12/23/10
Hurry up, Christmas…the waiting is killing me!
By L. Avery Brown
Founder, Real Bloggers United
Editor-in-Chief, Real Bloggers United: The Group Blog
http://whenasouthernwomanrambles.blogspot.com/
http://magnoliablossomreview.blogspot.com/
Christmas is upon us once again and with it comes moments of recalling memories of that magical time when we were children and when the enchantment and allure of all the lights, songs and colorfully wrapped gifts placed beneath trees decked out with fancy store bought ornaments and tacky but wholly love filled ‘made by little hands’ ornaments was one hundred percent real. There was no greater super hero to our youthful eyes than Santa Claus, Father Christmas, Papa Noel…or whatever it may be that you call the man with the awesome ability to sneak into our homes in the dead of night simply so he could leave a few special gifts for us to treasure and play with for no other reason than because we’d been good boys and girls.
And those elves…how we did try to catch sight of them lurking around corners just in case they dropped by to make sure the jolly giver’s list was correct. Likewise, we made sure that if one those quick little fellows who helped Santa make and package all those lovely gifts up there in the North Pole did happen to stop by, that we were on our very best behavior…sometimes even going so far as to eat all our vegetables and clean up our toys without being told to.
Oh, yes, those were the days when we could barely hold ourselves together as the minutes slowly…very, very slowly…ticked by bringing us closer and closer to Christmas Eve and its counterpart, Christmas Day. We had our countdown charts, advent calendars, or calendars with X’s anxiously drawn through the blocks that led up to the big event and it seemed that the closer the day got, the slower the minutes passed. We counted every present beneath our trees every day to make sure some new ones hadn’t been placed under the thing when we weren’t looking. And when one did appear, we’d immediately check to see who gave it and more importantly to whom it was labeled.
Was it for us? Or was it for our sibling? If it was for them, our shoulders would droop and we’d sigh wishing it was for us. But if it was for us, we’d giggle inwardly (and sometimes outwardly, too) because we knew there was something special beneath that pretty wrapping paper with the bow on top just for us. We wondered if it was that cool toy we saw at the store last month…the one we begged for as if our lives depended on it…only to be turned down cold because Christmas was so close. Then again we also wondered if our mothers had gotten us a pack of underwear because it seemed like she was always getting us underwear.
We knew that a little shake would help set our minds at ease so we’d quickly jiggle the box. Did it sound like clothes? Or did it sound like something else. Oh, how we longed for the something else but aside from actually opening the gift, we’d never really know. But one thing was for sure…if it was a big package we knew it wasn’t underwear. And that would set our little hearts to pounding.
Of course when that happened, there were those brief moments when we’d consider actually trying to finagle our way into the package to see what it was but Mom was really good at wrapping and she’d probably know. And *GASP* what if…just as we were ever so carefully prying up that last piece of invisible tape…one of those elves happened to pop over to check up on us?
It would be just like them to do that sort of thing and if that happened we’d surely go straight to the top of the naughty list. GADS! Not the naughty list!
What’s more, we figured we’d probably be stuck there for a good two or three years too because we knew that sneaking peaks was tantamount to stealing wishing coins from a fountain…and we knew that if we did that not only would we be in serious trouble with Mom and Dad if they found out but the Easter Bunny might hippity hop right past our basket…or worse…the tooth fairy might not give us coins for our teeth which we were losing left and right around that time. DREAD! HORROR!! CATASTROPHE!!!
No, ‘sneaking peaks’ was not something we were willing to do. So we would simply have to wait. And wait. And wait some more! We did so much waiting and being good that we were sure we were going to wither away before Christmas finally arrived.
Everywhere we looked it was Christmas this and Christmas that; television ads, songs on the radio, and sparkly decorations both inside and out.
TICK TICK TICK…when would Christmas get here?
And then, Christmas Eve arrived. But our parents wanted to milk our ‘I’m being super good today of all days’ behavior and made us clean up the house like crazy people. So we cleaned. Good Lord did we clean! In fact, our house was probably the cleanest house in the entire neighborhood. Then when everything had been dusted, scrubbed, and swept…we realized it was barely even noon.
DRAT! It would be hours…long, arduous, mind numbing hours before it would technically be Christmas Eve. Our mothers would fuss and our fathers would groan sometime around the fifty second time we asked ‘is it almost time?’ But even back then we knew that our parents understood it was just because we were excited because they’d been where we were even though it was forever ago.
When we woke the next morning…with the rising of the sun…we made our way with our breath held in anticipation to the spot where we were sure Santa had left us something special even though we knew we had been an eensy, weensy, tiny bit bad three months earlier because Santa’s a really nice fellow and we figured he had a big heart. Oh how the excitement nearly killed us…
What would it be? Please let it be something good!
***
Founder, Real Bloggers United
Editor-in-Chief, Real Bloggers United: The Group Blog
http://whenasouthernwomanrambles.blogspot.com/
http://magnoliablossomreview.blogspot.com/
Christmas is upon us once again and with it comes moments of recalling memories of that magical time when we were children and when the enchantment and allure of all the lights, songs and colorfully wrapped gifts placed beneath trees decked out with fancy store bought ornaments and tacky but wholly love filled ‘made by little hands’ ornaments was one hundred percent real. There was no greater super hero to our youthful eyes than Santa Claus, Father Christmas, Papa Noel…or whatever it may be that you call the man with the awesome ability to sneak into our homes in the dead of night simply so he could leave a few special gifts for us to treasure and play with for no other reason than because we’d been good boys and girls. And those elves…how we did try to catch sight of them lurking around corners just in case they dropped by to make sure the jolly giver’s list was correct. Likewise, we made sure that if one those quick little fellows who helped Santa make and package all those lovely gifts up there in the North Pole did happen to stop by, that we were on our very best behavior…sometimes even going so far as to eat all our vegetables and clean up our toys without being told to.
Was it for us? Or was it for our sibling? If it was for them, our shoulders would droop and we’d sigh wishing it was for us. But if it was for us, we’d giggle inwardly (and sometimes outwardly, too) because we knew there was something special beneath that pretty wrapping paper with the bow on top just for us. We wondered if it was that cool toy we saw at the store last month…the one we begged for as if our lives depended on it…only to be turned down cold because Christmas was so close. Then again we also wondered if our mothers had gotten us a pack of underwear because it seemed like she was always getting us underwear.
Of course when that happened, there were those brief moments when we’d consider actually trying to finagle our way into the package to see what it was but Mom was really good at wrapping and she’d probably know. And *GASP* what if…just as we were ever so carefully prying up that last piece of invisible tape…one of those elves happened to pop over to check up on us?
It would be just like them to do that sort of thing and if that happened we’d surely go straight to the top of the naughty list. GADS! Not the naughty list!
What’s more, we figured we’d probably be stuck there for a good two or three years too because we knew that sneaking peaks was tantamount to stealing wishing coins from a fountain…and we knew that if we did that not only would we be in serious trouble with Mom and Dad if they found out but the Easter Bunny might hippity hop right past our basket…or worse…the tooth fairy might not give us coins for our teeth which we were losing left and right around that time. DREAD! HORROR!! CATASTROPHE!!!
No, ‘sneaking peaks’ was not something we were willing to do. So we would simply have to wait. And wait. And wait some more! We did so much waiting and being good that we were sure we were going to wither away before Christmas finally arrived.
Everywhere we looked it was Christmas this and Christmas that; television ads, songs on the radio, and sparkly decorations both inside and out.
And then, Christmas Eve arrived. But our parents wanted to milk our ‘I’m being super good today of all days’ behavior and made us clean up the house like crazy people. So we cleaned. Good Lord did we clean! In fact, our house was probably the cleanest house in the entire neighborhood. Then when everything had been dusted, scrubbed, and swept…we realized it was barely even noon.
DRAT! It would be hours…long, arduous, mind numbing hours before it would technically be Christmas Eve. Our mothers would fuss and our fathers would groan sometime around the fifty second time we asked ‘is it almost time?’ But even back then we knew that our parents understood it was just because we were excited because they’d been where we were even though it was forever ago.
TICK TICK TICK…
Finally, the sun went down and the excitement was palpable to everyone in the house. But then we had to eat because nibbling on Christmas cookies wasn’t really eating (even though it sure seemed like it) So we begrudgingly would sit down to eat real food just we could get it done so that we could gather around that tree and get down to business because the sooner we were done with that aspect…the sooner we could go to bed which meant the sooner Santa would come.
TICK TICK TICK…
We put out the cookies and milk. We even put out some carrots for his reindeer, too. Was it enough? And we worried if Santa considered how much we gave him and how good it was as he pulled gifts from his bag. No. Of course not. Maybe. And we thought, Maybe a couple more cookies would be a good idea. So we put out a few more…the biggest, prettiest ones...because this was no time for being stingy with the sweets…there were presents to be considered!
Then was all was just right we’d make our way to our beds knowing that when we woke up it would finally be Christmas Day. And as we lay in bed with our minds racing over what we might wake up to and straining to hear the sound of Santa sneaking across our living room floor, we thought we’d never go to sleep…but somehow, we did..
When we woke the next morning…with the rising of the sun…we made our way with our breath held in anticipation to the spot where we were sure Santa had left us something special even though we knew we had been an eensy, weensy, tiny bit bad three months earlier because Santa’s a really nice fellow and we figured he had a big heart. Oh how the excitement nearly killed us…
What would it be? Please let it be something good!
***
Yes, I remember those days. They weren’t so long ago. And when I see my daughter’s eyes light up on Christmas Day, I relive it all over again. One day, I’ll see that look in the eyes of my grandchildren, too, because if there is one thing that will always remain a constant no matter how technologically advanced our society may become…nothing will extinguish that joyous elation that comes on Christmas Day when we are children.
12/20/10
Jeremy's Gift
By Jackrabbit
http://jackrabbit-blog.blogspot.com/
When I was twenty years old, one of the first pleasures I learned as a new Christian was the pleasure of giving. There was something about the idea of being the Lord’s hands and feet in the world, as my pastor put it, that just gave me such a huge sense of belonging in the body of Christ; and as someone who had been a loner most of her life, that was something I desperately craved. So, I gave my time at church. I worked VBS. I played in the worship band. I helped at every drive, charity, or mission collection I had time for. I bought homeless people and drifters lunch and tanks of gas. And by the end of five years at our church in the deep South, I was so burned out that I never wanted to see the inside of a church program again.
The reason for it was that I was only interested in giving blessings to others, but I was still too proud to take them for myself. I didn’t need help—I gave it to others. That “it’s better to give than to receive” cliché made good justification, but the reality was I just wasn’t interested in letting my own guard down and admitting when I had a need. I grew up in a culture where God helps those who help themselves, but life in the Gospel runs on a different wavelength. Christians have a duty to be a blessing to others, but you also have to let others be a blessing to you. That’s how the body of Christ is truly knit together in love. I had to learn this lesson the hard way, from a panhandler in the Chicago subway.
Anyhow, a few years ago I was in the first year of my PhD program, and I had an incredible study opportunity at the Newberry Library drop in my lap, and I even had funding to make the trip. There was only one problem: going to the seminar required flying to Chicago every Friday—alone—for ten weeks. I had never been alone in a city of that size before. To be honest, just managing to buy my own L pass and making it from O’Hare to the red line was a major accomplishment.
After a month into the class, the routine was getting a little easier. I had a very strict schedule to keep me from getting lost in Chicago before class. I grew accustomed to the kids selling bootlegged CDs on the empty trains and wearing a complete stranger like an overcoat on the really cramped ones. And, when I left the hostel in the morning, I made a habit of buying a couple of extra bagels for the guys panhandling on the empty trains. I guess that was my way of trying to soften Chicago’s edges a little, and in a weird way, it helped a lot. In the entire ten weekends I was there, not a single homeless guy on the L turned down the warm bagels I offered them in the brutal, frost-black dawn.
On one brazenly cold Chicago Friday, I had made it as far as the Clark station before stopping for some lunch at a Lebanese food stand in the Thompson Center. I was sort of tucked in the corner near the turnstile slurping my lentil soup when a lean stranger in an old Army surplus coat sidled up to my chair.
“Hey there, sugar, can you spare some cash to get me some lunch?” He asked with a huge grin. I looked up at him in confusion as all the stern warnings about panhandlers from my friends swam in my mind. What if he’s a purse-snatcher—was it safe to dig out my wallet in all this foot traffic? Should I refuse? But, how was this different than bagels on the blue line, I wondered? The panhandler, in the meanwhile, took the uncertainty on my face to be rejection, and he pouted at me ridiculously.
“Aw, come on, in the name of Jesus, sister, can’t you spare a couple bucks?” He whined. That sort of settled it, and I let my guard down.
“Um… sure, I guess,” I answered him, and his face broke into a huge smile.
I immediately had a new best friend. His name was Jeremy, if I remember correctly, and he was one of the most outspoken, flamboyant homeless people I have ever met. He didn’t walk down the subway platform—he strutted. He had two day’s worth of stubble on his face, but he also had liquid brown eyes and these beautiful, slender brown hands he constantly kept in motion. On our way to the food court, he doted on me, throwing one arm around my shoulders and showed me off to everybody he ran into.
When we got to the Cajun joint where he wanted to eat, he strode up to the counter, slapped my shoulder and proclaimed, “This here is Jackrabbit and she’s going to buy me lunch in the name of Jesus!” The servers all tittered at me; I blushed furiously and hoped that the service was quick.
In any case, Jeremy was having an absolute blast. I bought him some bourbon chicken, cornbread and a drink for lunch, and he teased all the employees while we waited. When he finally had his tray of food in hand, I wished him goodbye and turned towards the train platform.
“Just one last thing, precious,” Jeremy called out. “D’you have five dollars so I can get a weekend pass?” I hesitated.
“I’m… not sure I have any cash on me,” I stammered, checking my pockets. Nothing. He flashed his puckish brown eyes at me.
“In the name of Jesus?” He purred. His charm won out; I gave in.
“All right, Jeremy, don’t overuse the privilege,” I said with a grin. I handed him my own subway pass and, after a quick peck on the cheek from my new friend, I dashed back down the corridor to catch my train, smiling at the ridiculousness of it all.
Class went much longer than usual that afternoon. By the time I stepped out of the closed library and onto the street, the Lake Michigan wind was whipping the frost and salt off the street and grinding it into my face. I ran briskly to the next subway stop, but it wasn’t until I was facing the turnstile that I remembered that I had no cash and Jeremy had my L pass. The pass machine only took cash, and all I had on me was a debit card, an overnight bag, and eight pages of homework.
I wandered the neighborhoods around the library in the barren twilight, looking for an ATM or a cashier that would let me get change with a debit card. Most of the stores were already closed, and the remaining had “CASH ONLY” or “NO CHANGE” signs in the windows. After getting turned away for the fourth or fifth time, I wandered back to the subway station for lack of else. What was I going to do?
I stood off to one corner to ponder my dilemma. I had no cash, I was starving, and it was about three degrees Fahrenheit on the street. I had a vague idea of where the water tower was and that there were restaurants and ATMs there, but since I hadn’t ventured that far on street level, I was terrified of getting lost in the dark.
As I glowered at the line of people passing through the turnstile, I was growing furiously angry with myself: I was such an idiot. Why had I let Jeremy con me out of my only pass when I knew I’d need one to get to the hostel? All I did was what the Lord says we should do, and now I was totally stranded. How fair was that? On the other hand, I shouldn’t blame Jeremy just because he was broke and I didn’t plan ahead. Helping him out was my choice, but what now? Maybe I was going to have to panhandle for an L pass this time…?
I eventually shook my head in despair and turned my eyes up to the concrete ceiling. “Okay, Jesus, I’m completely stuck,” I confessed. “How can you get out of this mess?” At that moment, I heard a whirring noise coming from the ticket machine in front of me; the bill changer spit out two dollars stuck in the mechanism at my feet. I stared at the money in shock for a second. That’s your answer, the Lord told me. I picked up the money and fed it back into the bill changer, and thirty seconds later I dashed onto the platform just as my train was arriving. I spent the rest of the ride down to hostel in a stunned silence.
For weeks after that, I went to the Thompson Center every Friday to find Jeremy so I could so I could tell him about my little miracle on the subway train, but I never saw him again. All I had given him was a plate of bourbon chicken and a subway pass, but he gave me a chance to realize how much my pride was making me turn up my nose at the Lord’s blessings, for this is the way we receive back from the Lord what we give in His name.
* * *
“Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, shall they give into your bosom. For with what measure ye mete it shall be measured to you again.”
--Jesus of Nazareth
http://jackrabbit-blog.blogspot.com/
The reason for it was that I was only interested in giving blessings to others, but I was still too proud to take them for myself. I didn’t need help—I gave it to others. That “it’s better to give than to receive” cliché made good justification, but the reality was I just wasn’t interested in letting my own guard down and admitting when I had a need. I grew up in a culture where God helps those who help themselves, but life in the Gospel runs on a different wavelength. Christians have a duty to be a blessing to others, but you also have to let others be a blessing to you. That’s how the body of Christ is truly knit together in love. I had to learn this lesson the hard way, from a panhandler in the Chicago subway.
After a month into the class, the routine was getting a little easier. I had a very strict schedule to keep me from getting lost in Chicago before class. I grew accustomed to the kids selling bootlegged CDs on the empty trains and wearing a complete stranger like an overcoat on the really cramped ones. And, when I left the hostel in the morning, I made a habit of buying a couple of extra bagels for the guys panhandling on the empty trains. I guess that was my way of trying to soften Chicago’s edges a little, and in a weird way, it helped a lot. In the entire ten weekends I was there, not a single homeless guy on the L turned down the warm bagels I offered them in the brutal, frost-black dawn.
On one brazenly cold Chicago Friday, I had made it as far as the Clark station before stopping for some lunch at a Lebanese food stand in the Thompson Center. I was sort of tucked in the corner near the turnstile slurping my lentil soup when a lean stranger in an old Army surplus coat sidled up to my chair.
“Aw, come on, in the name of Jesus, sister, can’t you spare a couple bucks?” He whined. That sort of settled it, and I let my guard down.
“Um… sure, I guess,” I answered him, and his face broke into a huge smile.
I immediately had a new best friend. His name was Jeremy, if I remember correctly, and he was one of the most outspoken, flamboyant homeless people I have ever met. He didn’t walk down the subway platform—he strutted. He had two day’s worth of stubble on his face, but he also had liquid brown eyes and these beautiful, slender brown hands he constantly kept in motion. On our way to the food court, he doted on me, throwing one arm around my shoulders and showed me off to everybody he ran into.
When we got to the Cajun joint where he wanted to eat, he strode up to the counter, slapped my shoulder and proclaimed, “This here is Jackrabbit and she’s going to buy me lunch in the name of Jesus!” The servers all tittered at me; I blushed furiously and hoped that the service was quick.
“Just one last thing, precious,” Jeremy called out. “D’you have five dollars so I can get a weekend pass?” I hesitated.
“I’m… not sure I have any cash on me,” I stammered, checking my pockets. Nothing. He flashed his puckish brown eyes at me.
“In the name of Jesus?” He purred. His charm won out; I gave in.
“All right, Jeremy, don’t overuse the privilege,” I said with a grin. I handed him my own subway pass and, after a quick peck on the cheek from my new friend, I dashed back down the corridor to catch my train, smiling at the ridiculousness of it all.
Class went much longer than usual that afternoon. By the time I stepped out of the closed library and onto the street, the Lake Michigan wind was whipping the frost and salt off the street and grinding it into my face. I ran briskly to the next subway stop, but it wasn’t until I was facing the turnstile that I remembered that I had no cash and Jeremy had my L pass. The pass machine only took cash, and all I had on me was a debit card, an overnight bag, and eight pages of homework.
I wandered the neighborhoods around the library in the barren twilight, looking for an ATM or a cashier that would let me get change with a debit card. Most of the stores were already closed, and the remaining had “CASH ONLY” or “NO CHANGE” signs in the windows. After getting turned away for the fourth or fifth time, I wandered back to the subway station for lack of else. What was I going to do?
As I glowered at the line of people passing through the turnstile, I was growing furiously angry with myself: I was such an idiot. Why had I let Jeremy con me out of my only pass when I knew I’d need one to get to the hostel? All I did was what the Lord says we should do, and now I was totally stranded. How fair was that? On the other hand, I shouldn’t blame Jeremy just because he was broke and I didn’t plan ahead. Helping him out was my choice, but what now? Maybe I was going to have to panhandle for an L pass this time…?
I eventually shook my head in despair and turned my eyes up to the concrete ceiling. “Okay, Jesus, I’m completely stuck,” I confessed. “How can you get out of this mess?” At that moment, I heard a whirring noise coming from the ticket machine in front of me; the bill changer spit out two dollars stuck in the mechanism at my feet. I stared at the money in shock for a second. That’s your answer, the Lord told me. I picked up the money and fed it back into the bill changer, and thirty seconds later I dashed onto the platform just as my train was arriving. I spent the rest of the ride down to hostel in a stunned silence.
For weeks after that, I went to the Thompson Center every Friday to find Jeremy so I could so I could tell him about my little miracle on the subway train, but I never saw him again. All I had given him was a plate of bourbon chicken and a subway pass, but he gave me a chance to realize how much my pride was making me turn up my nose at the Lord’s blessings, for this is the way we receive back from the Lord what we give in His name.
* * *
“Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, shall they give into your bosom. For with what measure ye mete it shall be measured to you again.”
--Jesus of Nazareth
12/17/10
The Christmas Show
By Glen Staples Managing Editor, RBU: The Group Blog
http://glenslife.com/
Jamie’s snowflake was a triumph!
I’ve rarely been so proud of him, though I thought they could have made a bit more use of the snow within the show to be honest. With the whole of the Infants department (Sorry Jo and teachers everywhere, I fear I may be using somewhat old terminology, should I be saying Foundation stage?) vying for the best roles but only one married couple, an innkeeper, 3 kings, 3 shepherds and an angel that say anything, things can get a bit tense.
Clearly they can’t give the best roles to my children every year, though it must be a real wrench for them when they don’t. Hence I think they have opted more for the Christmas show instead, and can therefore make up as many parts as they like in order to make things fair.
And so it was that my 5 year old became a snowflake.
As usual, we completely underestimated the competition when it came to getting a decent seat. The show was starting at 13:45 so I naturally got there at 09:00 feeling positive vibes about getting a front row seat. One look in the playground left me in utter dismay, as there was a long line of mothers in sleeping bags, already stretching out of the gates, this was worsened when I realised that the first 7 of them play for the Oxfordshire Basketball team, and were wearing top hats.
Four and a half hours later the doors opened and we all rushed in. I couldn’t see what was happening but there was already some very harsh words being shouted ahead. A mum, who had been camped out in the playground for 3 days, was suddenly joined by her husband, her younger child and her parents, in clear contradiction to the 2 person per child rule. Things were getting very nasty until the mother conceded, and left her father stood outside holding the toddler.
By the time Jo and I made it into the hall, there were three seats left at the back just behind the Haystacks family. (Apologies to anyone who can’t remember living in Britain in the 70’s and spending Saturday afternoon watching Giant Haystacks wrestling Big Daddy!)
Suddenly a hush came over the crowd and the children were lead into their positions, each and every one of them searching the crowd for someone they know. My boy looked gorgeous as he smartly walked out. My research into what makes the perfect snowflake costume at Reading University had paid off, and his costume was perfect. We gave him a wave and his grin was nearly wider than his face.
Out they came…
I could have cried…
The world stopped for a bit…
What could be more important than these few moments? How can I not feel like the luckiest person in the world when I can watch this? How can I not be lucky when I can take a day off work just so that I don’t have to miss it?
And they danced…
The rest of the show frankly went downhill, I felt that most of the scenes were lacking the magic of the snowflake scene, and could possibly have been better had they included some snow in the background maybe?
Of course I am joking about the rest of the show, it was all good and the amount of effort that the children and staff had put in was very evident during the whole production. It’s these tiny moments of daftness that make being a parent great, so a big thank you to the school, and well done Jamie – I loved it mate!
http://glenslife.com/
Jamie’s snowflake was a triumph!
I’ve rarely been so proud of him, though I thought they could have made a bit more use of the snow within the show to be honest. Today was the school’s Christmas show, that’s ‘show’ of course not ‘Nativity’. They haven’t stopped doing the Nativity for religious reasons I don’t think, but just because there aren’t enough parts to go round.
Clearly they can’t give the best roles to my children every year, though it must be a real wrench for them when they don’t. Hence I think they have opted more for the Christmas show instead, and can therefore make up as many parts as they like in order to make things fair.
And so it was that my 5 year old became a snowflake.
As usual, we completely underestimated the competition when it came to getting a decent seat. The show was starting at 13:45 so I naturally got there at 09:00 feeling positive vibes about getting a front row seat. One look in the playground left me in utter dismay, as there was a long line of mothers in sleeping bags, already stretching out of the gates, this was worsened when I realised that the first 7 of them play for the Oxfordshire Basketball team, and were wearing top hats.
Four and a half hours later the doors opened and we all rushed in. I couldn’t see what was happening but there was already some very harsh words being shouted ahead. A mum, who had been camped out in the playground for 3 days, was suddenly joined by her husband, her younger child and her parents, in clear contradiction to the 2 person per child rule. Things were getting very nasty until the mother conceded, and left her father stood outside holding the toddler. By the time Jo and I made it into the hall, there were three seats left at the back just behind the Haystacks family. (Apologies to anyone who can’t remember living in Britain in the 70’s and spending Saturday afternoon watching Giant Haystacks wrestling Big Daddy!)
Suddenly a hush came over the crowd and the children were lead into their positions, each and every one of them searching the crowd for someone they know. My boy looked gorgeous as he smartly walked out. My research into what makes the perfect snowflake costume at Reading University had paid off, and his costume was perfect. We gave him a wave and his grin was nearly wider than his face. The show started and a bunch of kids I don’t know came on and danced about saying things, which was not necessary really – surely the snowflakes should have been on first?
I heard the cue, now I got excited. The only thing we’d been able to get out of Jamie, about his upcoming performance, was the cue to go on. The cue had been so well drilled into him by his teacher.
Out they came…
I could have cried…
The world stopped for a bit…
What could be more important than these few moments? How can I not feel like the luckiest person in the world when I can watch this? How can I not be lucky when I can take a day off work just so that I don’t have to miss it?
And they danced… The snowflakes danced…
Well I say they danced… to be honest they just sort of milled about looking at each other and occasionally remembering the choreography. Up and down went his arms and then round and round he walked, his grin well and truly returning to its normal position. One minute later and it was all over. I’d had a day off work to sit in a packed school hall with a 3 centimetre viewing window between me and the stage, to watch my son spend a minute pretending to be a snowflake and I would do it all again in a heartbeat – brilliant.
The rest of the show frankly went downhill, I felt that most of the scenes were lacking the magic of the snowflake scene, and could possibly have been better had they included some snow in the background maybe?
Of course I am joking about the rest of the show, it was all good and the amount of effort that the children and staff had put in was very evident during the whole production. It’s these tiny moments of daftness that make being a parent great, so a big thank you to the school, and well done Jamie – I loved it mate!
12/14/10
Hating Christmas
Pierre Le Roux
http://gaywarfare.blogspot.com/
It’s that time of year. Bells, shiny balls, frosted windows, mistletoe, fat jolly bearded men and Christmas trees are taking over our shopping malls, office buildings and family homes. Seasonal jingles and music are resonating in every shop, elevator and accompanies every second television advertisement. If you don’t like it – tough eggnog! We will be stuck surrounded with festive seasonal paraphernalia well into January 2010. After bitching to my husband about feeling harassed by Christmas he annoyingly responded by saying “Well you never did liked Christmas anyway!”. His response made me sound like Ebenezer Scrooge from the Charles Dickens novel “A Christmas Carol”. It’s not that I don’t like Christmas and needs an urgent visit from the three Ghosts of Christmas, I just find some parts of it intolerably irritating.
The first time I was disillusioned by Christmas was at age 5. You see I may have been a small child but I wasn’t stupid. I figured out that Santa Clause did not really exist by means of logical deduction. For him to be real there could only be one of him, yet I saw many of him in malls. Secondly, he was fat so how the hell could he fit down a chimney and manage to emerge clean as a whistle and not make a mess. Thirdly, his elves was suppose to make my gifts and Santa was suppose to deliver them on Christmas day, yet I saw what I wanted in the toy shops and later discovered my presents, a week in advance, hidden away in my parents’ closet.
Armed with these three primary facts I confronted my mother. She fervently defended his existence up to the point when she realized I was not going to budge. She finally asked me "If Santa really didn’t exist would it spoil your Christmas?" to which I responded "Only if that meant I was not going to be getting my presents". A brief further discussion settled the matter and no family member had to impersonate Santa Clause again after this.
I find the fact frightening that Christmas advertisements and decorations start appearing as early as mid November with the full onslaught the beginning of December. It’s like a countdown to one massive shopping spree that is being forced upon me. Naturally I want to spoil my loved ones with something special; I just don’t like the pressure! Being an enormous procrastinator when it comes to Christmas shopping I always find myself in the unfortunate circumstance of having to do my shopping a couple of days before Christmas.
Reaching the mall you never find parking in under an hour and once you have, going into any mall, during this time, is like being dropped in the Amazon River during a piranha feeding frenzy. Not being fond of big crowds and being well aware that I am not the only stressed out shopper, I have noticed that this brings out the worst in people. I once saw two women actually fighting over the last Tickle-Me-Elmo toy which was all the rage for kids that year, it was a vicious fight and at the end of the day neither got the toy and security escorted them out of the shop. I too have done the same. I am not proud of it, but it’s like the demon spirit of Christmas shopping overwhelms you and you just can’t help yourself. The stress of shopping, the background music, the decorations and angst all combines to turn normal people into raging idiots with credit cards.
Christmas is all about the joy of giving, or so they say... Yes, I do enjoy giving presents and seeing the joy of the recipients. However, getting to that point is the annoying bit - I cannot gift wrap anything! In the past I have made some brave attempts but always failed as the gifts usually ended up looking as if they were in a car wreck. If the item has an odd shape never attempt gift wrapping it yourself, one such endeavor took two hours of my life which I will never get back and I can’t recall ever cursing any inanimate object that much in my life before or after that day.
Luckily I am married to a brilliantly creative man who can gift wrap a garden fork and make it look spectacular. The planning he puts into the theme, color scheme and gift wrapping accessories is just insane, and all the presents we give are uniquely branded after he’s done with them and puts all the other gifts to shame no matter what their content.
Food is the one thing I truly love about Christmas and I enjoy preparing it. This is the one thing I can honestly say I am good at during the festive season. Give me a budget, a well equipped kitchen and hungry mouths and I am quite content. Unfortunately this is also the one territory off which I am fiercely competitive and brings out the Martha Stewart Bitch in me.
When the family gathers and each member have to bring a different dish, mine absolutely MUST be the best! So screw desert, screw starters and side dishes I will do the main course and it will be bloody magnificent!! Many members of my family have tried to upstage my dishes in the past and all have failed miserably, but on the upside this rivalry always makes for a fabulous feast.
Christmas is a time of joy, giving and spending time with one’s family. Admittedly there are aspects leading up to the actual day that I find tedious and irritating. I don’t like Santa Clause even though he’s not real I still think the fat bastard should go on a diet. I don’t like the fact that I have to spend an hour looking for parking at a mall and then have to fight off other shoppers to purchase the presents I’m looking for. I don’t like gift wrapping or having to stand in a queue to have it done professionally, but luckily I have a husband who does that with flair, enthusiasm and for free.
I am no Ebenezer Scrooge hating Christmas as I actually love it, I just don’t like the technicalities and the buildup. But once the day arrives, all annoyances are soon forgotten and festivity fills the air with joy and peace.
Till next time.
http://gaywarfare.blogspot.com/
Armed with these three primary facts I confronted my mother. She fervently defended his existence up to the point when she realized I was not going to budge. She finally asked me "If Santa really didn’t exist would it spoil your Christmas?" to which I responded "Only if that meant I was not going to be getting my presents". A brief further discussion settled the matter and no family member had to impersonate Santa Clause again after this.
Food is the one thing I truly love about Christmas and I enjoy preparing it. This is the one thing I can honestly say I am good at during the festive season. Give me a budget, a well equipped kitchen and hungry mouths and I am quite content. Unfortunately this is also the one territory off which I am fiercely competitive and brings out the Martha Stewart Bitch in me.
Christmas is a time of joy, giving and spending time with one’s family. Admittedly there are aspects leading up to the actual day that I find tedious and irritating. I don’t like Santa Clause even though he’s not real I still think the fat bastard should go on a diet. I don’t like the fact that I have to spend an hour looking for parking at a mall and then have to fight off other shoppers to purchase the presents I’m looking for. I don’t like gift wrapping or having to stand in a queue to have it done professionally, but luckily I have a husband who does that with flair, enthusiasm and for free.
Till next time.
12/11/10
Gifts Remembered
By Antony Waller, Submissions Editor-RBU: The Group Blog
http://antonyjwaller.wordpress.com/
http://antonystories.wordpress.com/
There was one small box left on the floor. Jack knelt in front of it and slowly began to untie the string holding it together. Carefully he lifted the lid and put it to one side. It was no surprise, he knew what was hidden inside, but he always liked this moment. He was helping to decorate the Christmas tree and this was the last, and for Jack, the best and most important bit of all. The scent of the freshly cut tree standing in front of the window filled the room. The lights were draped along the branches; the fairy was sitting securely on the top, the globes and baubles all tied on, all that is except for one.
He relived the story again. Grandpa and his younger sister hanging their stockings up above the fireplace on Christmas Eve. The carrot and small glass of port carefully placed in the hearth. How they both scuttled up the stairs and jumped into bed thinking of the morning ahead and willing themselves to quickly fall asleep. Then waking early to tip toe downstairs to peek into the room finding the glass empty and the carrot gone and their stockings filled with small presents and sweets.
One year a brightly painted Father Christmas with a twinkle in his eye, bright red coat and black boots had smiled down at Grandpa from the top of the stocking. A short length of string hung from his back and when it was pulled his arms and legs had shot out, up and down, up and down. Grandpa had eventually tied him to the Christmas tree and every year thereafter the little wooden man was hung in the tree to watch over Christmas.
Now it was Jack’s turn to tie him to the tree. He felt a lump in his throat. “Happy Christmas, Grandpa,” he whispered.
http://antonyjwaller.wordpress.com/
http://antonystories.wordpress.com/
Jack gazed down at the wooden Father Christmas lying snugly in the box on his bed of cotton wool and gingerly picked him up. A faded red coat, scuffed black boots, a worn smile and a stare without much of a twinkle left in the eyes looked back at him. This was the final decoration to be placed upon the tree, Grandpa’s old Father Christmas. Jack knew the story. He had sat on his Grandpa’s knee in front of a roaring fire and listened to the story many a time, his eyes wide alternating between Grandpa and the wooden ‘Santa’ in the tree. This year Grandpa was not here to tell the story and so for the first time Father Christmas would see a different view of Christmas; the view from Jack’s tree.
He relived the story again. Grandpa and his younger sister hanging their stockings up above the fireplace on Christmas Eve. The carrot and small glass of port carefully placed in the hearth. How they both scuttled up the stairs and jumped into bed thinking of the morning ahead and willing themselves to quickly fall asleep. Then waking early to tip toe downstairs to peek into the room finding the glass empty and the carrot gone and their stockings filled with small presents and sweets.
One year a brightly painted Father Christmas with a twinkle in his eye, bright red coat and black boots had smiled down at Grandpa from the top of the stocking. A short length of string hung from his back and when it was pulled his arms and legs had shot out, up and down, up and down. Grandpa had eventually tied him to the Christmas tree and every year thereafter the little wooden man was hung in the tree to watch over Christmas.
Now it was Jack’s turn to tie him to the tree. He felt a lump in his throat. “Happy Christmas, Grandpa,” he whispered.
12/8/10
12/5/10
12/2/10
No Place Like (a Warm) Home For the Holidays!
By Jenn Duffy-Pearson
http://wine-n-chat.blogspot.com/
It was the night of December 21, I had just returned home from shopping for Christmas dinner. I felt a sense of accomplishment as I put everything away into the cupboards and refrigerator. I had finished all the shopping for this holiday season with a few days to spare…and now I could begin to enjoy my time off; baking, cooking, wrapping gifts, and perhaps sipping a little wine. With kids home from school and the husband on vacation and of course with the sounds of the season being played throughout the day, it seemed like the perfect Christmas holiday. I was truly in the mood for Christmas. The kids were feeling the excitement and I knew they were going to be proud of Santa this year. And my husband, well, he started his vacation before I did, and let’s just say the “spirit” of Christmas was upon us!!
The next day, time seemed to drag, yet I wasn’t complaining. I was soaking it all in. The sun shone throughout that day, yielding itself to some clouds and eventually some rain that evening. We didn’t have anywhere to go, so I paid very little attention to the weather in general. We had my mom and my uncle coming over for Christmas dinner…and I wanted to make them each a tin of cookies to take home with them. The kids were getting along so well and helping me with the cookie decorating. I felt I had June Cleaver beat by a long mile.
As the children’s bedtime approached, my husband went out into the cold, dark rain to walk the dog one last time. I had put a fire in the fireplace figuring he and I could enjoy some time together after he walked the dog, as the children were settled in their rooms for the night. But when my husband stepped back inside, a look of worry covered his face. He took off his wet jacket and told me that the rain was turning into ice and we needed to watch the weather.
I thought, Come on!! It’s only a little bit of rain-ice mix…right? Nothing to worry about, really.
But at his insistence, we watched a short blip on the Weather Channel telling us we were expected to get some ice showers and traveling wasn’t advisable. I really didn’t understand the cause for concern that my husband had, after all, we were inside. We didn’t have to drive in that stuff. Let the ice come down; let other people worry about the weather. We could build our fire, sip some wine and relax.
And we did a little bit of that sipping and relaxing in front of the fireplace, but every so often, he would get up and look out the window and make some comment about how it was really coming down out there. I wasn’t about to concern myself with Old Man Weather. I was intent on enjoying the holiday to the fullest. However, my husband isn’t a worrywart by nature; actually he is pretty much the opposite. Perhaps in my arrogance, I should have paid attention. Yet, I didn’t bother to ever look out the window; not once.
About 4 hours into the storm, it happened. Our electricity went out. It was around 3AM and we were powerless. In our neighborhood, this is nothing new…because if the wind blows over 5 MPH it seems to go out, but in the winter, it changes things. Mind you, it was only about 35°-36°F outside, (and still raining ice) but without a source of heat, the house would cool down quickly.
My husband and I broke into the camping equipment almost immediately, to get out the air mattresses and situate the children in front of the fireplace. We made the fire roar and we tarped off a small section of our family room to try to contain the heat. And I thought, It will come back on soon. We just haveto wait it out.
Once we were all settled in our new beds in front of the fireplace…worry started to set in. I had just done the grocery shopping for Christmas, and I was worried whether the food would keep in the refrigerator. For some particular yet unknown reason, this really seemed to bother me. Funny, I know. I spent a lot of money on that food and I certainly didn’t want it to go to waste. We kept pretty warm that night…the temperature inside the house only went down into the low 60’s and as long as we didn’t open the doors or venture too far from the fireplace, we stayed nice and toasty.
The next day proved to be a miracle of wonder looking out the window…but that was about as far as that miracle or wonder went. Looking out, everything had about 2 to 3 inches of ice on it, and I do mean everything. And the sun was out in full force creating prisms everywhere. What a site it was!! Unfortunately, that sun had no warmth radiating from it and the temperature had since dropped to under 10°F. Our house struggled to keep any semblance of warmth within its walls. By evening, the house was so cold it was painful to use the bathroom. The battery powered radio informed us that we were among 300,000 customers without power. And power was not expected to be restored for days possibly a week.
I think more than anything we held out hope that we’d be among the lucky few to have our power turned back on by Christmas Eve. We kept the fire blazing in the fireplace that second night, had our camping lights and flash lights available and struggled through another night. I don’t think it was the wisest choice; more like insane. It may have been warm right in front of our fireplace, but the rest of the house got down to a mere 21°F.
The next morning, we quickly realized we could not survive another day, let alone another night in our own home. It was Christmas Eve and we still had no power, we were frozen and we just wanted to be warm. The Christmas spirit had all but been sucked out of us. We were in survival mode, which might I say is a far cry from holiday bliss. How they did this in the old days was completely beyond us. Four cranky kids and two cranky parents later…we needed to get a hotel and quick!!
Apparently, everyone in our area got out of their cold homes the day before we decided to make that move and so we spent nearly 5 hours on Christmas Eve trying to find a hotel that had power or was operating on generator power, that had a room that could accommodate 6 of us, and that wasn’t too far away, because the further out we traveled, the more of a risk it was to travel on those icy roads.
It seemed at the last hour on Christmas Eve, one of the first hotels we called that day, called us back that day to say they had a cancellation. I loaded the children up in the van and took them to the hotel. My husband followed later in the car and hid all the presents in it and drove it in after we were settled.
We then needed to find food. By the time we settled in the hotel, it was nearly 6PM on Christmas Eve. Most places weren’t open simply because they had no power and those running on generator power were already closed for the holiday. Our hotel did not have room service because they, too, were running on backup power and were not powering their kitchen facilities in order to power the rooms for the guests. We ended up finding one of those gas stations close by and picking up junk food and nasty looking sandwiches to eat for Christmas Eve. We were hungry and having limited access to a proper food venue of any kind, we did what we could to survive through the night.
Definitely a far cry from the June Cleaver dinner I had envisioned for the night before Christmas!
Now, as if Christmas Eve dinner wasn’t bad enough…the next two hours were probably the worst. Child number 2 got deathly ill. I don’t want to say the gas station food did it, but I truly wonder. That poor child spiked a fever and couldn’t keep anything down at all. Everything she ate for the past three weeks seemed to land on our hotel floor, and that prompted yet another trip to the gas station to get an extremely over priced bottle of Lysol to clean our room. I spent the better half of Christmas Eve keeping the children away from child #2, scrubbing the hotel carpet with Lysol, and discarding the seemingly tainted, uneaten food that smelled as if it were made with mechanic hands.
My husband helped as best he could…but in a small hotel room...it was hard to escape the sights, smells and sounds coming from child #2. Poor baby!! I was totally exhausted by the time #2 fell asleep and my husband did his part to make sure Santa arrived with gifts in the 4 o’clock hour while we slept. It was exhausting but we made the best of that day and night that we could.
As Christmas Day dawned, our children awoke to see that Santa had indeed arrived. It wasn’t exactly the Christmas morning I had envisioned a few days earlier, but it was Christmas none-the-less and it was definitely upon us. The children were happy to receive their gifts, but there was something about not waking up in their own beds, not having a Christmas tree, and something unexciting about the whole experience. Like we were going through the motions…but Christmas just wasn’t in us!! Not to mention Child #2 was still too sick to even want to open her presents.
Then things began to turn around for us. My cousin had called and invited us to his place for Christmas and to sleep there Christmas night. He told me, “Christmas in a hotel room is not Christmas, get them kids over here!!” He was right, of course.
We stopped by the frozen house to grab the food I had bought. Funny thing, it never had the chance to spoil, rather it froze in the tundra of a house we owned. We also grabbed a change of clothes and pillows and blankets and headed down the treacherous, icy roads to his place. We arrived, especially grateful for the invitation to a warm home, with family no less.
We returned home the next evening and found the crews working on power lines in our neighborhood. We sat in our warm van in our driveway and watched the street lights and the lights in our house turn back on. We were so excited to finally be home again. The only thing we didn’t realize was that although the power had turned back on, our house was still frozen. It definitely took some time for the heater to unthaw our humble abode. We put on heavy clothes and lots of blankets to make it through the night and we woke up to a house that was warmer than it had been in almost 4 days.
Our memories of the Ice Storm of 2004 are looked back on as the Christmas we would prefer not to repeat. And although we did get to spend most of our Christmas day with family in a warm home…there is truly no place like home, a warm home, for Christmas.
http://wine-n-chat.blogspot.com/
It was the night of December 21, I had just returned home from shopping for Christmas dinner. I felt a sense of accomplishment as I put everything away into the cupboards and refrigerator. I had finished all the shopping for this holiday season with a few days to spare…and now I could begin to enjoy my time off; baking, cooking, wrapping gifts, and perhaps sipping a little wine. With kids home from school and the husband on vacation and of course with the sounds of the season being played throughout the day, it seemed like the perfect Christmas holiday. I was truly in the mood for Christmas. The kids were feeling the excitement and I knew they were going to be proud of Santa this year. And my husband, well, he started his vacation before I did, and let’s just say the “spirit” of Christmas was upon us!!
The next day, time seemed to drag, yet I wasn’t complaining. I was soaking it all in. The sun shone throughout that day, yielding itself to some clouds and eventually some rain that evening. We didn’t have anywhere to go, so I paid very little attention to the weather in general. We had my mom and my uncle coming over for Christmas dinner…and I wanted to make them each a tin of cookies to take home with them. The kids were getting along so well and helping me with the cookie decorating. I felt I had June Cleaver beat by a long mile.
As the children’s bedtime approached, my husband went out into the cold, dark rain to walk the dog one last time. I had put a fire in the fireplace figuring he and I could enjoy some time together after he walked the dog, as the children were settled in their rooms for the night. But when my husband stepped back inside, a look of worry covered his face. He took off his wet jacket and told me that the rain was turning into ice and we needed to watch the weather.
I thought, Come on!! It’s only a little bit of rain-ice mix…right? Nothing to worry about, really.
But at his insistence, we watched a short blip on the Weather Channel telling us we were expected to get some ice showers and traveling wasn’t advisable. I really didn’t understand the cause for concern that my husband had, after all, we were inside. We didn’t have to drive in that stuff. Let the ice come down; let other people worry about the weather. We could build our fire, sip some wine and relax.
And we did a little bit of that sipping and relaxing in front of the fireplace, but every so often, he would get up and look out the window and make some comment about how it was really coming down out there. I wasn’t about to concern myself with Old Man Weather. I was intent on enjoying the holiday to the fullest. However, my husband isn’t a worrywart by nature; actually he is pretty much the opposite. Perhaps in my arrogance, I should have paid attention. Yet, I didn’t bother to ever look out the window; not once.
About 4 hours into the storm, it happened. Our electricity went out. It was around 3AM and we were powerless. In our neighborhood, this is nothing new…because if the wind blows over 5 MPH it seems to go out, but in the winter, it changes things. Mind you, it was only about 35°-36°F outside, (and still raining ice) but without a source of heat, the house would cool down quickly.
My husband and I broke into the camping equipment almost immediately, to get out the air mattresses and situate the children in front of the fireplace. We made the fire roar and we tarped off a small section of our family room to try to contain the heat. And I thought, It will come back on soon. We just haveto wait it out.
Once we were all settled in our new beds in front of the fireplace…worry started to set in. I had just done the grocery shopping for Christmas, and I was worried whether the food would keep in the refrigerator. For some particular yet unknown reason, this really seemed to bother me. Funny, I know. I spent a lot of money on that food and I certainly didn’t want it to go to waste. We kept pretty warm that night…the temperature inside the house only went down into the low 60’s and as long as we didn’t open the doors or venture too far from the fireplace, we stayed nice and toasty.
The next day proved to be a miracle of wonder looking out the window…but that was about as far as that miracle or wonder went. Looking out, everything had about 2 to 3 inches of ice on it, and I do mean everything. And the sun was out in full force creating prisms everywhere. What a site it was!! Unfortunately, that sun had no warmth radiating from it and the temperature had since dropped to under 10°F. Our house struggled to keep any semblance of warmth within its walls. By evening, the house was so cold it was painful to use the bathroom. The battery powered radio informed us that we were among 300,000 customers without power. And power was not expected to be restored for days possibly a week.
I think more than anything we held out hope that we’d be among the lucky few to have our power turned back on by Christmas Eve. We kept the fire blazing in the fireplace that second night, had our camping lights and flash lights available and struggled through another night. I don’t think it was the wisest choice; more like insane. It may have been warm right in front of our fireplace, but the rest of the house got down to a mere 21°F.
The next morning, we quickly realized we could not survive another day, let alone another night in our own home. It was Christmas Eve and we still had no power, we were frozen and we just wanted to be warm. The Christmas spirit had all but been sucked out of us. We were in survival mode, which might I say is a far cry from holiday bliss. How they did this in the old days was completely beyond us. Four cranky kids and two cranky parents later…we needed to get a hotel and quick!!
Apparently, everyone in our area got out of their cold homes the day before we decided to make that move and so we spent nearly 5 hours on Christmas Eve trying to find a hotel that had power or was operating on generator power, that had a room that could accommodate 6 of us, and that wasn’t too far away, because the further out we traveled, the more of a risk it was to travel on those icy roads.
It seemed at the last hour on Christmas Eve, one of the first hotels we called that day, called us back that day to say they had a cancellation. I loaded the children up in the van and took them to the hotel. My husband followed later in the car and hid all the presents in it and drove it in after we were settled.
We then needed to find food. By the time we settled in the hotel, it was nearly 6PM on Christmas Eve. Most places weren’t open simply because they had no power and those running on generator power were already closed for the holiday. Our hotel did not have room service because they, too, were running on backup power and were not powering their kitchen facilities in order to power the rooms for the guests. We ended up finding one of those gas stations close by and picking up junk food and nasty looking sandwiches to eat for Christmas Eve. We were hungry and having limited access to a proper food venue of any kind, we did what we could to survive through the night.
Definitely a far cry from the June Cleaver dinner I had envisioned for the night before Christmas!
Now, as if Christmas Eve dinner wasn’t bad enough…the next two hours were probably the worst. Child number 2 got deathly ill. I don’t want to say the gas station food did it, but I truly wonder. That poor child spiked a fever and couldn’t keep anything down at all. Everything she ate for the past three weeks seemed to land on our hotel floor, and that prompted yet another trip to the gas station to get an extremely over priced bottle of Lysol to clean our room. I spent the better half of Christmas Eve keeping the children away from child #2, scrubbing the hotel carpet with Lysol, and discarding the seemingly tainted, uneaten food that smelled as if it were made with mechanic hands.
My husband helped as best he could…but in a small hotel room...it was hard to escape the sights, smells and sounds coming from child #2. Poor baby!! I was totally exhausted by the time #2 fell asleep and my husband did his part to make sure Santa arrived with gifts in the 4 o’clock hour while we slept. It was exhausting but we made the best of that day and night that we could.
As Christmas Day dawned, our children awoke to see that Santa had indeed arrived. It wasn’t exactly the Christmas morning I had envisioned a few days earlier, but it was Christmas none-the-less and it was definitely upon us. The children were happy to receive their gifts, but there was something about not waking up in their own beds, not having a Christmas tree, and something unexciting about the whole experience. Like we were going through the motions…but Christmas just wasn’t in us!! Not to mention Child #2 was still too sick to even want to open her presents.
Then things began to turn around for us. My cousin had called and invited us to his place for Christmas and to sleep there Christmas night. He told me, “Christmas in a hotel room is not Christmas, get them kids over here!!” He was right, of course.
We stopped by the frozen house to grab the food I had bought. Funny thing, it never had the chance to spoil, rather it froze in the tundra of a house we owned. We also grabbed a change of clothes and pillows and blankets and headed down the treacherous, icy roads to his place. We arrived, especially grateful for the invitation to a warm home, with family no less.
We returned home the next evening and found the crews working on power lines in our neighborhood. We sat in our warm van in our driveway and watched the street lights and the lights in our house turn back on. We were so excited to finally be home again. The only thing we didn’t realize was that although the power had turned back on, our house was still frozen. It definitely took some time for the heater to unthaw our humble abode. We put on heavy clothes and lots of blankets to make it through the night and we woke up to a house that was warmer than it had been in almost 4 days.
Our memories of the Ice Storm of 2004 are looked back on as the Christmas we would prefer not to repeat. And although we did get to spend most of our Christmas day with family in a warm home…there is truly no place like home, a warm home, for Christmas.
12/1/10
A Message From the Founder's Keyboard...
December has arrived! And for the members of RBU who happen to reside north of the equator, that means they're sporting warm sweaters and heavy coats to brave the cold weather brought by winter while those members who make their homes in the southern hemisphere are plunging headlong into the heat of summer. But no matter where our members may be...north, south, east or west...they're all gearing up for what is generally considered to be the 'holiday' season as December is the month filled with various religious observances and secular festivities.
And with that in mind, the 'staff' at RBU:TGB (which is really just a trio of people who donate their time to reading over submissions and generally seeing to it that the group's blog looks put together each month) thought it would be nice to offer our members a chance to submit poetry, prose, and photographic essays that are geared toward the notion of 'HOLIDAYS'. As that's a fairly open ended theme we offered a few suggestions to help guide our members in preparing their submissions. They are: 'Gifts Remembered', 'Holiday Gone Awry', and, last, we wanted people to know that regardless of what their religious affiliation may be we would welcome any submissions that were seasonally/religiously geared. We got some wonderful submissions this month and we sincerely do hope that you'll drop by several times this month to check out what our wonderful members have offered up for the world to read.
I think you'll be impressed...I know I was (but then again, I'm always impressed by the outstanding quality of work our members offer)!
Most cordially,
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