Christmas in Christmas

Christmas in Christmas

“Angels we have heard on high

sweetly singing o’er the plains

and the mountains in reply,

echoing their joyous strains…….."

Angelica could hear the carollers before she stepped off of the bus. Always carollers at her hometown bus depot of Christmas, they faithfully dressed in period costumes right out of a Dickensian story. She didn’t recognize any of them, except for Mrs. Antwerp, the shortest and plumpest with the biggest hat and brightest red ribbons. She was singing her heart out as she had every year since Angelica had been in Grade 8. The joy she felt in her heart to hear their voices was dampened when there was no marshmallow world of snow softly piled on roofs and fenceposts. Sidewalks were clear, but not because snow crews had been diligent, but because there was very little snow. Merely strips of grey/white snow that had missed the warmth of yesterday's sun. Just as she was about to tell the bus driver to leave her suitcase on the bus and sell her a ticket back to the city, snow began to fall. Big white flakes that promised the transformation that she was needing. Angelica lifted her face to the gently falling snow, letting it melt on her nose while she absorbed the Christmas music. She really was home. But it didn’t quite feel like home. She had left her city life and her city love to come home for Christmas. She had promised Ted that she would be back and that she was only gone for a week. In the back of her mind she pushed away the thought that she may have made a very wrong move. Ted would be spending Christmas with his parents, keeping to the pandemic bubbles borne over the last many months. Her family was not here right now. Her parents had stubbornly gone south as they did every winter. One of the many Snowbird couples to brave the province to province, state to state restrictions. It did frighten Angelica, but she had daily FaceTime visits with her mom. Her dad, always poked his head in to tell her he loved her. She dug her housekeeps from the bottom of her purse, resting her heavy suitcase against the porch balustrade. Expecting to see a clean and tidy home, with maybe some Christmas decorations, she stepped into the front hall. She hadn't noticed whether there were lights strung outside, but surely her dad had taken time to put up the Christmas lights and she’d just need to plug them in. She’d look for that later. Turning the front hall lights on, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It only enhanced her trepidation. She sighed. "Of course there’d be no aromas of mince pies or turkey. Mom and Dad have been gone since October." Looking around for any sign of decoration, she saw the corner of a cardboard box in the living room door. “I bet they brought the Christmas decorations up for me.” Boots off and coat hung in the closet, she could barely contain her excitement! She’d get the fireplace on and make some hot chocolate while she went through the Christmas decorations. Disappointed again. The box wasn’t for the Christmas decorations. It was the box her mother kept all the Thanksgiving decorations in. “They must have left in a rush - they didn’t finish putting everything away.” She wanted to be angry with her parents but they had done so much for her when she moved into the city, it just was not in her heart be angry with them. Angelica walked back to the front hall closet. “I’ll call Ted and ask if he can come and get me.” Pulling her cell phone out of her purse as she put one sleeve of her coat on, all she got was a blank screen. “Damn! I didn’t charge why phone last might and I’ve been reading a Christmas Story while I was on the bus. then taking pictures when the snow began to fall. My phone cord is somewhere in my suitcase. Mom and Dad should have something handy around here….no, there’s nothing. They’ve either hidden it away or taken all their cords with them."  Angelica wanted to cry. She dragged herself into the living room and plunked herself in her father's overstuffed armchair, her coat still hanging off of her shoulder. She turned on the gas fireplace, blue flame jumping up to grab the spark to the pilot light. “It might at well blow up. I’ve just blown up my own Christmas. It was stupid of me to come home just because I wanted home and snow. I get here and the only real snow has just begun to fall. There's no one here and the only decorations are two months old.”

~~~~~

The door bell rang, echoing throughout the empty house and sending a shock through Angelica. “What? Who? No one knows I’m coming home except Ted and Mom and Dad.” She peered out the front door peep hole. Mrs. Antwerp's round jolly face peered up at her. “Angie! Angie! I saw you get off the bus but I couldn’t stop singing so here I am now. I’ll put my mask on - it’s a Christmas mask, don’t you just love it?” All Angie could see through the peep hole was a smiling sparkling Christmas present, with Mrs. Antwerp’s bright blue eyes above it. “I’ve brought my nephew to meet you. Giggling, she said "Open the door, Angie. He’s got his mask on too. Did you see him at the bus depot? He was the tall handsome man standing right behind me.” Angelica sighed. She was no mood to open the door to all this bright cheeriness, let alone meeting Mrs. Antwerp’s nephew. He did have beautiful soft blonds hair, eyes like dark chocolate, but if he was singing with the carollers he had to be some kind of a music nerd.

~~~~~

The next few days were a whirlwind. Mrs. Antwerp had had it all planned, starting with lunch the next day. "Now we have to all keep our distance, but I have a large dining room table. You'll eat with us everyday and Richard can come over to get you in the afternoon. I know we are just across the street but I've asked him to be a gentleman and escort you each day. Angelica glanced up at Richard just as he rolled his eyes at his favourite aunt's words. "I'll be pleased to be your escort." After the first somewhat awkward day, Angelica and Richard warmed to each other. After the second day, Angelica forgot to call Ted, a successful business man and her fiancé, as she had promised. The third day passed without a thought of Ted or the city. Angelica and Richard made excuses to meet earlier and 'escort' Angelica home earlier. "Angelica has asked me to help her with the Christmas decorations, Auntie. And the outside lights aren't working yet." On Christmas Eve, Mrs. Antwerp said "I'm glad the two of you have the house decorated finally. I've hardly seen either one of you.” She had noticed the fond looks passing between the young couple. Well, there weren't a 'couple' yet, but if Mrs. Antwerp's matchmaking senses were right, they would come soon enough.

~~~~~

Standing too close to Richard, Angelica rested her hands on his chest, his shirt smooth and soft to her touch. "Richard, I have to go back to the city." She stepped back and turned away from him. "It has been such a wonderful week. Ted, you know, my fiancé, has called me every night and wants me home. I did tell him I'd only be gone for a week and it's been almost ten days." Richard touched her shoulder lightly, she turned back and wanted to fall into his arms. "Is this where we are supposed to kiss, Ang?" Richard didn't return to his aunt's place that night and Angelica did not return to the city. Her phone call to Ted that night was the last she made to him. It was only to tell him that she would be returning her engagement ring.

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot or the look or the words, 

which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. 

I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.” 

~ Jane Austen, 

** Authors note: this story is a combination of my own writing prompt - Angel's we have heard.... from my Dec.1st blog post - and Friday's writing group assignment topic: a 'happily ever after' story based on Hallmark stories.

Superglue: Fix or Folly

Letting go of worry has not been the easiest thing I have ever done. There have been many lessons about letting go from sages over the centuries and self help gurus of the modern age. But when I get my grip on a worry, it is as though my fingers have been sealed around it with superglue. I hold it up in front of my face and keep turning it around so I can see all sides, but I remain paralyzed to any other action. Over a few days, if  I see that some edge of that grip has frayed by belief or torn by even a fragment of hope, I seal it up tight with another gluey drop. I did finally learn what letting go meant when I heard an acquaintance of mine define it. She didn’t use the old maxim about holding a bird too tight in your hand, squeezing it so tightly the bird suffocates and can’t use its wings to fly away. No, this one had to do with just a letter. Remember those? Words penned on a piece of paper, folded and sealed in an envelope (more paper), addressed (hopefully the most recent address), and stamped with the correct postage. All of that to hold your words in tightly. The letting go part? The letter slides from your fingers and through the mail slot of a squatty red box. With barely a glance, you have literally let go of your ideas, words, thoughts and maybe even worries. Understand please, this person I did not particularly like and I did not consider her especially wise. But there it is. A lesson in letting go learned almost thirty years ago, in another land, in what seems a lifetime ago from someone I didn’t like or truly respect. Have I ever seen this example in all my searches through quotations for this blog? No. It is, however, as indelible in my mind as black marker ink on a white shirt.

There is another aspect to this ‘letting go’ issue. I don’t want to let go of this memory, this fragment from my life, this brief intersecting with another human being. I have over time also learned that when I don’t let go of my worries. I am getting some kind of pay off. Haven’t quite got that one figured out yet, except to say that when I do let go of my worries, things that are not my responsibility or that I can’t fix, my life in the present goes much easier. I can find tiny creative thoughts and actions that become balms to my soul. But I have to want to let go. Otherwise I just maintain a never ending supply of super glue.

“It’s not time to worry yet,”

~ Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

The 'Others'

The 'Others'

“Awareness of others? You’ve got to be kidding. I am barely aware of myself let alone others. Besides that, this social distancing thing and wearing masks sends the wrong message as far as I’m concerned. When I walk past one of those ‘others’ you talk about, I almost feel like turning and running the other way. Some people look positively scared. And it’s hard to get a smile out of anyone and if someone does smile at me, I can’t tell unless their smile goes all the way up to their eyes.”

“So you are aware of others then.”

“What do you mean?

“You feel separate and almost antagonized by them. Do you ever wonder why people seem so scared?”

~~~~~

A Rant:

This is a conversation I imagined this morning. On the way to a drugstore this afternoon, I passed a few people, most not wearing masks, and a few that were. I had not had a mask on while I was walking on my own and no distancing was required, but when foot traffic increased, I stopped, put my mask on, and left it on until I did my shopping and was once more outside walking only own. I knew, at least I believed I knew and believe I know, that I am not even a carrier of the Covid 19 virus. And yet, I wear a mask. Partly because it is recommended, but partly because I don’t know who is a carrier of this invisible virus - where a viral threat may be hidden.

As I watched the news tonight the refrain was repeated again about the economy and the rights of others. A retired nurse, I thought of the rights of the nurses and all other health care workers that are being trampled on by those that disagree with the health recommendations.  As the mother of a small businessman I thought of his rights and how they have been pushed and shoved around by the presence of this virus. The rights of those that do get sick, the rights of families of those that have lost a loved one, and the rights of so many with other medical problems, seem absolutely ignored. Their grief, their dedication and hard work expected! No matter that they are all more than exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally. Is it because we can’t see them unless we do watch the news or know someone affected by this virus? Being aware of all the others is just logical and polite.

“What is hard work? It takes strength, energy, and stress to truly care about others enough to place oneself last, but it is easy to wrap oneself up and selfishly scramble on the head of others.”

~ Criss Jami, Killosophy

 

Chapter Two, Episode Ten - Ben’s Story - Situationally Theirs

Review, Revision, Edit and Update My goodness! Only an extra space to remove. No typo's. No sentence structure change.  I could have just not even done a review, but I liked Ben's determination. (and I liked the story)

Ben's Story

“Bringing home the joy was something my grandma always did for me when I was little.” Ben Richardson was all of ten years old. Often going up to the Beaufort kitchen, he had heard Cook and his grandma talking about all the ‘stories’ everyone had written. He decided that he would write his story. After all he lived here too, and he had talked to the Storyteller before too. His mother would just think he was being silly, so he went to his room to write. He closed his door and hung up his Do Not Disturb sign so his little sister, Abby - or his mother - wouldn’t come in.

 “That’s what my grandma called her surprises: ‘bringing home the joy’. That’s not what I would’ve called it. It sounds pretty corny.  It was really a surprise and not very often a big surprise. I asked her one time what ‘bringing home the joy’ meant and how did she know which joy to bring.” My grandma, her name is Mrs. Haverstock-Digby now, doesn’t live beside us any more. She got married to the Beaufort butler, Mr. Digby. They live in a nice cottage way over on the other side of Beaufort’s property. When grandma comes to visit, which is pretty often, she always brings one of those little bits of joy. When she answers my questions about it, she tells me: “Well, Ben I think of you and your sister and your mom - the things that all of you like. Then I think that I know.”

“But how do you know, grandma? Could I bring home joy?”

“Of course you can, honey. This is how you know you brought home the right piece of joy - smiles and hugs. So what I bring to you may be a plate of fresh cookies, and when I see your face all lit up with joy then I know I got it right. Once in a while I get it wrong. Remember that sweater I gave you last Christmas? I had worked hard on it and was sure you would love it. When you opened your present, you did smile, but it was that stretchy kind of smile that doesn’t last long. So if you want to bring home some joy to your mom or your sister or even your old grandma, think about what you know makes them smile a real smile.”

I’ve been thinking about that, and because it’s Christmas time, I’ll watch Abby and mom to see what makes them smile. Grandma smiles every time she sees me so that one will be hard. Maybe I could talk to Cook. They’re best friends so she might know. Anyway, that’s part of my story that you probably don’t know. I’ll give this to Cook and tell her that it’s a secret. 

 Cook smiled down at the young man “I’ll be sure that the Storyteller get’s this Ben. Now, I have some cinnamon buns cooling. How about you have a glass of milk and I’ll get my tea. You and I haven’t had a good visit for a long time.”

“Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, 

but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.”

~ Thich Nhat Hanh

 

Balancing Act 3

 

“Bringing home the joy…..”

“Awareness of others? …..”

Letting go of worry……

Angels we have heard……

Never ending imbalance….

Cherishing each other…..

Every year……

“Keep your best wishes, close to your heart and watch what happens.”

~ Tony DeLiso, Legacy: The Power Within

The Snow Monster

There is a great mound of snow in the parking lot next to my home. Whenever the snow clearing guys go through to clear it, they have created this mound. No photo of the snow monster did it justice. It’s really quite ugly, rather grey with the dirt and gravel from the parking lot. Not only grey, but it looks like a giant sprawling snow monster with a yawning mouth in its side. Not the neat entry that an igloo may have, just a large, gaping hole in the side of this ever growing mound of snow. Aesthetically it is not at all pleasing, thus the photo of a camouflaged bunny rabbit at the base of a tree. It certainly hops out of the way when the children race through the snow, squealing and laughing. 

In the day time, there are three or more children in bright orange snow suits climbing and sliding on the back of the snow monster. When a mom or dad calls ‘time for supper’ pieces of cardboard or a ‘borrowed’ yoga mat, get stored in the snow monsters mouth til tomorrow. Ah, the resiliency of children!

“The problem with people who say monsters don’t really exist 

is that they’re almost never saying it to the monsters.” - Alice Healy”

~ Seanan McGuire, Discount Armageddon

A Single Leaf

 

A single leaf, fragile as a memory, drifted with the wind,

from a tree tall and graceful,

to settle into the shelter of

a boot print ~

heart shaped ice crystals

hold it fast.

"Some friends leave footprints in your heart."

~ Eleanor Roosevelt