Detecting Smoke

Okay. I’m of a certain age. Much of technology has passed me by. Mostly because I don’t need it. I’m told by younger people in the family that it’s pretty old fashioned to actually want to talk to someone on the phone. Calling someone and hearing a phone ring………it’s kind of like dropping in on someone. Ringing their doorbell. Looking through the window and seeing them dive behind a couch.

“Don’t call me. Text!” I’m told.

Okay! I don’t really think that I’m the weirdo. I think that they are.

I got a new phone. Google tells me the joke of the day. Google tells me what the weather is going to be like. It tells me how to get to places that I’ve never been. I accept this. I’m old. This technology that recognizes my voice……..and my voice alone is pretty new.

I recognize that some steps into the future are pretty terrific. There are some things being reinvented that should have been left the hell alone.

Like ……….smoke detectors.

When I was a kid……..it was the family cat that saved us from a fire. Smoke filled the house. The cat that was grateful to be fed twice a day……smacked my mother in the face when the fireplace caught the wall on fire. My mother shook the rest of us awake. The volunteer firemen came. They sprayed white foam all over the place. They chopped down a wall. They put the fire out.

The cat saved us all.

Her name was Goldie. She loved us. We loved her.

She did her job.

No batteries needed.

My husband is a handy guy. He knows how to fix just about anything. Ladders don’t scare him. Electricity doesn’t faze him. Power tools have not claimed fingers. So far.

He always has a list. Things to do. Things to improve. So far…………..find a nicer, prettier wife hasn’t made the list.

He’s a keeper.

But, there was the time…….not so long ago…..when he decided that all the smoke detectors in the house were getting decrepit and out of date. He replaced them with state of the art…….hard wired…….talk to each other ……….noisy…….bothersome ………cry wolf ……..smoke detectors.

All of a sudden you couldn’t boil an egg in a sauce pan without this new system screaming…………FIRE FIRE CARBON MONOXIDE FIRE FIRE!………believe me…….It screamed it! Why the neighbors didn’t come running? I don’t know! I’m thinking they’re either deaf or they just don’t give a crap.

Our son lives with us. He’s a second shifter. He’s lost ten pounds since the coming of the new smoke detectors. Because, he’s petrified to cook a slice of bacon after ten p.m. He’d rather go hungry than wake up his family just to make a BLT.

So, my son came to management……….that’s me……….to complain.

“Ma! You’ve got to do something! Daddy’s in love with his new smoke detectors. But, there is something wrong! Why doesn’t he call the manufacturer? Do something! We can’t live like this!” he complained.

“I’ll handle it!” I said with confidence.

So……….I let my husband cook. He broiled. He baked. He boiled. And, all the while the smoke detectors told him that he was on fire. He opened windows. He poked the pause button with the end of a boom. He had fans blowing parts in his hair.

Nothing worked.

The old smoke detector still lived on the wall. The other six in the house sat there innocently ready to do their work.

Management had had enough.

The cat was on her way to having a nervous breakdown.

My husband ripped the blaring detector off of the ceiling. There was no smoke. There was no fire. It would not shut up.

He wrapped it in plastic. It shut up for a minute. It started screaming again. He walked it outside. He walked a good thirty yards away and threw it into the shed. Still it complained.

He grabbed it. Went into the garage. He grabbed a hammer. Remember, he’s a handy guy.

He beat it to death with a hammer. He opened up the trash can …..threw it in……and slammed the cover shut.

Management had done their job.

And, our cat will do her job too.

I feed her twice a day.

There You Are!

“Well, there you are!”

I’ve said it a few times in my life with a lot of meaning behind the words.

What does it mean? It means “I’ve dreamed of you!”. “I’ve been waiting for you!” “Here! You finally are!”

I’m not a really deep thinker. I’m not a scholar. I’m a nice person. Perhaps, one of my greatest gifts is that I listen to myself. I pay attention to my feelings. If you creep me out……there is a reason for it. If, I identify you as a mean selfish person…….well, I don’t give many second chances.

Because, I’ve spent a lifetime fine tuning my feelings.

I dream a lot. I’ve been to heaven many times. How do I identify heaven? It’s not the overly bright colors. It’s not the peace and the calm. It’s not the lost loved ones that reside there now.

I identify heaven easily………because, that’s where I started. It’s where you started. If, you could only remember.

You might think it’s a lot of hoo haw. That’s alright. I don’t expect this bit of writing to identify with more than one or two people. I don’t write just for you. I write for myself. Selfish? Well, good for me.

I believe I started in heaven. I had a choice. To stay there and learn lessons slowly………or to come back to earth ………and learn fast, and hard, and messy, and painful, and glorious……….and find love that explodes like rockets but lingers forever.

I chose the latter.

I wanted adventure.

I wanted love.

I knew love entailed pain and loss……..but,I chose it anyways.

I chose my own parents. I saw them. I loved their faces. I heard their prayers. They wanted a daughter. The litany of particulars was passed on to me. I smiled and thought………well, I can’t be all those things.

But, I will do my best.

I did my best.

My mother once confided in me when I was very young. “We had two boys. I would have given birth every year…..until, I had a daughter. I lit candles. I prayed. I told God exactly what I wanted. And, then there you were. Your father said you were sent from heaven. I don’t know about that. I don’t expect you to be perfect. But, you’re perfect for me. I’ve told you this since you were a baby. And, when you were three and heard it again? You said to me……………here I am. And, there you are.”

“You were only three years old………..you put your hands to my face and said……….”Here I am. I heard you. And, there you are.”

Don’t ever think lighting a candle and saying a prayer is a waste of time.

I met my husband when I was very young. I had decided the dating thing………..all men were a big fat waste of time. As far as I was concerned………I would be satisfied with a career…..a good set of girlfriends …..and a big pepperoni pizza every Friday night……that was enough for me.

I was twenty years old. And, there he was. Saying the wrong thing. But, still I listened………because, heaven wasn’t that far away.

I looked at him and said “Well, there you are!” And, that was 44 years ago.

I have two children. A daughter and a son…..they came in that order. I think they chose us. They are so different. But, after many years of parenting……….we are the right parents for both of them.

I have a best friend. Life isn’t complete without a best friend. If you don’t have one? Light a candle and ask for one. We all deserve a best friend.

I met her at an audition. I took one look and thought she must be a friend of my daughter’s. She was very youthful. She wasn’t as young as she looked. I was drawn to her. I visited her at her place of employment. I didn’t become a bother……or a creep……but, I persevered.

Because, after one look at her……….I heard “Well, there you are!” in my head. Twenty five years of lifting each other up………..I’m thinking I got that one right.

We’ve lived through some dark and scary days during the past few years. I don’t work anymore. I stay up late. I sleep late. My dreams are continuous. They aren’t exhausting but they can be tiring. Those that are gone and those I haven’t met yet visit me.

I’m not young anymore. I don’t expect to live forever. I don’t expect oblivion when I shut my eyes on this world.

I expect some people will miss me.

I expect to go home.

Some days I think I’ll just stay there.

But, I know myself.

I will hear a voice. They’ll be asking for me. A wonderful person will ask for someone that I know I can be.

And, yet again.

I will say “There you are!”

Holidays for Newlyweds

The holidays became hard for my parents at one point. Their three kids left the house to get married. Oh, we didn’t move far. But, things had changed.

“I knew it!” my mother whispered out loud one day. “I knew this was going to happen.”

My eldest brother and I had married into the same family. I met my husband at an engagement party. My brother married my husband’s sister. We shared the same in-laws.

My husband and I had just broken the news to my parents that we would be spending our first Thanksgiving together……….at my in-laws house. My brother would be eating turkey at that house too.

“But, they already get Wayne! And, now you too? This is so not fair.” my mother uttered. She was usually pretty careful to keep her opinions to herself. But, it slipped out.

You see……….Thanksgiving was a huge deal to my new mother in law. It was HER day my husband told me. Well, “We’ll see.” I thought. But, I wasn’t fighting this fight just a few months after our wedding. I mean……..you got to let the husband think he has some say in this stuff.

My mother had tears in her eyes at the loss of a crowd at Thanksgiving.

I had to spin this. I had to take away her sadness.

I grabbed her and squished her into the bathroom and shut the door. My parent’s house was small. Privacy was hard to find.

“Ma! Knock it off! Michael’s chin is coming out. That means he’s about to put his foot down. Let my new folks have Thanksgiving. It’s all part of my plan.” I said in a loud whisper.

“Your plan?” she whispered back as she washed her face with cold water.

“This way………you get Christmas. What time do you want us here for Christmas?” I said in a hurry. I knew we couldn’t take up the one and only bathroom in the house for long.

My mother straightened herself up. She dried her face. She looked in the mirror and poofed up her hair.

“The night before.” she answered.

“Ma! You’re pushing it!” I replied as I hung up her towel.

“I don’t care how late you get here.” she insisted.

“OKay. I’ll see what I can do. But, I want a Christmas tree in the window of my old bedroom. All lit up. And, the cat sleeps with me.” I countered.

“Deal!” she said.

Letters To Santa

Christmas is in our hearts. Christmas lives in our memories.

Christmas was celebrated simply when I was a child. There was a tree. And, a nativity. There was a village underneath the living room table. Certain cookies were baked. We went to church where incense tickled our noses. We visited quiet grandparents on Christmas Eve. Noisy relatives descended on Christmas Day.

Hams were glazed with brown sugar and mustard. Potatoes were glossed with cream and cheese. Presents piled up under the tree. Candy was consumed. Cousins were played with.

It was all wonderful.

Christmas was magical.

It had a lot to do with anticipation.

We grow up. We try to bring the same magic to the next generation. Sometimes we succeed. Sometimes we fail. But, still we try.

I gave my children the wonder of midnight masses where they fought to keep their eyes open. Christmas nativity plays. Singing ‘Oh, Holy Night’ in choruses. I gave them lots of Christmas magic.

Some of the magic was unexpected.

I became an editor when they wrote their letters to Santa. I explained to them that spelling did indeed matter. If you want a bicycle? You’d better spell it correctly. I checked their penmanship. If your letter is sloppy and unreadable? You just might end up with a turtle neck sweater. A stamp was affixed to the outside of the envelope addressed to Santa Claus, The North Pole.

Kids accompanied me to the bottom of the driveway where the mailbox lives. I’d lift little bodies up so that they could put the envelope in the box themselves. I instructed them to put up the red flag so the mailman would notice that there was mail in the box headed for the North Pole.

Those letters worked. Santa never let any of us down.

Year and years would pass. No matter what you sacrifice? No matter what you do for your children? Sometimes they just remember the bad times. The embarrassing times. The times they think they were let down. They do remember the good times too, though.

They always remember ……………..Christmas.

And, like I said………….Santa never let them down.

“Do you remember, Ma? We would write letters to Santa Claus. And, a few times he wrote back?” my daughter remembered way back through the haze of years.

“Yes, I remember Santa writing to you.” I replied.

“You did good, Ma! I never recognized your hand writing. Thanks for being Santa and writing those wonderful letters to me.” my 35 year old daughter proclaimed.

“What?” I answered. “I never wrote you a letter and signed it Santa Claus! I do remember those letters. They were wonderful but they didn’t come from me. We put a stamp on your letter. We put it in the mail box. We put the red flag up. Someone from the North Pole answered those letters.” I replied in all honesty.

No kidding.

“Oh, come on, Ma! Give me a break! Take the credit. Those were wonderful letters!” my daughter said as she stared me in the eyes. Looking for a quirk of a giveaway.

“I never wrote to you and pretended to be Santa. Those letters were just as much a surprise to me as they were to you.” I assured her.

I was being honest.

Many years later………I met a dear lady and became her friend. She worked for the United States Postal Service. She brought a smile to everyone’s face on her route. Everyone knew her name. Everyone was sad when she retired.

I asked her once ………about letters that were addressed to Santa Claus, The North Pole.

She had a sweet smile on her face. She had tears in her eyes.

“That’s what I miss about my job, most of all.” she murmured quietly.

It seems that some children are very lucky. Some letters indeed end up at the North Pole. But, some letters are handled by wonderful helpers that are employed by the United States Post Office. Postal carriers walk many miles a day delivering mail by hand. Weather can wear them out. But, still……….at Christmas time they feel the magic of their own childhoods.

They reach into a basket of letters. Written by little children in crayon and markers and decorated with stickers. They eat their dinners. They get their second wind. They take up scented stationary that smells like peppermint. They use their very best penmanship.

They close their eyes and make a Christmas wish. They wish that just for tonight…………..That they can truly be Santa’s helper. They don’t make promises. They congratulate children for being good and obeying their parents and teachers. They wish a Merry Christmas. They sign letters with a flourish. They affix a stamp with Santa’s image upon it.

They give the letter a wish and a kiss. They put it into their own mailboxes and put up the red flag.

And, a very real Santa salutes in thanks.

Thank Santa!

My mother had her own way about her. She was lovely. Lovely to look at and lovely to be with. She had grown up during The Great Depression. She wasn’t afraid to spend money but she was careful about it.

I think Santa pushed her into spending more than she wanted to at Christmas time. I remember being surprised at the bounty that sat beneath the Christmas tree.

“Thanks for all the nice presents!” I’d say to my parents while helping to pick up all the wrapping paper and bows.

“Thank Santa!” my mother would reply.

I was the youngest in the family. My brothers had already left my mother’s nest. I was the last to go off to college. My mother could postpone her “empty nest” syndrome for a few years. Because? I came home every weekend to work a few shifts at my part time job. To get a home cooked meal. To get my laundry done.

Living in a dorm was pretty great. Oh, the room was never heated. My room mate was nice enough but I wasn’t used to sharing a room. We had a lot of good times but we got on each other’s nerves by the end of a semester. I do remember catching holy Hell from her one time…….for eating a pear in the refrigerator that I thought was mine.

Christmas was coming. Dorm rooms were decorated with swooping strings of Christmas lights. A sad tree sat in the corner of the communal dining room. All students couldn’t wait to take their final exams and go home.

One night the dorm room phone rang. It was my mother on the other end. I immediately felt my heart pump too fast. I assumed someone in the family must be dead! My mother……..the Great Depression Kid……….did not pay long distance telephone fees unless there was an upcoming funeral involved.

“Oh, my God! What’s the matter?” I shouted into the receiver. “Who is dead?”

My mother laughed and told me I was born a drama queen. She said she hoped I made copious amounts of money on the stage after graduation. She reminded me about the time all the neighborhood ladies had come running …….the first time I had seen a worm. I guess I had screamed that loudly.

“I have three minutes, Little Miss Overly Dramatic”. Ma said quickly. “No one is dead. Your father is taking me shopping. Santa asked him what you want for Christmas.”

Ah! So, Santa was going to pay this long distance phone bill. I should have known.

“I don’t know, Ma. You can’t buy me clothes. I need to try things on. I don’t need a coat or boots. Why doesn’t Santa just give me an envelope with some money in it. ” I replied.

It was time to get to the cafeteria before all the butterscotch pudding was gone. All that butterscotch pudding could be the reason why clothing wasn’t quite fitting me right anymore.

A girl walked by my open dorm room. She was wearing a one piece pair of pajamas. With feet. Footsie pajamas. I pulled the phone cord as far as it could go and watched her walk down the hallway. That girl was so beautiful she could pull off footsie pajamas on a runway.

“A new blanket for my dorm bed. Thick. I have frost on my eyebrows right now. And, a pair of footsie pajamas.” I read off my just made up Christmas list to my mother.

“Footsie pajamas……….” my mother…….Santa’s helper whispered down the phone line.

Ma thought I was losing it.

“Yes, they exist obviously. I just saw a girl in the hallway wearing some. They’re not just for babies anymore!” I told my mother knowing that my three minutes were up.

“I got to go, Ma! I’m five minutes late to meet my friends in the lobby for dinner. They’ll go without me. Tell Santa to do his best. Tell him to make everything a size bigger than last year.” I said in a hurry. “Bye!”

I heard her mutter “Jesus! How big has your ass gotten eating all that pizza?” as I hung up.

Exams were finally done. My father came to the dorm to break me out for Christmas. He was kind of chatty on the way home. I heard how many miles he had to drive to pick me up. He confessed that he was pretty sick of this drive. He even leaked that he had wanted to give me a used car for Christmas so he didn’t have to make this boring drive to New Haven so often. But, my mother had nixed that idea. She thought I’d become a wild child if I had my own car.

I could have asked for a car.

Instead, I had asked for footsie pajamas.

Oh, well.

Christmas morning came. I’m sure I received many nice things that I don’t remember. I do remember a big thick handmade quilt. My mother knew a lot of crafty women.

I also remember that Santa gave me footsie pajamas to keep me warm in the dorm.

Six pairs.

My mother had her own way about her. She was a child of The Great Depression. When you find a great sale on something? You don’t buy one. You buy six in different colors.

So, I went back to school in January. I had lost weight walking everywhere for a month at home. I often thought about the used car I should have asked for. My clothing was now fitting again. I swore off butterscotch pudding forever. I reintroduced myself to salad.

I was still the proud owner of six pairs of footsie pajamas.

What’s a girl to do? I had a dorm room party. I invited five friends. They all put on my new pajamas. We took photos. We ordered pizza. The delivery boy was told to bring us a big salad also. I still remember his face when he saw six beautiful 18 year old girls……..prancing around a dorm room……..in footsie pajamas.

I think we remembered to tip him.

We dialed the phone. I paid long distance fees so we could yell “Thank you for the footsie pajamas!” at my mother.

“Thank Santa!” Ma replied.

“

Where Have I Been?

It’s been a while I know.

Where have I been?

Living each day as it comes. I have been dusting off my Pollyanna. The part of me that sees the best in everything. She’s been missing for a while.

I’m pretty resilient. I count my blessings every night instead of sheep. But, still the past year ………..sleep didn’t come easily.

Oh, I can do that tomorrow was said quite often. I can’t be bothered. Do I really have to cook dinner again tonight? I cooked last night. Sigh………I haven’t been in the mood for anything.

This is unlike me. Warming up leftovers because I’m not in the mood to put on real pants and real shoes and go to a grocery story. It’s happened. I admit it.

I’ve been off.

But then came the calls.

I was pretty sure that at my age…………I was done with theater. I have my writing as an outlet now. When I have something to say. And, as of late……..I’ve felt like I have nothing left to say.

But, I couldn’t turn down being Sister Amnesia again in a Nunsense show. Rehearsals found me with a small group of actors………..without face masks due to the wonder of vaccines. I was grateful. Now dinner time might be rushed. It might be leftovers. It might be take out…..but that was because I had something else to do with my evenings.

The show was wonderful by the way and very appreciated by the dinner theater audiences.

The show was over.

I went back home. Happy to ignore the weeds in the flower beds. Ecstatic to put another blanket on the bed and sleep a few extra hours every morning. Because, yet again…….what’s the rush? It can all wait until tomorrow.

And, then theater called again.

I said, no. Dear God, No! I really mean it. No!

The part of Louise in Always Patsy Cline. A huge part in a two person musical. I’d done it before a dozen years ago. It’s an exhausting role. You have to be all in to do this part justice.

So, I said no.

I felt that I couldn’t be all in ……..for anything.

But, long story short. I changed my mind. I was needed. I had done this before and it would come back easily to me. A short rehearsal period called for an actress that could walk in knowing all her lines……….about a thousand of them. I had a talk with myself. If there is anything I love………it’s words. Put together nicely. A character that I have already related to and know well. Louise isn’t me. But, she’s pretty close. Close enough that I knew I could pull this off in a month.

So, I said yes.

And, that’s where I’ve been.

I wasn’t fond of the fact that the theater was a 40 minute drive from my house. But, I told myself……at least it’s a pretty drive. I had company in the car most of the time as the musical director drove with me. We had such a good time chatting the time flew by.

Patsy Cline was played by a sweetheart of a young woman. She’s a singer. She’d never done theater in her life. I was a little hesitant of that when I first heard. But, the sound of her voice singing 27 Patsy Cline songs was mesmerizing. And, a week in? She found out that she was an actress also. She had great instincts.

I didn’t know if a veteran actress (myself) was going to have a lot of patience with a newbie. I found that I did. I didn’t direct her because that is the director’s job. But, I answered her questions. I didn’t lose patience when she made some pretty big mistakes during rehearsals. I told her it would all work out. I told her when in doubt………find Louise on stage. Louise was always there to help her.

And, because Patsy and Louise obviously loved each other…………….and, because that love and connection was palpable………..the audience ate up their relationship. They believed it. They were mesmerized.

So, I have a new friend. A young woman who learned 27 Patsy Cline songs in a month. A young lady who was very verbal about her angst of doing this all in a month’s time. I knew who she was the first day I met her. I liked her from the start.

So, I went looking for Louise again. I wanted to do her right after almost getting it last time. This time……I got her just right. Even the reviews said so. And, why did I get it just right?

Because………..I forced myself to leave the confines of my cozy house. My stretchy pajamas. Evenings of mindless TV with a cat purring on my lap. A big glass of chardonnay and a plate of cheese and crackers.

I got it just right because I was the exact right actress to help a beginner. A beginner with an inordinate amount of talent. Probably the biggest talent I’ve witnessed in 30 years. She’s not just a singer anymore.

I was there when she became a star.

Louise is very proud of that.

The Magic of Theater

Human beings are adaptable. We can get used to anything. Sometimes, we are pushed to the extreme. Sometimes, we go places we’ve never gone before. We’re not happy about it but we have to do it.

A pandemic.

We watch the TV and we are shocked. We are being asked to stay home. One of of us goes out on a daily basis. Wearing a mask. To get our groceries and other things that we need. We disinfect. We wash our hands.

We pray.

It goes on for a long time. We watch things wither and almost die. We forget how to interact with other people. We can’t see faces behind masks. We don’t know when faces are smiling. We get used to that too.

And, then it eases up. Prayers are answered. Scientists work overtime. They come up with vaccines that can bring us back to normal. Some of us take them. We don’t know when things will change. But, they eventually do.

Stores closed. Other businesses survive through sheer brilliance of thinking outside the box. Slowly, doors open and the brave go forth to spend their money face to face.

Other businesses that flourished during normal times falter.

Like theaters.

Theaters. Make believe. Grownups pretending to be other people. Stories that need to be told. Through song, and improv and dance. It’s not important is it? Oh, but it us. Theater is magic. Theater is make believe. Theater is bed time stories that will never be forgotten.

Human beings thrive on stories.

Theater was almost forgotten.

The sickness was waning. I’d already gotten the shots that gave me permission to be a part of society that didn’t really exist anymore.

The phone rang. I was asked to audition for a show. This show should draw enough attention to save a theater that was hurting from being shut down for over a year. The audition would be over zoom. The world was going to open up again because of the magic of scientists. This theater would be ready.

The show?

Nunsense.

A show that consists of five nuns. Nuns that hold the deity as their number one concern. They are funny. They are adept at holding the audience in the palm of their hands with their gentle humor.

They are the perfect characters to gently take an audience out of the depths of a pandemic.

Brilliance is needed here. A director with the sheer guts and will to do this in a month. A month? That is when the venue is available. A director with the passion and the sheer will to make this happen is needed. I happen to know and love this woman as my best friend.

She called and I auditioned.

I have no false ego about my talents. But, nobody……nobody gets to play Sister Amnesia around here but me. Amnesia is me. I am her. She wears me out. But, each and every time she is needed……..I am willing.

A month is not a long period of time.

But, let me tell you what a month can bring you.

An audition over zoom because people couldn’t be in the same room. A first rehearsal………where all performers have been vaccinated. The first time I walked into a room and saw full faces in over a year. It was weird. It was wonderful. It was spectacular.

Nearly nightly rehearsals….where songs and dialogue and movement were shoved into our heads. It made us dizzy. We lived our daily lives singing under our breath. We practiced lines on our cats and dogs. We practiced dance steps at the end of our driveways when we went to our mail boxes.

Our world changed around us while we were so busy. Mandates were lifted. Faces were visible at the grocery store.

A huge sigh wafted throughout our local world.

Opening night came. A soft summer evening under a big tent. Dinner was served. Bartenders performed wonders. Music filled the air ……..and five nuns took to the stage to perform their magic.

Someday I’ll be too old to bounce around on a wooden platform. Someday my knees will aggravate me too much to dance. Someday my voice will falter.

I kind of thought that day had already come.

Until, I was asked to come out of a pandemic. To try to be Sister Amnesia once again. My favorite character out of dozens I have played over the years. Sister Amnesia……..full of love and hope. Full of innocence and faith in the future.

Sister Amnesia……….the perfect character to call me back to being me.

Snowman and Licorice

It just happens one day. That day might occur when you’re very young. It might not happen until you have gray in your hair. Sometimes it happens too late. You can’t do anything about it.

The day you realize that your mother is actually a person. Not a servant. Not just a cook. More than a teacher. Much more than a friend.

The day you realize that she’s been there all along. Before you were born. Before you were even thought of.

I came to realize this pretty early I think. It wasn’t instantaneous. The hints were there all along.

The way my father lit up when she walked into a room showed me the girl he fell in love with. The uproar of laughter that erupted out of Ma’s sisters every time she told a story……….gave me the little girl that she used to be. The girl that slept three to a bed. In the middle during the winter and on the edge near the window fan in the summer. She wasn’t just pretty. She was smart.

I decided to do something with my knowledge. I was twelve and had come into money. I had my own paper route. I learned to stack shiny quarters into stacks of four. When I had enough of them……….my Ma would smile and give me a five dollar bill for them. She’d take down my coffee can bank and we’d deposit that bill into the can. She’d do a little dance around the kitchen with me.

The winter had been long. My mother didn’t drive. My father worked long hours and even weekends when overtime was available. Ma lived too far from her sisters for regular visits. Long distance phone calls were saved for bad news.

She was going a little stir crazy.

Oh, our house was cozy. She kept busy at the stove. She kept the washing machine chugging and I helped her pin clothing to the line in the back yard. She found an hour here and there to have tea with a friend.

She was missing fun.

She took to sighing quite often. She gazed out windows for minutes on end with a smile on her face. She’d snap herself out of it and continue to put the dishes away in the cupboard. Followed by another sigh. She was remembering.

Remembering other days when the snow cascaded down. I couldn’t see the visions that flitted across the back of her eye lids. But, I could imagine. Sliding down a hill with her sisters. Hitting her new fiance in the face with a snow ball and the chase that followed. Letting him catch her.

I got home from my paper route as darkness started to fall. The snow was coming down like a curtain. That snow didn’t even bother to try to be quiet. It was noisy. It was wet and heavy.

I stomped at the back porch dislodging clumps of snow. I didn’t bother shaking out my coat and mittens. It wasn’t time to take them down to the basement. To where they would dry hissing on top of the furnace.

I had a plan.

I opened the kitchen door and stood on the rubber mat. I started to drip. Ma had the refrigerator door open. She was gathering beef and carrots to make a beef stew. That was her go to dinner when snow came down.

“Get those snowy things off and stop dripping all over my kitchen. Get them down to the furnace and then you can help me make dinner.” she said to me.

“Not tonight.” I answered.

She closed the refrigerator door.

“What did you say? You do as your told, Darlene.” she answered with a curious look on her face.

“Which of your sisters was the bossiest?” I asked her.

The question was so strange to her. I got nothing but silence. So, I asked it again.

“Rita, I suppose. Because, she was the oldest and there were so many of us. She acted like a second Mama. What in heaven’s name is wrong with you? Take off those boots and quit asking me weird questions.” Ma said as she put the food back into the refrigerator.

I think I was scaring her a little bit.

“Let’s pretend for tonight, that I’m Rita. Forget the beef stew. Go put on your coat. Warm mittens. That red wool hat. Don’t forget a scarf because the snow is going to go right down your neck.” I advised.

“And, why would I be doing that that?” Ma asked with an obstinate look on her face and her hands on her hips.

“Because, we’re about to build a huge snowman.” I answered.

“Oh, are we?” she asked with a chuckle. “And, who is going to make our dinner?”

“We’re having pizza delivered. We’re taking the money out of my coffee can. A great big pizza. Half hamburger and half pepperoni. We can even order a salad if we want to pretend that we’re eating healthy. My treat!” I answered as more snow from my coat plopped onto the shiny linoleum.

“Get dressed! And, bring a carrot.” I bossed as I backed out the door.

My mother was a private person. She cared what the neighbors thought. Too much I reckoned. She would want to build this snowman in the back yard. Away from prying eyes.

So, I chose a spot for our snowman right in the front yard. Right under the bright street light that adorned the telephone pole. Directly in front of our picture window that was full of twinkling Christmas tree.

Ma eventually came out. She was bundled up. She held a carrot in her hand.

“Oh, no! Let’s build this thing in the back yard!” she said exactly what I expected.

“Nope! I’m the bossy one today. And, I want it right in front of the picture window. We have to do a good job too. We’re going to be looking at this for a month, Ma. So, let’s make it a great one!” I countered.

So, we did.

That snowman turned out to be a snow lady. My mother laughed like crazy as she gave her a rounded chest. She found pieces of hemlock for eye lashes. Branches for arms. She even adorned the head with her own red hat set at a jaunty angle.

We both decorated the furnace with our clothing an hour later. We both listened to water sizzling as the snow melted. We both lined up boots to dry so they wouldn’t get stinky.

I felt very grown up on the phone ordering a large pizza to be delivered. We both decided to skip the salad.

We made a night of it sitting at our little kitchen table. Pizza turned into crackers and peanut butter. A pot of tea and lots of chatting. We even did my math homework together.

I eventually gave myself away.

“When did you realize that your mother was actually a person, Ma?” I asked.

My mother got a big grin on her face. She knew then that she had figured it out right all along.

Why she had been forced out into the cold to make a snowman.

“Oh, I think I was about your age. I found a nickle on the sidewalk. I went into the corner market and bought a bag of licorice for my sisters. I don’t even like licorice but they all did. And, it was the candy that you could get the most of for a nickle.” Ma smiled as she remembered.

“I brought it home and put the bag on the kitchen table. My mother peeked inside and she said ‘Licorice! Oh my, I love licorice. It’s my favorite.” Ma said as she topped off my tea.

“That’s the day I realized my mother was a person.”

Christmas Eve

Stealthy. Like a cat. Sitting in the corner. The little girl sat in the arm chair facing the Christmas tree. The lights blinked like they would all night. She took a sip of Coca Cola. She knew one of the ingredients was caffeine.

She needed to stay awake.

She did something she had been forbidden to do. She took the pot holder that sat on the small stack of logs. She grabbed the fireplace shield and she pulled it back. She added another log to the fire.

If she was going to be staring at the fire all night it might as well be a good one.

She put on her sun glasses. The ones that made her look like James Bond. 007. That James Bond. She needed to look intriguing and slightly dangerous.

She was on a mission.

She waited hours while the house slept. Mommy and Daddy were sleeping in their room. Daddy’s snores made the curtains move. The golden cat lie across her lap. She heard the bed springs squeak above her head. Both of her brothers snored along with her father.

One instant he wasn’t there. Then, the next he was.

Santa. Santa with his sack.

The little girl didn’t move a muscle. She watched Santa deposit things down the woolen stockings. He bent to place packages under the tree. A train track appeared with a locomotive and a caboose. A big box leaned against the wall. It contained another set of tracks and race cars.

Santa snapped his fingers and a black lacquered child sized rocking chair appeared. And, a doll carriage. The doll of the little girl’s dreams sat propped inside the carriage. Warm and cozy wrapped in a pink and white baby blanket.

Santa stood and surveyed the scene. He felt satisfied. He went to put a finger aside of his nose.

“Cookie, Santa?” asked the little girl that had stayed silent and still just a few feet away from all of this holiday action.

Santa jumped about a foot when he noticed the little girl .

She held out a plate of cookies.

Santa regained his composure. He chuckled a quiet ho ho ho. He took a cookie off of the plate and took a big bite.

“Well, look at you! Awake in the middle of the night! This doesn’t happen very often. I’m thinking I even know your name.” Santa said in Santa fashion.

“I’m not here for small talk.” said the little girl.

That stopped Santa mid cookie bite.

“You’re not! Ho ho ho. The sunglasses are a nice touch, little girl. A bit of intrigue. Are we practicing to be a spy?” he chuckled even though he wasn’t finding any of this all that funny.

“I guess the glasses are my way of saying I mean business.” said the little girl. “Sit!”

Santa sat in the chair directly opposite of her.

“And, what business do you want to talk about?” Santa asked.

Taking the wishes of children seriously is really Santa’s one and only business after all.

“The business of children. The business of Christmas.” said the little girl. She slipped her glasses off and stared him in the beard. Yes, she was right. His beard actually had glitter in it just like the Christmas cards.

“Go on. We need to make it quick though. Blitzen will be at that door in a few minutes looking for me.” Santa explained.

“Year after year you let me down.” said the little girl as the golden cat jumped off of her lap with a big yawn.

“Do I?” Santa asked in earnest. “I get your letters. I read them. I make notes. Dolls. Miniature tea pots and crayons. I don’t think you have anything to complain about, my dear.”

“Oh, but I do.” the little girl said as she leaned forward and stared Santa straight in the eye.

“My Mommy and Daddy used to be little children back in the day. They wrote letters to Santa. They wrote during The Great Depression. They wanted trains and dolls and all sorts of wonderful toys only made by Santa. They got mittens. They got a few walnuts and oranges in their stockings and they were happy. They were trained not to be spoiled. They were conditioned not to expect anything.” whispered the little girl in a deadly serious tone.

“You should have done better!” she ended.

“My mommy and Daddy have gray in their hair now. But, when they play with me…….when they color with me………..when they throw snowballs with me………..when they sing me songs and read me stories……….I see the little children they used to be.” the little girl said as she got up and shook herself off.

She headed towards the stairs and her bed.

“Fix it!” she demanded. “If you need a trade? Take the rocking chair. Take the doll carriage. Take the doll if you must. But, you need to fix this.”

“Tonight!”

The little girl set her spy sunglasses on her night stand. She slid under her quilt. She stroked her legs up and down and waved her arms to warm up the sheets. She shut her eyes. She wished for Christmas morning.

She heard the reindeer and sleigh lift off of the roof.

Well, she had done her best she thought as her eyes slid shut.

Christmas morning was gray. Snow cascaded past the picture window. The little girl awoke to her brother’s voices exclaiming over trains and locomotives. She heard her parent’s tired moans when her feet hit the bottom stair.

The embers in the fireplace still glowed. The tree still twinkled in the corner. But, the room was a little more crowded than it was the night before.

The little girl sat on the floor with her cat in her lap.

She smiled as her Daddy came across the big red Craftsman tool box that sat under the table. He opened it and it was full of every tool a weekend carpenter might ever need. Her mother ran her hands over a beautiful table with a sewing machine that lifted up. Spools of thread in every color were in a drawer. Cascades of fabric spilled from the other drawer.

The rocking chair………and the doll carriage and doll were still in their places. Just like the last time the little girl had seen them.

No trade has been necessary.

Santa had finally fixed it.

Hallelujah!

Stories are told. Songs are written. The person that wrote the music or the words will tell you whether it was hard or easy. It might have taken years or it might have taken mere minutes.

Sometimes the artist will be aggravated to tell you that it took mere minutes. It came so easily that the maestro was a little miffed by it.

I see that as divine intervention.

A person was used as a vessel for a message that was meant for all.

Oh, there are songs that touch you. You heard it the first time. You stopped what you were doing. You listened to every note and every lyric. It means something to you. Forever more, that song will make you stop in your tracks. It was written just for you. You may find that much of humanity feels the same way about it. That fact doesn’t make it feel any less special to you.

The human voice is powerful. Our mother’s voice saying “Stop it!” or “I love you!” will never be forgotten. Michael Jackson’s voice singing “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” makes me shudder. Celine Dion may be a million people’s choice as the most beautiful voice in the world.

She sounds like a robot to me.

The human voice in conjunction with the perfect song? Oh, I think that was meant to be. A producer may take credit for it. A stage mother might say “I told you so!”. But, it was out of their hands.

Because…………….there is heaven. Because……….there are angels.

Because……….there are prayers.

Times are hard. Humanity is suffering. The great minds of the medical field work twenty-four hours a day to help us. Politicians screwed it all up. Our lives have been disrupted. We’ve had to be patient. We’ve relied on ourselves and each other.

We’ve prayed.

Those prayers have been heard.

The music is there!

I sat on the deck with my husband. The air was crisp and the sun was sinking. The birds and squirrels were back in their nests. The neighbors were eating their dinners and watching Netflix.

All was quiet.

Something made me pull my phone out of my pocket. I’m not afraid of silence. Having nothing to talk about doesn’t frighten me.

My phone went to youtube. I typed in the word “Hallelujah” and out came one of the songs I’ve been telling you about.

A sweet school girl’s voice took up space on the deck. Her schoolmates sang back up for her. I would never give this vocalist an A+. She sings through her nose. She breathes in all the wrong places……….but! But, she believes every word she is singing. She has paid attention to the lyrics. That is where her power lies.

My husband swayed to the music and enjoyed it.

I shut my eyes and took it in.

“Why do you shut your eyes when you hear certain songs?” my husband asked me.

“Because, I need to see it.” I responded.

We’ve been married so long he understood why and really didn’t have to ask.

“What did you see?” he asked quietly.

“I saw signs. Today, people that see dragon flies as a sign of the afterlife……………had dragon flies land on their hands. Even though dragon flies only have a six month life cycle. Even though, they aren’t usually alive in December……….people saw dragon flies today.” I explained.

“Roses bloom in June. Today people shoveled snow. They strung Christmas lights. They came across perfect resplendent rose buds in bloom today.” I counseled.

“Many folks believe in cardinals as a sign from a loved one. The red birds were out today. They were an army wearing red feathers to lift people’s spirits.” I sighed as I looked at the sky.

The last chorus of ‘Hallelujah’ filled up the back yard.

“Close your eyes. Listen to the end of the song. This song was not written by any man. I don’t care who took credit for it. Open your eyes and look at the sky. What do you see? I asked my husband

“The answer to all our prayers.” he whispered as he looked at the spectacular sunset resplendent with colors and clouds.

“The clouds are a million angels with their wings spread wide.”