several years ago, we de-stressed Christmas by changing our tradition. When we have our family gathering, each adult brings an inexpensive gift to exchange. I buy educational CDs for my grandchildren and a few small gifts.

When I was unloading the Christmas totes yesterday, it was bittersweet. I found the tiny Christmas tree I used to put in Jim’s room at the nursing home. I came across a framed snapshot I always set out during the holidays. It is a picture of Jim, me and our oldest grandson sitting on the living room floor in front of the Christmas tree. Jim is wearing his denim jacket, Vietnam Veteran’s cap, and dark sunglasses. The picture is not dated, but this outfit was his hallmark of early dementia.

One year, when I put photographs in a box to clear the shelves for decorations, Jim took them out of the box and set them back on the shelf. He didn’t want me to change things, he wanted familiar family pictures.

Pictures freeze a small moment in time. Can I remember what I was thinking at the moment the camera snapped? Maybe not, but the look we share is filled with love and happiness.

This will be my fifth Christmas without Jim. Christmas is probably the hardest holiday for people who have lost a loved one. From childhood we build high expectations of what Christmas should be and are disappointed when it doesn’t reach the level we anticipated. Once we understand that the greatest gifts are not wrapped in shiny paper and topped with bows, we are free to celebrate the real gifts in life.

This year, I look forward to the holiday season with an inner peace and joyfulness I haven’t felt for a long time. My joy has nothing to do with shopping, buying or receiving presents. It has to do with family and friends, to love and be loved.

A picture perfect Christmas needs snow and glistening trees. One Christmas refrain is, “Let it snow!” A heart perfect Christmas needs love and hope. When I flip the switch and the house is aglow with Christmas lights, my expectation is that the brightest glow will be in my heart and on my face.

Here’s to wishing your holiday refrain will be “Let it glow!”

Un-Deck the Halls

Well, here it is, the first Saturday in January and I haven’t taken down my Christmas decorations. The worse thing about putting it off, we have been blessed with sunshine and 70 degree weather today.

One thing I’ve learned after living my whole life in Missouri is how unpredictable the weather can be. I walked outside earlier to check my mail and wore a short sleeved tee-shirt. Two weeks ago, we had an artic blast that left our water frozen and I went outside wearing my insulated coveralls, a heavy coat, and a stocking cap pulled low on my forehead. I looked and felt like the little boy in Christmas Story who couldn’t bend his arms or legs once he donned his snowsuit.

Thawing frozen pipes used to be Jim’s job. Then, after dementia limited Jim’s abilities the responsibility shifted to my shoulders. Several years ago on a cold winter night his mom called me to tell me our water had frozen. We shared a well and it was behind her house next door. Jim sat in front of the TV watching Walker Texas Ranger and didn’t even look at me when I told him the news. I put on a pair of Jim’s coveralls and called my son, Eric, and brother-in-law. By the time I got decked out in my warm clothes, the two of them were assessing the situation.

“Your dad didn’t even care that the water was frozen,” I told my son. “He’s still at home watching TV.”

“I bet he would have cared if the electricity went out and he couldn’t watch Walker,” Eric said.

There is no such thing as typical weather in Missouri. You just take it as it comes and deal with it.

For some reason, I thought that once the holidays were over, I could relax for a while. Ha! The next few months seem to be busier than ever. Today, I need to un-deck the halls and have two meetings—one tomorrow and one on Thursday—that I need to work on. So, I’ve just been flitting back and forth between reports, emails, laundry, taking down decorations, and thinking that I would really like to go out on the deck, put my feet up and watch the birds.

It’s foolish to waste a spring day in the dead of winter, and I do need to take the Christmas lights off the deck railing. After all, by next Saturday the lights may be covered with a coat of ice and subzero wind chills might make me want to burrow into a blanket and watch an NCIS marathon.

My granddaughter will be here soon and if I don’t get the halls un-decked, she will no doubt tell me, “Grandma Linda, Christmas is OVER.” I have the Christmas tree put away, but still have a few hours work ahead of me. I can’t decide if the chirping birds outside my window are urging me to hurry up and finish, or just put it off until another day.

Secret Santa of Sedalia

Sedalia has gotten a holiday boost from our own personal hometown Secret Santa. This lady has spread good cheer throughout our community and has distributed $6000 of her own money to those in need. She has gone door to door, waltzed into Hardees and McDonald’s, the Salvation Army store, and caught people exiting their cars. Everyone’s first reaction is disbelief. When did we become so skeptical that we don’t believe in Santa Claus?

Like a true Secret Santa, her identity remains unknown. The Sedalia Democrat reporters follow in her wake to interview recipients. Out-of-work people, down-on- their-luck people, and worried-about-how-to-pay-for Christmas/taxes/heat/prescriptions—fill in the blank—people get tears in their eyes as they describe what they will do with their $50 or $100 the lady in red gave them.

We all want to make a difference in the world and here is one lady who found an anonymous way. She borrowed her idea from the millionaire Secret Santa in Kansas City. Larry Stewart's identity became known shortly before he died in 2007 after he had given away more than $1.3 million. Another Santa donned a red hat and continued the tradition in Kansas City, but this is our town’s first Secret Santa.

Somehow, I don’t think this lady is a millionaire. She might be, but I think she is just a caring, generous person who raided her bank account to spread Christmas cheer in a world where so many face hard economic times. Her gift comes from the heart without an ulterior motive of self-promotion. She cares, she loves, and she gives.

Most pictures in the paper are taken from an angle that hides her face. You see the flowing Santa “beard” and her face is obscured by the red-and-white Santa hat pulled low. One lone picture showed enough of her face that people who knew her well might have recognized her, but the photographers didn’t make that mistake again.

She is adamant that she remain anonymous. She doesn’t want public glory, only the private knowledge that she has made a difference in her own community.

“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa” but he doesn’t live at the North Pole, she lives in Sedalia. “Merry Christmas” isn’t just a trite phrase to her, it’s a personal mission.

I tip my Santa hat to you, Ms. Secret Santa. Thank you for reminding us that the greatest blessing of Christmas comes from spreading good cheer and giving generously to those who have less than we do.

A Christmas Tradition Upgrade

I want to thank everyone who helped the economy by following tradition and shopping on Black Friday, especially those of you who did not trample anyone in the process. That had pretty much been a joke until this year when a young man was killed by a stampede of bargain hunters at a Wal-Mart store in New York.

My one and only experience of Black Friday shopping occurred probably thirty years ago. I let my sister-in-law talk me into standing outside K-Mart waiting for the doors to unlock. I felt suffocated by the crowd when we all crammed through the doors. Thank goodness no one stood in the path.

Inside the store, people grabbed and slam dunked merchandise into their shopping carts. I was pushed and shoved aside while frantic Christmas shoppers jerked merchandise out of my hands. Finally, I walked out of the store without buying anything. To me, this was the ugly side of Christmas and only verified Jim’s mantra, “Christmas is too commercialized, and no one remembers what it’s all about.” The birth of Christ was less important than department store Santas.

Jim was called “Scrooge” and “Grinch” because of his lack of enthusiasm for presents. It was up to me to purchase all the gifts because he wanted no part of it. Our anniversary is five days before Christmas and Jim always wanted to exchange our gifts on that day, but I always held back a few “Christmas presents.” We married young and I had a lot of growing up to do before I finally admitted that Christmas had become a time of pressure for me and lacking in the “Merry” department.

From the time our kids were small, we always celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve. After they were grown, we began to limit our gift giving to one small gift. Men bring a gift for a man, and women bring a gift for a woman. The first year we had the gift exchange, my youngest son said, “This is it, Mom. Do not buy anything else!” From that moment, I no longer had to worry about size or taste, want or need for any of the adults in the family.

Then the grandkids were born. Soon we were back to buying loads of presents. Even Jim got involved in the search for toys to make their eyes light up. Have you noticed how hard it is to buy for kids, especially when they get older? The presents start getting more expensive and the kids more particular. You begin to think you are throwing money at gifts that just get pushed to the back of the play room.

A few years back, I begin to notice I was spending more and more money for fewer presents and didn’t always feel good about my selections. Then, I came up with an idea. I began to buy my grandkids Certificates of Deposit for their education. I still get them other gifts, but I don’t feel like I have to buy them a “big” gift. The big gift is something they won’t outgrow or push aside after a few hours of play.

Traditionally, my kids, grandkids, and a few special people come to my house on Christmas Eve. My youngest son, Rob, makes his chili and we have a deli tray. It is a relaxed, joyful celebration. This year, Rob is on call and can’t come. He says that will be true for the next seven Christmases! After throwing a few ideas around, my oldest son, Eric, suggested we have our celebration on the Saturday before Christmas. It is such a brilliant plan that I couldn’t imagine why I hadn’t thought of it.

The CDs are bought, I have my “woman’s gift” and a few hours of leisurely shopping and I’ll be done. No Black Friday required! I feel good about Christmas, and I know Jim would have liked our tradition upgrade. After all, this year’s gift exchange will be on the thirty-ninth anniversary of a Hawaiian wedding between a college student and an Army Sp/4 on R&R from Vietnam.