Reality Moves Forward from the Past

Reality Moves Forward 

from the Past 

Elizabeth sat in the middle of the tiny bedroom that held remnants of  her past. From videos, books and tapes and to the crocheted picture made by her aunt decades before. The videos and tapes were no longer usable, but still saved. Classics that she had enjoyed and shared with girlfriends.

After leaving her childhood home, she had tried to build something out of her life by purchasing bits and pieces putting together a home from the inside out. She hadn’t known then that much would no longer fit the lifestyle she would move into with Rudy. 

It was new Year’s Eve. She had a new slinky floor length black dress - watered silk with tiny diamonds flowing from her left shoulder where fine pleats were encrusted with rubies, her right shoulder bare. The diamonds faded in starlight streams twinkling gently over her bosom, waist and hips. A narrow, but slightly flaring, skirt caught a very few of the diamonds in the midnight black folds. Besides her wedding ring, tiny ruby earrings and a pendant were two of the three pieces of jewelry she would wear. Her hair, silvered and gently waving, soon would be done in a fashionable chignon and held in place by antique silver combs. The evening promised a formal dinner and dance, begging her to wear her low, black satin pumps. A very tall woman, she preferred wearing flats but chose on occasion to wear pumps. Elizabeth had no illusions that her figure was anything but that of a mature woman, however she still had a youthful gleam in her eyes.

Rudy, her Prince Charming, was still elegant and charming. He hated wearing the penguin suit with the bow tie that threatened to strangle him. Preferring walking shorts and a golf club, he felt completely out of his element at formal affairs. Brushing back the consistently wayward curl from his forehead, Elizabeth had convinced him that he was wearing the tuxedo only for her, with a promise that he could play golf without question any time at all. (Not much of a promise as Elizabeth never challenged him about his golf games.) He had kissed her tenderly and said ‘Only for you, my love. Only for you.’

Her reality was now and just as joyous as those days gone by. Her past was tucked up comfortably in this little spare bedroom, one of many in this grand home where Elizabeth and Rudy had raised their children. Her own parents had never dreamed of the future that had awaited their only child. They only saw the twin bed with the quilt her grandmother made for her, and the Ann and Andy porcelain dolls in the old rocking chair belonging to her great aunt. Good solid furniture that would last.

So many joyous memories made before she and Rudy had even met. A time when diamonds and rubies were merely sparklers seen in jewelry store windows. Gently putting her old dolls back in place, she checked the time. Closing the door gently on her memories, she smiled and began preparing for the New Year to come.

“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language.

and next year’s words await another voice.”

~ T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

Walking Away

Beacon Hill Park, Victoria     2009

This is a clumsy muse tonight, but only because I am saddened.
Dyogi, one of my grand-dogs, is gravely ill.
My life without a dog would have missed so much.
Dyogi, only one of many dogs, has been a special part of my life.
Cool and misty, walking with Jeff and Dyogi in Vancouver was our good-bye.
The reality of losing a loved one is a most difficult reality to accept.

“Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.”

~ Roger A. Caras

Stuffed into Time

another layer of stuff cleared 

from files and cupboard ~

layers so thick, that time was gently brushed into a pile of hours and memories,

each paper and photo from ten and twenty, thirty and forty years past carefully examined,

time pleasantly consumed with 

memories shuffled through the years

precious babies born and grown, 
Christmases, birthdays and anniversaries past

more precious babies born to grow and fly family nests
no knowledge of direction, destination or pathways to be travelled

how would paths be forged and would our paths cross again?
saying hello again to friends and family no longer in this reality,

with no tears, for tears no longer wield the power they once did.
more layers await when life does not call me to go out and play.

“For the Present is the point at which time touches eternity.”

~ C.S.Lewis, The Screwtape Letters

Encouragement to Soar

On the other side of motherhood and family,
my career reality shifted from
nurse, and only the practice of nursing, to
nurse and fledging writer learning how to soar on creative currents.
Retirement loomed large with the passage of time blank and staring.
Ideas and words always drifting and floating, docked uncertainly in the blogosphere two years ago today
supported by faithful readers both interested and kind whether my choice of topic was
muse, poetry, rants or story
opinions, prose or book reviews.

A very warm 'Thank you' to all my readers!!!!!!

“The reality of a serious writer is a reality of many voices, 

some of them belonging to the writer, some of them 

belonging to the world of readers at large.”

~ Aberjhani, Visions of a Skylark Dressed in Black

Nostalgia vs Reality

October, 2012 - not much different than this morning.

December 27, 2013    

Rain, rain, rain......

Still foreign 

Out of place in memory

If I close my eyes

let myself feel the chill ~

wild wind whistles me to broad flat prairies

Through slits between lashes

rain lashes umbrellas

hovers over dogs and their masters leaning 

raincoats slick with cold splashes blown beneath.

Shoveling not required

Snowman patrols missing from yards and parks

Crunchy fun of making snow angels replaced by silty cold water

Snow ball fights? Experience wanted.

In the recesses of my mind

guilty whispers demand

‘If you miss it so much why don’t you return?’

‘In reality, who would do winter’s work?’

Replies as infrequent as snow days leave me wondering.......

                            “Nostalgia is like a grammar lesson; you find 

the present tense, but the past perfect!”

~ Owens Lee Pomeroy

From Reality to Memory

From Reality to Memory

Belinda washed the beautiful fragile teacup gently in water soapy and hot. A careless moment of hurry, had broken it’s partnered bone china saucer a few years previously. The beautiful china teacup was not destined, ever, to be loaded in the dishwasher. Her dishwasher was a definite convenience, but the gold on the cup would surely flake off just as memories flake off once the reality of a moment is passed. Pouring tea, for ladies decorated in their finest on that long ago Golden Anniversary for her grandparents, was as real, and the moment as fragile as the precious tea-cup. 

She promised herself to hold all of her realities loosely but carefully. The hustle and bustle of the work world did tend to be like a dishwasher. Everything gets cleaned up and done, but the sparkle inadvertently gets rubbed off. Of course all of the should’s and shouldn’t’s, she had learned through the years just heated things up loosening past joys, and yet holding tight pieces of painful memories.

Drying the cup carefully, she replaced it, saucerless, in her china cabinet awaiting hot tea and a cookie. 

“Each cup of tea represents an imaginary voyage.”

~ Catherine Douzel

Reality as a Blessing

Reality as a Blessing

The fire burned low in the hearth. Darkness had long since settled all around. Crunching snow under my boots, now lay dripping wet at the door, and was all but a memory. Dregs of hot chocolate lay damp in my Christmas mug, the last sweet taste of a quiet day in our little log cabin. Reality, the long sought after and much abused worklife, would return in the morning. Details of the world built with our own heads, hands and hearts would continue to furnish our family’s needs, many 'wants' and many things to share with others.

But tomorrow was not yet here and my pillow called. My old dog, Andy, was already curled up on the braided rug by my bed. My wife and children ‘all snug in their beds’ had eaten more sugar plums than their tummies really wanted. Putting my book away, letting the fire die out and checking that doors and windows were closed and locked, I climbed the stairs up to bed.

“Sometimes we focus so much on what we don’t have

that we fail to see, appreciate, and use what we do have!”

~ Jeff Dixon

Merry Christmas to all.......

Streets darkened and quiet, blinking red lights then green then orange stop and go ushering the ghosts of shopper's vehicles to and fro past closed stores, their Christmas lights decorating remaining darkness.

Families, singles, couples, young and old; home or away have stopped the rush and fuss of Christmas shopping save for hanger’s on looking for a drug store or convenience store for a trinket or gift of chocolate, just to ‘have something’ to give on Christmas morning.

My reality, and I’m certain a reality shared by many others on this, and many another Christmas Eve ~ another shift ended and another awaits on Christmas morning.

All is quiet, peaceful and gentle....
A Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

“Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and

 behold everything is softer and more beautiful.”

~ Norman Vincent Peale

Assignment: Essay on Expectations

Essay on Expectations

‘Expectations - realistic or unrealistic  - are woven into the fabric of our lives. They are based on experiences all the way from childhood, information coming to us from trusted sources (duh, some like our parents!), and the immediate events of a day.’

Hmm....that sounded like a good start to her paper. After school, Cara, 14 years old, finally sat down to write her essay for class - tomorrow’s class. It didn’t really matter, because she had never liked Mr. C. anyway. Anything she did for his class was half-hearted at best. In the morning, her mother and father had been talking about expectations while they were all having breakfast. Actually they were complaining about Christmas and all the things they are supposed to do. Her dad complained about all the money that he had to spend. She guessed that they were arguing rather than talking. She rolled her eyes.

“We did it this way in our family! And we always had a real tree - and not one from a lot. It’s all about the experience - you know family going out in the snow to cut down their tree, then coming home to hot chocolate and a fireplace...” Her mom had got all misty eyed and trailed off so far she overflowed her coffee cup. Another real eye roller.

“Well, we did it this way in our family, and it always worked out. Would you please get in touch with reality! Forget a real tree, even one from a lot. The fake one we got last year with all the lights already on it is just fine. When all the living room lights are off you can’t even tell it’s not real. And besides that think of the trees that get saved!”

“What about all the fuel it takes just to make all your old fake trees! David Suzuki must have some research on that. And a real tree can be chopped up to burn in our fireplace - at least it could if we had a fireplace - and all those needles would be good mulch.  I have to look that up to make sure, though.”

“Getting all that fuel keeps a lot of folks in jobs. And what about all the presents you think we need to get for the kids. They expect more and more every year. For heaven’s sake they’re teenagers! They don’t even believe in Santa Claus anymore and you want us to go through all the drama that comes with it?”

“But they expect to have ‘all that drama’! It wouldn’t be Christmas without it!......Do you know that we have this same discussion every year?”

“Do you remember how we always sort it out?”

“Hush, dear. It’s a good thing that Michael has already left for school, but Cara might be listening. Can we discuss this in more detail upstairs this afternoon?”

Cara, a master of thumb typing had been quietly, under the table, writing the opening line to her essay while the two of them argued. Rolling her eyes one more time, she went off to meet her girlfriend, before she got so dizzy she couldn’t walk. What her parents did in the afternoon was their business. The rest of the essay could wait til after school.

“Does your reality match your expectations? If not it’s time

to change either your expectations or your reality.”

~ Steven Redhead, The Solution

Reality Comforts

Quiet room of my mind

An open window to my heart

Distant nightbird calls

Stars ride high above mists of cloud.

Cinnamon and honey fragrant in the air

Tranquil reality comforts my soul.

“I love tranquil solitude, 

And such society as is 

quiet, wise, and good.”

~ Percy Shelley

Christmas Eve is Special

Christmas Eve is Special

“Debt dispersion! Financial literacy! Hmmph! Just fancy words for how not to get into debt.”

Hugh sat by his fireplace, warming winter's outside chill away. Reading the Globe and Mail Business Section was always of interest unless he had just come in from shopping. Which he had. “My money has definitely been dispersed and I know my debt has increased. I wonder if that makes me financially literate or completely illiterate. I don’t know if even half of this stuff I bought for the kids will still be in one piece by New Years.”

All around his feet were expertly wrapped Christmas presents. He donated generously to the volunteer gift wrappers in the mall each year for very selfish reasons. He had always hated wrapping more than one present. Covering the kitchen cupboard were groceries for Christmas dinner tomorrow. Hugh always left his shopping til Christmas Eve which meant that he had been out all day. Cat, his old grey kitty - he didn’t see any reason for fancy names - had been yowling accusingly at the back door when he got home. 

He sighed, put his head back and closed his eyes. Cat jumped on his lap, crumpling the newspaper, and curled up, purring furiously. They were all each other had most days, but tomorrow the house would be alive and full with noise and laughter. The kitchen would steam with cooking turkey, yams and mashed pototoes. But that was tomorrow when his son and daughter and both of their families arrived for Christmas dinner. He looked so forward to seeing his grandchildren. They were the light of his life. Even though he saw them regularly throughout the year, Christmas Day was an especially fun and fulfilling time.

He picked up the silver framed photograph that sat on the table by his big chair. He so missed his wife. Especially on Christmas Eve. Once their children had moved out and on with their lives, Sarah had insisted that she and Hugh make Christmas Eve a special time. 

Hugh heaved himself out of his chair, unceremoniously dumping Cat to the floor. She ignored his abrupt interruption of her nap, and jumped back into the chair as soon as Hugh was up and away. Hugh made his way to the kitchen, made sure all the food was put away and took a chilled bottle of sparkling grape from the bulging refrigerator. Two crystal goblets were waiting on the counter. Hugh eased the deep purple beverage into each glass, picked them up and returned to the living room. Setting his dear, dear Sarah’s picture on the mantel, and a goblet beside it, he held his high in toast to her. The fire crackled and sparked. The very tiniest of tear shone in the corner of his eye. Hugh turned away quickly to the old turntable by the china cabinet. 

“You know the kids want me to get rid of this relic? I told them I always needed it for Christmas Eve. They just rolled their eyes.” 

Mellow notes from Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra singing Christmas carols filled the empty spaces in the room. Windows black and glittering from street lamps turned on the evening. The living room was lit with soft firelight, the Christmas tree and the reading lamp. Moving Cat aside, Hugh settled back in his chair with his glass, holding Sarah’s picture gently to his chest. Murmuring, ‘I miss you my lovely Sarah.’ Hugh fell asleep to dream of other Christmas Eve dances with Sarah. 

The record ended in a round and round hum. Hugh slowly opened his eyes to the reality of his life. The fire had burned out, Cat was scratching at the back door to get let out. Standing and stretching, Hugh placed Sarah’s picture gently back on the mantle and took their glasses back to the kitchen, only one of them empty.

“Come on, Cat. Let’s get you out and back in so we can close up and go to bed.”

“Which one of us has never felt, walking through the twilight or writing 

down a date from his past, that he has lost something infinite?

~ Jorge Luis Borges

Letting Go - A Muse

Letting go is
putting a letter in a mail box
pressing send on an email
putting garbage in the garbage bin
a balloon into the sky
opening a hug or a handshake
watching children going to school or off on their own...

Simple tasks that take a little or a lot of courage
In reality, when not done, over time they can create such big messes!
(Being mindful of where our garbage goes - avoid messing up our world)

Letting go never means that loving others has stopped
Leaving the past in the past, allowing our children to grow,
learning from past misjudgments, sorrows or even great joys
is the reality of Letting Go.

“I realise there’s something incredibly honest about

trees in winter, how they’re experts at letting things go.”

~ Jeffrey McDaniel

First Re-post ~ Mr. Snappy's Christmas Adventure

Mr. Snappy's Christmas Adventure

Mr. Snappy, the old snapping turtle, slowly closed big dark glassy eyes. His big swaying head disappeared into the safety of his cozy shell. Just settling into his afternoon nap, he heard snuffling at the edges of his shell.  

Suddenly he was violently rocked back and forth! Snapping his head out from under his shell with powerful neck muscles, he growled: “What’s going on out here!? Didn’t you see that my shell is closed for the afternoon!? That means I’m not home! Not available for your silly games. Remember!?”

It was Ellie. A very excited little grey elephant. Ellie cried out to the old turtle “Mr. Snappy! Mr. Snappy! It’s Christmas time in the human’s village!”

“Christmas time! Christmas time!!” Snappy snorted through his sharp, curved beak. “Why did you wake me up for that? It’s Christmas time every year at this time. And every year some humans are happy and some humans are sad. And a lot of humans get things that they don’t even need or want. All I need and want is some peace and quiet so I can take a nap! So go away and leave me alone!”

Ellie, a little grey elephant pouted “But Mr. Snappy, the human children down at the oasis are having so much fun gathering all manner of things. They said they’re going to decorate their homes for Christmas. They’re having so much fun! What is Christmas anyway?” Sighing and tipping her little grey head, grey floppy ears to one side, her tiny, grey trunk drooped sadly.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you about it? Why don’t you go ask her and let me sleep?” Ellie was kind of scared when Mr. Snappy sounded so grumpy, but she stamped all four of her little feet. “She’s gone off with the herd - and - she told me to come and find you. So there!”

Ellie’s mother, Mattie, matriarch of a small herd of elephants, was an old friend of Mr. Snappy. About the same age, Mattie and Mr. Snappy had grown up together remaining fast friends for many years. So, when Mattie had matriarch duties to attend to, she wisely sent Ellie to stay with Mr. Snappy.  

Ellie was always proud that she gone on her own. She didn’t know that her mother kept her in sight until Ellie was safely there. Ellie liked her visits with Mr. Snappy partly because she was taller than he was, but mostly she liked Mr. Snappy’s stories. At home with the herd all she saw was dumb old elephant legs. At home, everyone was too tall.

“Mr. Snappy, you can’t nap now. You have to tell me about Christmas. Mother said that you knew all about it!” With that she plopped down on her soft grey bottom, threw her little trunk up in the air and started to cry. It was a funny braying sound making the stalks of grass quiver and Mr. Snappy shiver.  Big tears rolled down her little elephant cheeks.  

“There, there. Don’t cry.” The gruff old voice had softened, but only a bit. “I’ll tell you what I know. It happened a long time ago when I was a tiny turtle, smaller than the bottom of your foot.  Then I was bright green with little dots of red. I was small, but quite handsome. Mother Turtle always sheltered us very close to the oasis pond so we could slip in and out of the water easily. At night, she made sure our shells were closed up tight when it was time for us to sleep. One night, having just gone to sleep, the ground started to shake so hard that it scared us wide awake!  Peeking out from under my shell in the darkness, all I could see was what looked like big hairy trees with sharp rocks at the bottom. Later we tiny turtle tots learned they were the long legs and sharp hooves of camels, the very camels that would take me on an adventure.”

“Shh,” Mother Turtle whispered. “The humans are talking about where they have come from and where they are going.” One human in long beautiful robes said: “The star is still in the East. It hasn’t moved! It’s the steadiest guide I have ever seen.”

Mr. Snappy continued, “Mother Turtle told us the men were each from different lands and were following a bright star they had seen in the east. They had each been drawn from distant and different lands to follow the star's bright steady light. Unknown to each other, the three men had finally come together at the very oasis that mother had sheltered us in.”

“What did you do? Did your mother make you go back to sleep?” Ellie whispered.

“Well, I only pretended to go back to sleep. As soon as I saw all the other turtle shells rocking gently in sleep, I scurried over to the closest camel. I crawled inside a sack drooping down onto the desert sand at the camel's side. I wanted to see where they were going. I wanted to go with them but I didn’t know that I would be going so far and would not to see my family again for many days.”

“Then what happened?” Ellie was still sitting where she had plopped when Mr. Snappy had been so grumpy with her, but now her little ears were opened as wide as two soft grey pink-lined fans. Her tears had dried up and her big brown eyes sparkled with excitement. Her little grey trunk poked the air impatiently with each pause of Snappy’s low and slow voice.   

“In the morning, three big camels, carrying their three humans on lumpy camel humps, rose slowly to their feet. The soft sack swayed, tossing me into a corner where all manner of things were jumbled together. One of the camels, Calvin, had seen me crawl aboard the following night. Hearing me sniffling in the sack at his side he groaned a deep camel groan “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of you.”

After two long days and two long nights through the dry desert plain, the camels finally stopped. With another groan, Calvin said “Looks like we’re here. Where ever that is.”  He slowly knelt down to the ground, making sure the sack at his side was stretched out on the sand. I crawled to the edge and listened to the camel’s riders.

The first human muttered thoughtfully “That star has led us here, but there does not look to be anything of value in this desolate looking little town! How disappointing.”

The second said; “Don’t be so certain just yet. We haven’t seen inside of any of these buildings.”  

The third human said “Let’s take our camels to the barn for water and feed. We can stay here for the night and study where we are in the morning light.”  

I still couldn’t understand their words, but it sounded like one was disappointed, one was curious and the other was patient. 

 “Well then, how do you know what any of them said?”  

“Calvin translated into turtle talk, of course!” Mr. Snappy snapped.

“You still haven’t told me about Christmas!”

“Slow down, little Ellie, open your ears up again and listen. We went to the barn that night, expecting it to be quiet and dark. Opening the doors into brightness, the three men were surprised. And there was, in the middle stall, a little human family gathered. The bright light was from the star we had followed and it shone over them. And in that manger was the tiniest human I have ever seen. He was wrapped in blankets and lay on a straw bed. That picture of Christmas has stayed with me ever since.”

“That’s Christmas?! I thought it would be something exciting like the presents that the human children are gathering”

“No little one, it’s not. Christmas is a birthday. The birthday of the human little one who carried the light from that beautiful, bright star. As he grew and lived his life, he gave light to all that needed or wanted it.”

“So humans think that presents are the just like the light?”

“Unfortunately many do. In reality, giving is the part of Christmas more important than any of the presents.”

“So if I give my mom a flower – or give you time to nap – am I being sort of like Christmas?”

“Yes, you certainly are, little one.”

“But that happens any time, not on any special day.”

“I know, child. That also means that you can give Christmas presents all year long to anyone you feel like.” 

With that, Ellie set about gathering flowers in her tiny trunk to give to her mother who would soon be home. Curling her little trunk across Mr. Snappy’s broad back she said softly “Mr. Snappy, you go for your nap now and I’ll make sure that my mom doesn’t wake you up when she comes to get me. Merry Christmas.”

“Every gift which is given, even though it be small,

is in reality great, if it is given with affection.”

~ Pindar

A Tiny Story from my Mantle

A Tiny Story from my Mantle 

The big white owl flew silently from dry rustling grasslands barely covered with thin and worn blankets of snow all the way to the edge of a deep forest to the little evergreen tree decorated with lights and with toys. Snow filled wild wind whistled and danced around hills and rocks, through trees stripped bare of summer leaves. The old owl was always certain that gifts would be under the little tree. Gifts for the old couple that lived over the hill and down the road just past an old town that twinkled with candle light in windows trimmed with snow and icicles.

There is no reality as bright and magical as a starry moonlit night over snow covered fields. The magic of these nights and the little tree that sparkled and shone at the edge of the forest drew field mice and rabbits to discover the little tree. No one ever knew who decorated the tree each year, and no one knew who cleared the snow and placed the presents there. Children from the tiny town made forbidden forays to the edge of the Great Evergreen Forest each year just before Christmas when the moon rode full in the starry-dark night sky. Elven shadows danced and elven music drifted in the cold night air. The children were certain and told each other marvellous stories of their nights in the snow. The grand snowy owl watched over the children on these nights filled with glitter and excitement. He spread his wings to his nest in grasslands only when the children were all back in their sturdy homes and tucked safely in their beds.

“That’s the thing about magic; you’ve got to know it’s still here, 

all around us, or it just stays invisible for you.”

~ Charles de Lint

Crossing an Ocean

Flowing rapidly over pebbles and rocks ~ tepid water reached over ankle and shin

Reality varied with each task on the desk ~ each client awaiting their care.

Wading steadily til an end was in sight ~ colleagues offered to help all the way

At day’s end, an ocean had been crossed.

         “Flow with whatever may happen and let your mind be free.

Stay centered by accepting whatever you are doing. This is the ultimate.”

~ Zhuangzi

One Size Fits All

Gratitude has made up the core of today.
In the past two days, Christmas movies have played,
decorations added to mantle, piano and table
and any other flat surface, truth be known.
Although memories of Christmas’s past play a great part in the why of decorating hearth and home,
another and maybe more important memory is 
preparations for company.
So I busied myself with arrangements
for guests this morning in my tiny garden suite.

Gratitude is the real topic of this conversation.
As I welcomed each of my friends into my home
I was blessed hugs and with unexpected Christmas gifts.
One of them is this real  Christmas tree!
So beautifully tiny that any of my decorations would
bend and break it. 

This date on the calendar was for many years a dreaded date.
Today, this circle of friends clinked Christmas coffee mugs
in honour of my mother, 
then all other mothers (including ourselves), 
then grandmothers (also including most of us)
and great-grandmothers (one of the group!)

Gratitude has no size yet fits perfectly in the
tiniest 
most expansive of spaces
any space inbetween

Gratitude doesn’t belong to anyone or
to any particular group in any of our societies.
Gratitude is often accompanied by laughter and joy; 
but can be delivered with grave sincerity.
Gratitude can be a reality, and ultimately is a choice.
Opportunities to be grateful abound each and every day.

“Piglet noticed that even though he had a Very Small Heart,

it could hold a rather large amount of Gratitude.”

~ A.A.Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

Giggles at Christmas

Giggles at Christmas

"When do you think Santa’s coming?”

My brother, Sam, and I were whispering because we weren’t supposed to be up. And we weren’t supposed to be downstairs. Santa had not even been here yet! We really had tried to go to sleep, each in our rooms separated by a short hallway. As soon as our parents closed our doors and went downstairs, we opened them quietly so we could call to each other. But crept quietly back to our beds and closed our eyes tight. We both lay stiff and still even pretending to snore, certain that even pretend snoring would help us to go to sleep, or at least prove to our parents that we were asleep. All it did was make us giggle. “You kids be quiet! Santa can’t come if there’s giggling kids around.” Each of us grabbed a stuffed toy and cuddled under our covers, eyes shut tight again, but the giggling wouldn’t stop.

“Your mom and I are just going outside to take Butch for his walk. Then we’ll be in the garage for a few minutes. Now, you kids settle down.”

As soon as we heard that, we both popped up in bed as though someone had released a catch on a spring. Eyes wide open now, fingers in front of pursed lips we tiptoed to the edge of the stairs holding out breath. I had jingle bells on my red Christmas slippers that made too much noise and that my brother thought were dumb. He always went barefoot, so I took my slippers off and went barefoot too. Just as we reached the top of the stairs, we heard the garage door open and then slam shut.

Sam said “Come on. It’s safe to go downstairs.”

With cold bare feet, we stepped carefully on the thick carpet at the top of the stairs, and listened to make sure there was no one in the house.

“Sam, aren’t you glad Butch had to go out?”

“Yeah, he would be making too much noise. He doesn’t know how to be quiet like us.”

Satisfied that there was just the two of us, we edged down the stairs, our little hearts beating fast.

“Oh, look at the lights! Aren’t they beautiful?”

“You can’t even see them yet! What are you talking about?”

‘Brothers!’ I thought and then said “Of course you can’t see them but the glow from them is beautiful.”  

Out loud, Sam said “Well then, why didn’t you say that.”

“Shhh. We have to be quiet”

“Why? There’s no one here.”

“If we talk loud we won’t hear if anyone comes in! So just be quiet...”

This conversation carried us down the flight of four stairs to the landing. Rounding the first step after the landing the Christmas tree came in to full view. It was glorious with all the lights reflecting from the Christmas ornaments and tinsel. The tinsel had been hung absolutely perfectly, each strand draped delicately beside the next. Sparkle and glitter softened at the top by lights under a cloud of angel hair. Our Christmas Angel, with the family for as long as my eight year old mind could remember, rode high atop the magical tree, her hand out in welcome, her wings set to fly.

My brother raced ahead of me. “There must have been company! Look at all the presents now!”  

The amazing eight foot tree stood in a corner. Out from it’s lower branches was a circle of presents that had not been there when we went to bed. Our stockings, the old brown ones that we had to wear to school every day were limp and waiting expectantly for Santa.

Then we froze. The back door opened and before mom or dad could see us we raced back upstairs, closed the doors to our rooms quietly, jumped into bed and looked like we were asleep by the time our parents came to check on us. We were certain that they never knew the difference. In reality, our parents had known all along.

“Children have one kind of silliness, as you know, 

and grown-ups have another kind.”

~ C.S.Lewis