Empty Handed on Mother’s Day

It happens a few times a year.

My son goes to the mall.  He comes home.  He closes the door a little harder than he needs to.  He stomps up the stairs.

I stop him and ask “What the heck is the matter with you?”

“You don’t like anything.” he replies and goes to his room.

My husband overhears it all.  He sits in his chair and he has a little laugh.

“Oh, my God!  He’s worse than me.” he says every time.

I don’t have to ask “What was that all about?”  I figured it out long, long ago.

I have a birthday coming up.  Christmas is a few days away.  Mother’s Day.  This means my son has to come up with the perfect gift and it makes his nerves jangle.  He has his debit card in hand……………he can afford anything his eyes light upon……………but he can’t make a decision.

He comes home empty handed and accuses me of “Not liking anything.”

He somehow fights through the indecision and huge flood of choices for birthdays and Christmas.  I’ve used everything he’s ever given me…………from jewelry………….to sweaters………to cookie jars.  I think he has very nice taste.

But, Mother’s Day stumps him.

Nothing sold in this world is right for me.

He’s four days late this year.  I’ve seen him coming and going.  I see his pain.  But, there is really nothing I can do for him.

Except for this.

“Where have you been?” I asked tonight.

“To the Hallmark store.  I wanted to get you something for Mother’s Day.  But, it was all stupid crap, Mom.  Do you really want a coffee mug that you can also put bacon chili in? That’s the kind of stupid crap they’re selling.  I mean how much more specific can you get?  A mug that you drink coffee in and then eat chili from…………….that’s the kind of stuff I spent an hour looking at.  You don’t like anything.” he said as he went to escape from my attention.

“Stop right there!” I admonished.  “Look around.  You bought me this, and that, and the shirt I’m wearing.  I love or at least like it all.  You made me a beautiful dinner on Mother’s Day.  Okay, I wouldn’t have chosen wild boar…………but, I liked it a lot.  I even ate the leftovers.  You bought the groceries.  You made the meal.  I didn’t have to cook.  I was happy.” I said.

I tried to take away a burden of his own making.

“Why can’t you just buy me a mug?  A bunch of flowers?  A tee shirt for Mother’s Day?  What is the problem?” I asked.

“Because, nothing is good enough to give you.  To thank you for being my mother?  I don’t think that thing exists.  I look but I can’t find it.” he said in exasperation.

“That’s all I need.” I said.

“That’s the best gift I’ve ever been given.” I added.

“The one I’ll never forget.”

 

 

A Moving Christmas Surprise

My wagon was dragging.  Don’t know what that means?  Oh, it was a saying of my mother’s.  It means you’re so tired it’s hard to walk across a room.

It was December.  Our baby was 10 months old.  We’d spent the last ten months figuring out how to parent……………oh, and build a house.

Looking back on it……..my wagon is dragging just thinking about it.  Oh, the energy that comes with youth.

My husband decided the baby would be in the new house for Christmas.  I argued just a little.

“But, things aren’t quite finished yet.  No molding.  Um………….the kitchen sink isn’t hooked up yet.  The dishwasher is still sitting in a box. “I complained.

“The toilet flushes.  The bath tub is hooked up.  Moving trucks are coming.  Start throwing all this stuff in boxes.  I’m not paying to heat two houses.  I’ve already told the landlord that we’re out of here.” my husband replied.

He was so happy thinking about celebrating Christmas in the house that he’d built for us……………I got packing.  Oh, that’s not so easy with a baby.  I put her in a cardboard box with a few toys…………….leaned her up against a wall……………and she watched me box up hundreds of books.

Family was called.  A moving van was rented.  A dozen people can empty out a first apartment pretty quickly.

It was a whirlwind.

I sat on a couch in my new living room.  A dozen people sat around quietly eating sandwiches and pizzas from a place I found in the new town.  I was sitting there thinking I didn’t like the couch on this wall at all…………….when my mother broke the silence.

“What’s the date today?” she asked.

“December 6th, I think, Ma.  God!  I’m so tired I don’t even know what month it is and you ask me?” I said as I stole her pickle.

“December 18th then.  I can’t hold them off any longer.” she said as if that made sense.

“What’s December 18th?” I asked.  I don’t think I wanted to know.  I was that pooped.

“A surprise house warming party.  I can’t keep the girls away any longer.  You’ve been so busy they want to get their hands on that baby.  They want to see the new house they’ve been hearing so much about.  So, a surprise party.  Here.  With the girls.  A car load of them. On the 18th.” she rattled off as she stole her pickle back.

The girls?  Oh, they were a pack of my mother’s best friends.  They all lived on the same street.  They’d spent the last 30 years in each other’s kitchens.  They had a set Tuesday of every month where they would hit a new restaurant, a gift store, a doll museum…………….now, it seems my new house was their next destination.

“Oh, dear God!  Ma!  Please, what are you trying to do to me?” I wailed as all the movers waved goodbye to me.  I think they thought it was a good moment to get the hell out of there.

“Oh, don’t panic.  I’m not leaving you in this mess.  Ralph………..bring in the suitcase.  Bring in the sheets………..make up the bed in the ……………which room is the spare room?  The green room.  We’re staying a few days.  We’ll hang all the new curtains you made.  Michael………….put those curtain rods up after you finish your beer.  Darlene and I are unpacking the kitchen and bathroom.”  she ordered as she picked up sandwich wrappers and paper cups.

“Ralph!  After you empty our car………….you’re on baby duty.” my mother finished with a clap of her hands.

I lie back on the sofa.  I stared at the ceiling and moaned.  I moaned loader.

“Oh, cut the crap.  You’re young.  Finish that diet cola.  You’ll get your second wind.” my mother bossed.

We got a lot done in a few days.  My husband escaped to work.  My father held a baby in one arm and hung curtains with the other.  Something tells me he’d done it before.  He was that good at it.  My mother picked all the right cupboards for my kitchen stuff.  I think she even alphabetized my spice rack.

“Okay.  I’m not nosy.  But, I just unpacked everything you own.  Now, I know what to tell the girls.” she announced as she prepared to leave.

“Huh?  What to tell the girls? ” I asked as I said goodbye to them on the driveway.

“They want to bring you presents.  For your new house.  Your towels are pitiful.  What color do you want?  Your largest frying pan is a dented up mess.  You could use a few more lamps for the living room.  I’m thinking two small lamps and a floor lamp.  Do you even own dish cloths and towels?  I never came across any.” she said as my father put the station wagon into reverse.

I think Daddy had had enough.  Although, he had offered ten times to take that baby home with him for a week.

I put my hand out and stopped my father from moving the car.

“Ma!  First of all, thanks to you both for all the help.  Second of all…………………….how can this be a SURPRISE party if you told me about it? ” I asked.

“Oh, good.  Glad you brought that up.  It is not a surprise because I am not having those women walk in on you when you are wearing those God AWFUL sweat pants.  No shower.  Baby covered in oatmeal.  So, when we march through your door you ACT surprised.  Dress up.  Hair.  Makeup.  Put that baby in her new red velvet dress I bought her for Christmas photos. ” she said.  “We’ll talk about it more on the phone.  Your father is itching to go.  Bye!”

“What do I feed them?” I asked as they started to pull away.

“Not a thing.  We’re bringing all the food.  They can’t wait to surprise you!  I suppose it wouldn’t be terrible if you just happened to bake a cake.  Nothing fancy.  And, there should be a piece missing from it.” she said as they sailed out of the driveway.

I guess the surprise was that the girls thought I was going to be surprised.  Okay.

On December 18th the house was shining.  The Christmas tree glowed in the corner.  My little rocking chair from my own childhood sat near the tree.  That was by design.  I knew a few of the girls would come with cameras.

I saw the car slow in front of the house.  I knew my mother was probably in the front seat of that car trying to figure out if she indeed had the right house.  I plopped the baby wearing a red velvet dress in her swing.  I wound her up.  I set the swing to rocking.  She clapped her hands together.

“It’s surprise time, baby!”  I said as I pretended to fold a load of towels on the dining room table.  I thought that was a nice touch.  Looked like I wasn’t expecting company that way.  I always wear lipstick at home.  My hair is always curled on a Tuesday.  Babies always wear red velvet while swinging and eating Cheerios.

I saw the girls all pile out of the station wagon.  Oh, poor Daddy!  He had been talked into being the chauffeur.  I was glad that I had made a coconut cake………….his favorite.  I watched every one stand at the back of the car.  Load their arms up with plates of food.  What I thought was a new coffee maker.  Presents.  There was even a new wreath for my door.

My eyes watered as I watched the girls march towards my front door.  A line of ladies with their arms full of love for me.  The girls that had held me when I was a baby.  Had soothed me when I had an earache.  They were all at my baptism and First Communion.  My school concerts.  They had written me letters when I was lonely at college.  My bridal shower.  My wedding.  My baby shower.  They hadn’t missed any of it.

I laughed with joy and burst into tears when I opened the door to them.

I was surprised after all.

 

 

 

 

Christmas Shopping With My Mother

I am a solitary shopper.

I learned early on that shopping with friends doesn’t work out for me.  I would come home and model new clothing all alone in my bedroom when I was a teenager.  I would be appalled at what my friends had talked me into buying.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing in the mirror.

I knew I’d never wear the jeans with the butterflies crawling all over my butt.  A red shirt with rhinestones on the cuffs.  What the heck?  It would all go back to the store.

I’d return all the merchandise and replace it with things that didn’t make my eyes water.

I earned my own spending money from the age of 12.  I had a paper route because I didn’t like to baby sit.  Babies terrified me.  The few times I got talked into it……….I ended up sitting with a little boy that would scream “No, you She Devil!” every time I came near him.  A one year old girl that banged her head against the crib………..her mother said it was her way of pacifying herself.

I told that mother to buy the kid a helmet.  I never went back.

I got myself a paper route.

My mother gave up hope that I’d ever give her grandchildren.

But, there was a pair of ladies that I did like to shop with.  Oh, I wouldn’t actually buy anything when I was with them.  I was there for the show.  I tagged along for the entertainment.

I was sixteen and got a job at a local take out restaurant.  Christmas was coming.  My mother all of a sudden got interested in my work schedule.

“Write down on the calendar when you have to work.” she told me.  So, I did.  I knew what she was up to.  I had just gotten my driver’s license.  My mother and her best friend didn’t drive.  I was going to be their chauffeur.

“I’d like to book you for Wednesday and Thursday nights this week.  To drive me and Rose to Grants.  We want to do our Christmas shopping without men breathing down our necks.  Men hurry us.  You won’t hurry us………….will you?  I am your mother after all.  I gave birth to you.  You weighed ten pounds.  It hurt like hell……………so I figure you can take us shopping and have some patience.   If we get it all done on Wednesday ………..we’ll take you to the new Chinese restaurant for dinner on Thursday.”

My mother always could make me laugh like hell.  Especially, when she wasn’t trying to be funny.

“I can take you two shopping I suppose.  Is this where I hear about your stretch marks?  What was it, Ma?  Eighty…………ninety hours of labor?  Really.  I don’t need the dramatic stories.  I am perfectly happy to drive you and Rose to Grants.  And, I won’t rush you. ” I added as she glared at me.

You would have given them a ride too.  Rose and my mother were like hanging out with Laurel and Hardy.  Abbott and Costello.  The closest comparison is probably Lucy and Ethel.

My mother Ellie was a statuesque beauty.  5’9″ tall with amazing dark auburn hair.  Big green eyes.  A quick smile.  A laugh she liked to share.  She carried herself like a monarch.

Rose was like a tiny little bird.  She might be only four and a half feet tall…………but she added another foot in height with her teased black hair.  She had the softest most melodic voice.  Cats would run to her and rub against her ankles when she spoke.  She was tiny so she always wore high heels.  No matter what she was doing…………..she clicked around on stiletto heels.

I asked her once at a family picnic…………….”Don’t your feet hurt in those shoes?”  She answered “I haven’t felt my feet since 1948, honey. Go and get me some more deviled eggs.”

So, on Wednesday night I pulled into Grants parking lot.  I took up two spaces.  I didn’t mean to, but that’s how bad I was at parking when I first started driving.  The ladies exited the station wagon clutching their purses.

They each had a glint in their eyes.

Grants had started out as a good old fashioned Five And Dime store.  It still housed the original luncheonette with it’s red leather stools.  All the waitresses were original too.  Original hair nets. The store was becoming a “department store”.  The line of merchandise expanded every year.

This was an old fashioned store.  The kind you’d like to go back and revisit if you could.  Things weren’t displayed on shelves.  Everything was laid out on big huge tables with shelving on the sides.  It smelled like popcorn.  The front windows were hidden by stacks of things for sale and by bucking bronco kiddie rides that ran on a nickle.

The two women always started out sharing a cart.  I pushed.  I was the purse guard.  They each had a little notebook.  They flipped them open.  Names were listed with amounts next to the name.  They were on a budget.  They used only cash so this was important.

Each of these women were in possession of at least one of those new fangled credit cards.  But, their men had them terrified of actually using them.

I witnessed my father giving my mother her credit card.  We sat at the little maple table in our kitchen.  He pushed the red and white square of plastic towards her.  But, he wouldn’t take his big square finger off of it until he’d given her the “Evils of Credit Cards” speech.

This speech included phrases like …………..fifteen percent interest…………only in an emergency………….selling my soul to the devil……………if you use this I will burst into flames.  No matter where I am.  I’ll be nothing but a small pile of ashes.

Yes, my father could get quite dramatic.

So, these two ladies jotted down prices.  They added tax.  Because they were going to pay with cash at that register.

They filled that cart in a half an hour.  They were completely done with their shopping that fast.

Oh, I wasn’t fooled.  Things had just started.

This is when they would continue looking around.  Just because it felt good to get out of the house.  Just because the store was so brimming and shining for Christmas.  Because they had a chauffeur that wasn’t rushing them.

This is where they would start to change their minds.  Things would get put back.  Then they’d return to pick that item up again.

I talked them out of the velour shirts.  Velour was brand new.  I know how enticing it is to touch.  I know how velvet like it is.  But, I knew the men in my life were not going to wear almost velvet shirts.  I told them their original choice of flash lights was a much better bet.

That’s when we picked up the store detective.

My two women stiffened up.  They whispered to each other.

They were being followed.

This female store detective was an original too.  She’d been hired right along with the now gray haired waitresses.  I remembered her from when I was a little girl being pushed around this store in a cart.  I would be covered with purses and coats and boxes of Whitman’s Samplers.  Even I knew her face.

I turned to the store detective.  I was all grown up now.  I had a driver’s license.  I felt pretty protective of my women.

“They’re not stealing you know.  They’re just indecisive.  On a budget.  They’re going to change their minds ten times because…………..I’m not rushing them.  We’re going to take a break in about an hour.  Meet you over in the luncheonette?  We’ll buy you a grilled cheese and tomato soup.” I said to the woman skulking behind the display of bride dolls.

The woman grinned at me.

“Look at you all grown up!  Meet you three ladies in the luncheonette in an hour.  Tell your mother that the red light specials are about to start up.” she said as she left to skulk around someone else.

A red light on a tall pole lit up and spun around like the beacon on an ambulance.  A voice came over a loudspeaker.

“Hello, Christmas shoppers!  For ten minutes only……………….our red light special is in the Men’s Department.  Fruit of the Loom heavy sweatpants for all the men in your life!  Keep your boys warm when they’re out shoveling snow this winter!  Only $1.00 a pair for the next ten minutes!” said the disembodied voice on the loudspeaker.

Mom and Rose ran for the red light.

I walked.

I came around the corner and witnessed my mother and a big lady wearing a men’s flannel shirt in a tug of war.  Between them was a stack of men’s sweatpants sized X-tra large.

The competition was on.

“Mom.  Mom?  Mom!!!  What do you need with eight pairs of grey sweatpants.  Whatever they are.  One pair is enough.  Let go.  Step away.  Let the lady have a pair of sweatpants, Ma!”  I shouted in my mother’s ear.

Boy, she could get competitive over the weirdest stuff.

My father got four pairs of XL gray sweatpants under the tree that year.  My father was not an extra large man………………….

Two teeny bopper cashiers were standing under the red light with their price guns at the ready.  Ready to mark the Fruit of the Loom down to a mere dollar.  By the time the crowd of women calmed down……………..those two little pimply faced girls were shaking.

I loved this stuff!  You know you would have too!

The red light special lamp was on wheels.  The three of us watched it being wheeled towards the toy section.  I was the youngest in the family.  There were no grandchildren yet.  These women should have lost interest when the red light went towards the toys.

But, no!

“Good evening shoppers!  Santa needs a little help this year!  Do you know a little girl that would love to find an exclusive 1973 Deluxe Bride Doll under the tree?  We know you do!” said the announcement as the red light started swirling and making it’s siren noise.

My mother, Rose and the shopping cart barrelled towards the toy section.

“Ma!  Rose!  You do not have any little girls on your list!  Do you just like being in the middle of a riot?” I called after them.

I guess they did.

I stood back as a crowd of women terrorized the same two sales associates holding pricing guns.

Mom and Rose both came out of the heap holding one bride doll apiece.

The gorgeous dolls were marked down to $3.00 a piece.  I remembered back to other trips to stores like this when I was a tiny little girl.  How many times did I beg for a bride doll?  How many times did I get turned down?

My mother looked up at me.  The frenzy left her eyes.

“What in the hell are we going to do with these dolls?” she asked Rose.

“I don’t frigging know!” yelled Rose.  “I just ran and grabbed one because you did!”

I took the dolls out of their hands and put them on the bottom of the cart.

“I’ll pay for those.” I said.  “The Marines are collecting toys outside.  I really, really liked the looks of those Marines.  Maybe that’s what I’ll ask Santa for this year.”

“A doll?” my mother asked.

“Jesus, Ellie!  Darlene doesn’t want a doll.  She wants herself a Marine!” crowed Rose with a big grin on her face.

“Oh, dear God.” whispered my mother.

You see why I loved shopping with these two?

I glanced at my watch.

“Mom.  Food.  Now.  Feed me.  Grilled cheese.  Tomato soup.  Pepsi.  Now.  Over there!  There’s a table free.  And, our date is waiting.” I said as I pushed the two women over to the  luncheonette railing.  I parked the cart and greeted the store detective.

Mom and Rose glared at me.  I had invited their nemesis to eat with us?  The woman that had been following them around for ten years?  This woman had been skulking behind displays for so many years…………….my mother knew the squeak of her sneakers.

The four of us ordered and ate and surprisingly………….had a great old time.

“All these years………..I have never ever thought you were thieves.  I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.  But, I miss my sisters.  I have four of them………….and you two are just so much fun!  The way you argue and put things back.  And, fight over something when it’s the last one.  I guess I just wanted to be shopping with you.  And, then?  Your daughter invites me to eat with you!  This is great!  Dinner is on me.” the store detective said.

We ate and then gave the store detective a hug and said “See you next year!”

We went to check out.  Rose paid for her stuff and had a dollar to spare.  My mother loaded up the counter.  She was two dollars short.  She stiffened up and breathed funny.

“Oh, my God!  I’m going to have to use my charge card!  Your poor father.  He’s going to self combust! This is totally going to ruin his Christmas.” she whispered to me.

I opened my purse and handed her the money she needed.

“You have money?  Why didn’t you do any Christmas shopping then?” she asked me.

“I shop alone.” I replied.

I paid for the two beautiful bride dolls.  And, we headed out the door.

“You ladies load up the car while I go and talk with the Marines.” I said as I walked away.

Both of those young Marines were very nice by the way.  They both asked for my phone number.  They both lost interest as soon as I told them my Daddy was a Marine.  WWII.  Drill Sergeant.

“Darlene!  You are sixteen years old.  Do not bring home a Marine for Christmas!” my mother said loud enough for the boys in uniform to hear.

What a wing man.  Thanks Ma!

“Ellie!” Rose hissed.  “Get in the car!  Darlene likes to shop alone!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mother’s Day

 

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For a very sentimental person……………..I can be very unsentimental about certain things.

Take cemeteries for instance.  I spent every Memorial Day decorating graves with my parents.  I went along.  I stood next to them while they spent a few moments remembering olden times.  I pulled weeds.  I carried cans of water from the spigot that never stopped dribbling water.  I got on my knees and planted geraniums.

I even told them how I felt about it all way back then.

“They’re not here you know.” I said to no one while I dug a hole for a plant.

But, my mother heard me.

“No, they’re not.  I understand that.  But, their house is gone.  I need a place to come to.  So, here we are.” she said as she sniffed at an ancient lilac bush close by.

I understood her need to be there.

“They’re here……..and here.” I said as I touched my heart and my temple.

Later we went to Ma’s youngest sisters house.  The kitchen was full of her siblings.  The eldest was no longer there.  He had passed away.  I suppose I had just planted a geranium for him.  I’d lost count.

“So, who here remembers the day that Uncle Jimmy came home from the war?” I asked the room full of people.

Oh, that got them talking.  They all remembered it.  How tan he was.  How thin he was.  All of their reactions seeing him come through the door.  They got animated.  They laughed and shed a few tears.

I gazed over at my mother while I listened to the stories.

She smiled at me and touched her heart and her temple.

“There you are!” I told her. “You found him.”

My parents are both gone now.  I know how to find my way to the cemetery where they lie side by side.  I have gone to visit a few times.  You wouldn’t believe the rules they have about what days you can leave flowers.  What type of containers.  How long you can leave them.  Instead I say a prayer.  I blow them a kiss.  I touch my heart and my temple.

My brother still lives near the town where we grew up.  I know he misses them as much as I do.  He sent me a photo of their house.  It belongs to someone else now.  It looks a little forlorn and sad.

“You should see it!  These people are a bunch of slobs.  You should see the crap all over the driveway.” he texted me.

“Stop driving past that house.”I counseled him.  “They’re not there anymore.  Look around your own place.  Touch their bedroom furniture in your spare room and say ‘There you are!”  Look at the shed Daddy helped you build.  ‘There you are!’  Mom’s collection of little colored glass bottles on your window sill.  ‘There you are!’  Plant a lilac in your own yard in memory of her.  Drink a beer in memory of Daddy.”

He listened and understood what I was trying to say.  But, I still think he’ll drive by the house.  He won’t be able to help himself.

I look around this room as I type.  All the things they gave me say ‘There you are!’  I see my mother and father in my children’s faces.  Their mannerisms.  My daughter’s voice matches my mother’s almost exactly.

I still see and hear my parents every day in some little way.  In my dreams.  In the mirror when I look at myself.

I bring them back to me every time I write their stories.

I write those stories in my head.  They are pretty complete when my fingers finally touch a keyboard.

This story was missing something and wasn’t going to be written today.

Until, I walked down to the mailbox.

My mother gave me a big pot of violets as a housewarming gift thirty years ago.

“Oh, no.  Don’t put them on the porch.  You plant them in the yard.  In the grass.  And, every spring the color purple will greet you when you are tired of winter.  When you see the johnny jump ups you’ll think of me.” she explained as she helped me plant them in the side yard.

I wasn’t noticing anything going to the mailbox.  I noticed the yard is greening up on the way back up the steep driveway.  Almost time to get the lawn mower going I thought.

And, then I noticed the purple.  Spread across my whole yard.  No longer contained to a small spot on the side yard.

“There you are just in time for Mother’s Day.” I said out loud as I touched my heart and temple.

 

 

Part II: A String of Lights

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Okay.  I admit it.  I might get just a little carried away decorating for Christmas.  My family is used to it.  You might even think they’re a little embarrassed by my over abundance of holiday decor.  But, the year I don’t bother with the Christmas village?  Oh, I hear about it.

I stay home for Christmas.  People come to me.  They come for my husband’s cooking.  The cookies.  The wine.  The gourmet chocolates.  The presents.  But, mostly they come because this is home.

This past Christmas was different.

My daughter and husband couldn’t come to us for the holiday.  My daughter had been hired to play Mary Poppins for the month of December into January.  Oh, she’d done this once before.  And, I had missed it.

I missed it because the thought of traveling by air……………across a whole country……….fighting snow and ice storms…………….and every other imaginary but could turn out to be real problem stopped me.

I don’t sneeze at second chances.  I grab a hold of them.  I tell myself ………….what’s the worse that can happen?  I have to spend a few days in Chicago in a hotel ordering room service.  I have a credit card.  I’m not afraid to use it.

So, my husband and I made the trip.  We spent the week before Christmas having a wonderful time away from home.  We cooked at our rented bungalow.  We ate at nice restaurants.  We enjoyed quality quantity time with my daughter and her husband.

And, we watched our daughter sing and dance and fly as Mary Poppins four times.

The weather cooperated.  The airline cooperated.  It got us home in time for Christmas with our son.  He had stayed behind to work.  To take care of the house.  To keep the cat alive.

He was left with a list of stuff to do in our absence.  Things like the trash cans need to hit the curb on Sunday night.  Bring in the mail.  Don’t open any cartons from Amazon because they’re from Santa.  But, most importantly……………get to the grocery store.

“We’re arriving home at 1 am on Christmas morning.  You are the Christmas cook.  Pick a menu.  Do the shopping.  Do the cooking.  We are going to be jolly jet lagged people on Christmas Day.” I told him.

We walked through our own door in the wee hours of Christmas morning.

A string of Christmas lights on the front porch greeted us.

We walked through the door to wonderful aromas coming from the kitchen.  Our son was up late doing something with butter and onions to prepare a goose for the next day.

He had vacuumed.  Oh, that doesn’t sound important.  But it kind of is.  We own a very fluffy white shedding cat.  We have very dark carpets.

The washing machine chugged away with a load of towels.

The dishwasher burped and churned away in the kitchen.

All of the Christmas gifts that I had wrapped and stacked in a corner……………were now arranged around the tree.

I looked around me in amazement.  I had no idea my son was so capable.  All of it was a Christmas present he couldn’t put a bow on.

My husband and I gave the midnight cook a hug as we were glad to see him.

“So……………Mom.  Towels in the washer.  Dishes are washing.  I put all the presents under the tree.  Just one thing…………..I couldn’t figure out how to plug the thing in.” he confessed.

I smiled and walked into the living room.  I found a place to put my foot among the pile of presents.  I bent over and found the cord.  I found the outlet.

A string of lights now glowed on the tree and made all of my son’s efforts ……………brilliantly perfect.

 

 

A String of Christmas Lights

 

I made up my mind in less than a minute.

I wasn’t going to miss this again.  I kicked myself the last time.  I told myself I’d never forgive me.  And, now I was being given a second chance.

I read the email and turned around.  I stared at the back of my husband’s head as he played solitaire on his computer.

“I need you to do something for me.  Get on the internet.  Book us flights to Oregon for the week before Christmas.  I want to be home for Christmas Day.  Find us flights and give me the dates.  Buy the tickets tonight.  Then, I’m going on line and booking us theater tickets.” I told my husband’s shoulders.

“What?  What are you talking about?  You don’t leave home at Christmas time.  Why are we going to Oregon at this time of year?” he wanted to know as he brought up Southwest Airlines on his computer.

“Chrissy just wrote to me.  She’s flying again!  She’s playing Mary Poppins for the month of December into January.  And, I am not missing this again. ” I explained.

He got a big grin on his face and he started tapping in travel destination and dates.

I wrote to my daughter.  “We’re coming.  Find us a place to stay.  A week……….but we will be home on Christmas Day.  I won’t leave your brother alone on Christmas.”

Our daughter got as excited as we were.  She was going to have her parents for an early Christmas.  A whole week!  She sent me links to great places on Air B&B.  I looked at photos for a day.  I made my choice.  I booked a two bedroom bungalow with a fully equipped kitchen.  My husband is a cook.

We arrived in Portland, Oregon.  I used my new cell phone to give us directions to our bungalow.  We arrived to find out daughter sitting on the deck.  We got out of the car and my husband watched my daughter and I do our dance.  We squealed.

You squeal when you haven’t seen your child in a year.

The bungalow was as pictured.  It was a beautiful little private house.  I loved the downy soft king sized bed.  My husband was impressed that the kitchen came with every gadget he would need to cook for all of us.  The only thing we found wrong was that the bathroom fan sounded like an angry lion.

My daughter had a day off.  They’re called “dark days” at the theater.

She had already filled our refrigerator with salad fixings.  Cheese and crackers.  Teas and coffees.  Muffins.  And, most importantly a few bottles of wine.

“I know you’re probably tired.  But, this is my one day to finish my Christmas shopping for Jake.  Do you mind going to Macy’s?  Or, do you want to nap or something? she asked.

“We both slept on the plane.  Oh, look!  Soup!  Crackers.  Cheese.  Chardonnay.  Let us have a snack and we’ll go Christmas shopping.” I said.

My husband only sleeps six hours a night.  He was fine with getting dragged around a department store.  As long as his daughter was there with him.

Our daughter spent a few hours picking out some presents for her husband.  Before we left the store I asked if she knew where Christmas decorations were.  She pointed to a corner with a question on her face.

“What do you need with the Christmas decoration section, Mom?” she asked.

“I need a long string of lights.  Oh, these are nice.  Red, green and white.  Perfect.” I said as I tucked the box under my arm.

She looked at me a little sadly.

“Oh, Mommy.  I took you away from your house when it’s all decorated for Christmas.  Your beautiful tree.  Your nativity.  Your Christmas village.  The collection of snowmen.  Oh, Mommy…………I’m sorry.  That’s sad. ” she said.

“Don’t be silly.  All I need is you and one string of lights.” I answered.

We stopped at the grocery store.  My husband bought everything he needed to make us all filet mignon and veggies.  Cheesy potatoes.  The man is a whiz in the kitchen.  My son in law showed up after his day at work.  We did the dance and squeal once again.

While my husband cooked………………I arranged all the gifts we had brought in their colorfully decorated Christmas bags.  I plugged in the string of lights and ran them all along the shelving unit.  I stood back and smiled.

There!  One string of lights and now it was Christmas.

My son in law found an hour long video of a crackling fire on the television Roku.  Believe it or not………….it actually made the room feel warmer.

My daughter still shook her head……………….”Oh, Mommy.  You decorate every inch of your house……………..I’m sorry to take you away from that.” she said once again.

“Oh, don’t be silly!  Go eat your steak!  Tomorrow I get to see Mary Poppins fly!” I said with a lot of glee.

We had a wonderful evening ……………eating and catching up.  Enjoying our daughter’s company before she got busy doing two shows a day.  Fitting in her parents when she could.

We parted at the door.  The glow from the colored lights were beautiful with the fake fireplace crackling along.

“The phone will give us directions to the theater.  We’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.  Then we’ll find some place to have dinner downtown.” I said as I gave them hugs.

My husband and I relaxed the next morning.  He actually read a whole book while I slept and showered.  We had a few hours before we headed out to the theater.

A knock came at the door.

It was our daughter.  She stood before me with her hair up in a wet pony tail.  Yoga pants and a sweatshirt.  Hard to tell that she would look like a perfect sophisticated Mary Poppins in a few hours.  With perfect hair and makeup.

She shoved a topiary tree into my hands.  She shoved a plastic tub full of Christmas decorations through the door with her foot.

“Here!  I can’t come in.  I have to be at the theater in an half an hour.  We don’t put up this tree until Christmas Eve anyways.  Tonight we’ll come back here and decorate.  You have to have a tree for Christmas, Mom.  I just can’t stand you not having a tree.” she said as she ran back to her car.

I stood holding a tree with my mouth wide open while she backed out of the driveway.  She waved and beeped the horn.

“What the hell is that?” my husband asked.

“A Christmas tree.  It seems Chrissy was sad that I only had one set of lights.  She brought us her Christmas decorations.” I explained.

A few hours later found us in a sold out theater.  We were surrounded by families.  Little girls were dressed like Mary Poppins.  The little girl sitting next to us couldn’t sit still because she was so excited.  She told me that after the show…………..she was actually going to get to meet Mary Poppins.  She was going to get her picture taken with her.

“I hope she’s nice in real life.” she told me earnestly.

“Oh, she is.” I answered

She narrowed her eyes at me.

“You talk like you know her.” she whispered.

“I do.  I’m her mother.” I whispered back.

“No!” she squeaked out.

“Yes!” I answered with a laugh.

“Mary Poppins has a mother?” she wanted to know.

“Yes, Mary Poppins’ mother flew all the way from New York just to see this show.” I confided to the little girl.

“Wow!  Mary Poppins mother knows how to fly too!  It runs in the family!”

 

 

To Serve and Protect: A Moderator’s Job

A friend asked me the other day…..”What is it like to moderate a Facebook page?  I’ve been asked to moderate and I wonder if it’s for me.”

I had a few questions.  What kind of group is it?  She answered that it was political in nature.  I told her to steer clear.  Unless she wants to wade through drama …….morning, noon and night.

“Moderating a Christmas page must be easy.” she said.

“Oh, some days it’s very easy.  Other days not so much.  I never say “It’s been a nice quiet day.” out loud anymore.  That’s just asking for it.” I explained.

“What’s the most important part of being a moderator?” she asked.

“Keeping the peace.” I answered at once.

“What?  How can people possibly fight about Christmas?” she wanted to know.

“Oh, a page could be about Christmas.  It could be about astrology.  It could be about rock collecting…………..it doesn’t matter.  Bullies are every where. The trouble usually comes in the comments.  Moderators read every comment on every post.  A good Facebook page is overseen by vigilant people.  We keep the tone.  We take down things that don’t fit. ” I counseled her.

“I take people out almost daily for being………………..rude.  Taking their troubles out on others.  Raining on someone’s parade.  Kicking someone just because they’re happy.” I told her.

“Do you warn them?  Do you argue back?” she wanted to know.  I think she was finding this all very intriguing.

“Very seldom.  I have replied to negative comments in the past.  It’s a big fat waste of time.  They fight back.  Because, that’s what they’re there for.  They want a fight.  It’s a waste of my time and theirs.  You can NOT win a fight with a moderator on a Facebook page.” I explained.

“Do you have a three strikes and your out rule?” she asked.

“I used to.” I replied.  “But, I’ve been at this long enough ……………..I don’t warn, I don’t argue.  I hit the remove button.”

“Why?” she asked as if I am heartless.

“Because!  I am protecting many thousands of people.  We’ve invited them into a happy place.  A spot to get away from it all.  A room full of friends.  There is peace.  There is nostalgia.  A bully has no place there.  A bully once identified?  Finds themselves out on their ear.  They can’t find the happy place anymore.  It’s like it never existed.  And, perhaps?  They learn their lesson.  Next time they find a happy, safe Facebook place?  Perhaps, they will behave themselves.”  I talked about human nature.

“A happy Facebook page?  Only happens once in a million.  It is a space that should be cherished.  A place to make friends and be supportive.  Scroll on by if something is of no interest to you.  But, be nice.  Because, if you lose your spot there?  You are going to miss it.” I added.

“When you talk about giving someone the boot…………………you sound kind of sad about it.” she said in wonder.

Like I have a power……………and I should enjoy using it.

“I don’t lose sleep over it.  Not, anymore.  I do what I have to do.  But, yes.  I feel sadness when I kick someone out.  I’m sad because the people that need a safe, loving environment most of all ruined it for themselves.  They needed the page most of all.” I said with a head shake.

“But, the admin and moderators are there to serve.  We are there to protect.” I ended with.

“And, we take that job seriously.”

 

 

The Columbus Street News

Newspapers have always been a part of my life.

My mother read three of them a day.  I fell asleep every night to the sound of Mom in her reading chair…………….turning pages.

I delivered newspapers for four years.  It was my first job and I learned a lot about business and people.

I always knew I wanted to be a writer.

When I was ten years old I wrote one edition of The Columbus Street News.

I discussed my idea over dinner.  My father smiled at me and messed up my hair.

“Sounds like a great endeavor, Little Girl.” he said.

My mother tried to stop her eyes rolling.

“You’re a reporter now?  Dear God!  You’re going to write stories about the neighbors.  I predict that this is going to be a freaking fiasco.  You’d better get your facts straight or the fur is going to fly.  Why don’t you just go and color me a picture for the refrigerator instead.” she suggested.

I was itching to give my new typewriter a work out.  And, I did.

But first.  I needed something to write about.  So, I went and interviewed the neighbors with a notebook in hand.

These people had known me from birth.  Neighbors knew every thing about each other back in the day.  They weren’t surprised when I came nosing around with my pencil at the ready.

I got quite a few answers when I asked the ladies of the neighborhood “So, what’s new?  The Columbus Street News wants to know.”

I kept away from the Dads of the street.  They mostly grunted at me in years past.  I knew I wasn’t going to get anything out of them.

The lady on the corner introduced this reporter to her new cat.  I learned it’s name.  Where it’s litter box was kept.  That the kitty had torn up her living room curtains.  And, that she figured she was going to have to tie the Christmas tree to the wall this year.

Another neighbor showed me a new set of china.  New to her.  It had belonged to her mother in law.  That lady was moving to Florida and giving everything away.

“Not sentimental about a thing……………..she said take it or I’m putting it in a garage sale.” she told me.

“Can I quote you on that?” I asked.  I knew my own mother was going to edit the crap out of this first edition.  I needed permission from my sources.

“Sure, honey.  You write it down and I’ll check it.  It’s not like the old bat is going to read this or anything.  Feels good to get it out.” she replied.

A neighbor I hardly knew told me that she was getting a pool for her backyard.  She had taken a part time job and paid for it all by herself.  She was very proud as she showed me the brochure.

“This pool will go up in late May.  It’ll keep my kids from running the streets all summer long and making me a worried wreck.  You write this down…………..I am not babysitting every kid in this neighborhood all summer. I’m not a full time lifeguard. Once a week…write this down…………once a week I will put a little flag on the mailbox.  If the flag is there………neighborhood kids are welcome.  If the flag isn’t there……………run under your own darned sprinkler.  I’m not a sucker.”  she said.

My pencil flew taking that all down.

I must say ……………..the women of Columbus Street were always very supportive of me………..and my ideas.

I spent the next few days tapping away on my typewriter.

My mother read the first draft.

“Oh.  Dear.  God.” she said.  “You’re making this stuff up!  They didn’t tell you this stuff knowing you were going to print it!”

“I’m going to make some phone calls.” she added to put me off.

“Go right ahead.  Those women all know what I’m up to.  I cleaned up their language.  I let them all look at my notes.  I stand by my sources.” I said with lips pursed and my hands on my hips.

She spent the better part of the evening on the phone.  Yukking it up.  Laughing so hard she snorted.  It seems the ladies of Columbus Street couldn’t wait to see their names in print.

I typed it all up.  I added my own illustrations.  I’ve never been good at drawing a cat but I tried.  I got the stripes and sharp claws right.  I was kind of proud of the drawing of that cat hanging from the curtains.

I showed my teacher at school.  I only did this because I needed her mimeograph machine.  Oh, she asked some questions.  I wasn’t known to be a liar so she came to believe that she’d be copying this with my mother’s permission.

Teacher kept a copy for herself.

My mother and father read their copies over dinner.  My father stopped between every bite of pizza to wipe his fingers on his napkin.  He didn’t want to get his copy dirty.

“Oh.  Dear.  God.” my mother said once again as she read.

“Ellie!  The girl has done what she said she was going to do.  Not a thing wrong with the content.  The pictures are nice.  She’s got quote marks in all the right places.  Now, it’s time for delivery.  Not in the mailbox, Little Girl.  That’s for the US Post only.  Stick it in their doors.  You’re about to be famous on Columbus Street.  At least for a day.  Go deliver.  Have fun!” he said as he glared my mother into staying in her chair.

So I did.

The first review came in.

It wasn’t so great.

“My mother and father read it out loud to each other.  They roared with laughter.  I thought my Dad was going to wet himself.” said a so called friend of mine.

“And, then they threw it in the trash.”

That hurt.  It hurt enough that I excused myself from the Monopoly game and went home.  I went to my room and shut the door.  I lie on my bed and I tried not to cry.

This is the problem with being a writer I thought.  You put yourself out there.  Sometimes people just weren’t going to like what you write.

I wasn’t going to be famous for a day.  I was going to be a laughing stock with my friends for at least a week……………….or until someone else around here did something even more embarrassing.

Oh, I’m not going to lie.  I had a little cry.

My mother opened my door.

“Come eat some lunch.  I’ve called you twice.  I’m not running a restaurant here.” she said.  “Are you crying?  Why are you crying?”

I told her all about it.  It ended with “They threw it in the trash!”

“Bullsh*t!” she replied.

She went out into the kitchen.  She hissed at someone on the phone.  She got the Columbus Street Mother’s Hotline going with one phone call.

“My living room.  One hour! “she said into the receiver before she banged the phone back into the cradle.

She came and stood in my bedroom door.

“Okay.  I wasn’t crazy about the idea.  But, they all took part.  The women of this street want to support you in whatever you want to do.  You want to be a writer?  Well, get used to this kind of stuff, sweetie.  Everyone’s a critic!  You did a good job.  You know it.  I know it.  Now, go and blow your nose.  Wash your face and eat your tuna fish sandwich.  Life goes on. ” she announced.

An hour later?  There was a party in my living room.

All the ladies that had been interviewed for my newspaper were there.  They drank tea.  They ate cookies.  And, they all wanted me to sit next to them.  They even brought me presents.  Fruit.  Icy cold bottles of Coca Cola.  Hair ribbons.

One woman gave me a thank you card.

“Thank you so much for being so special.  I love our little visits.  I also loved your newspaper.  Yes, I laughed when I read it.  I laughed with joy.  And, wonder that someone your age can be so smart.  I didn’t throw it out.  I put it in my keepsake box.  I will keep it forever and ever.” it said.

One bad review is forgotten when all the good reviews come in.

Thank you, Mom.