Merry Christmas to all

With Christmas but a few days away, I want to send my wishes that your Christmas will be filled with love and peace. Our condo is decorated simply this year and while many of our decorations are from our early years together, we do have some more recent arrivals. My favorite is is a  humble little tree sent to us by our oldest daughter, Ginger. When we were here for our first Christmas, she asked me if we would have a tree. I said, "No." That just didn't sit well with her. And so, a few days later, our tree arrived. It fits in quite nicely with all the "old" decorations we've accumulated over the years.

Over the years, we've all kinds of trees---tall spindly ones, short chubby ones. Will always went out and picked out the tree. Often, one or more of our daughters would go with him. Whoever braved the cold to do so always would claim "their tree was the best ever." We'd all gather around and decorate together, at least until they grew far into their teens. I confess my favorite part was tinsel, something that we don't see nowadays. Not sure why. Will would repeat his directions every year: "drape the tinsel, don't throw it or drop it on the branches."

Looking back on my childhood, I am amazed about how my parents created the magical feel they did especially knowing how stretched their budget was after WWII. When we went to bed at night as little children, there was no sign of Christmas. We believed Santa brought everything on his sleigh.

In the morning, we'd awaken to a tree centered on a large platform. Trains chugged around it. Our gifts snuggled at one end and our stockings were stuffed with candy, always a tangerine, and sometimes a bit of coal, too. Often our stocking held a note that led us to another part of the house where we'd find ice skates, a new sled, and once, for my sister, a bicycle.

My dad sometimes fell asleep in his chair while my mother made our Christmas dinner. Now I know why! For some reason, I never shared my appreciation with them. I wish I could now. Somehow, though, I think they know...

Christmas Seasons

With Christmas but a few days away, I want to send my wishes that your Christmas will be filled with love and peace. Most of us can recall those special Christmases, perhaps those of our childhood, or with our first love, or later, those with a growing family, followed by those with grandchildren.

Over the years, Christmas celebrations tend to evolve as each of us builds our own treasure trove of memories. If you're like me, some of the memories fuse into others. As a child, I remember getting a tangerine in my stocking and so, the smell of a tangerine will always evoke childhood Christmases for me. Over the years, time changes our celebrations. I can't imagine ever putting a tangerine in my children's or my grandchildren's stockings!

I remember meeting my husband, Will. Those were the days when we took lots of pictures. This picture, taken in 1959, was our first Christmas together. We were young, then, and carefree, too. I recall we had to visit both sets of parents that year. And try to eat two turkey dinners, as well.

Since then, we've celebrated fifty-five Christmases together. If I had a chance to relive those years, I would have kept a Christmas journal. Then, I would be able to go back and check out each one. Now, they merge into a lovely pattern much like a quilt made of many hues.


In quick succession, our four daughters came along and with them, late nights of putting toys together, then arranging them under the tree. Ginger, our oldest, was always the "scout." While her sisters quivered with excitement, she would run down the steps, check out the scene, then call up to her sisters, "Santa came!" Then we'd hear another three sets of feet bound down the steps. And our Christmas morning would begin...way too early, but nevertheless, filled with joy.

Way too quickly, they grew up, married and began their own Christmas traditions. Again, Christmases evolved but with glad tidings as life was developing as it was meant to be.

Soon, grandchildren hit the scene. Another golden time, another gilded, ribboned wrapped growth of Christmas change. This, for me, was really special. This picture of me with our grandsons Nathan and John, was taken a Christmas that I'll never forget. Nathan, four months old, was sleeping on a blanket close to the tree while we were all in the kitchen. We heard a thud and ran in. The tree had fallen over and Nathan was under it! Not a sound was uttered by this dear baby boy. We pulled the tree off of him, unsure if he was hurt, but thankfully, not a branch had touched him.

Those years went quickly, way too quickly. And now my beloved and I find we're back to the beginning. Our children and our children's children all live far enough away that Will and I are two once more. We still celebrate with gifts and phone calls, then visits after Christmas day. We're content and feel blessed to be together and well. We rejoice in the day and knowing all of our loved ones are safe and celebrating, too.


May you and your family have a blessed Christmas and fun making memories together!

Thank You, Mrs. Bunting

If you’re like me and someone asks you, “Who were the mentors who influenced you?” you probably can reel off a few names very quickly. We can all recall those who've had a major influence on our life choices, but how about those who enter your life only briefly?

 

One of those people in my life was Mrs. Bunting. She lived near us in a small white bungalow badly in need of paint, but lovely still, with a beautiful rose arbor gracing the back. When my mother returned to work for a brief time so we could buy our first television, we were told we’d be going to Mrs. Bunting’s house after school until one of our parents came home. I groaned as loudly as my two sisters about the prospect of staying with boring and OLD Mrs. Bunting.

A lady in every sense of the word as described in the ‘40's and ‘50's, she dressed discreetly in a pressed house dress and wore beaded, dangly, earrings, pierced ones, which in itself was a rarity in those days among the locals. Her necklaces always matched the baubles in her ears. Her gray hair, was always modestly waved, with nary a hair out of place. An aura of floral scent surrounded her when she moved.

Mrs. Bunting took her responsibility to care for us seriously. Each day when we arrived home from school, she had a snack waiting. Not the usual cookies we would have grabbed on the run at home, though. Instead, she would direct us to her dining room table where she had placed pedestaled crystal glasses filled with chocolate pudding or jello on small crocheted cloth doilies. A dab of whipped cream adorned the top. Dessert spoons with a “B” monogrammed on the handle rested precisely to the right while a pristine white napkin was to the left of the fluted dish.
 

 Filled with pent up energy from school, we were impatient to go outside if the weather was nice. Mrs. Bunting had a long driveway, excellent for jump rope. We tried to rush through the snack as quickly as we could, but Mrs. Bunting didn’t allow it. “When young ladies eat, conversation is important,” she said, with a frown. “The outdoors will always be there, but manners must be observed.”

Then one day I needed to use the bathroom. “It’s the door off the living room,” said Mrs. Bunting. “Just past my boudoir. Remember, you must never enter my boudoir. No one ever goes into a lady’s boudoir without permission.”

I was fascinated by this additional word to my vocabulary! Boudoir. It sounded exotic and special. After that, I made it a point to go to the bathroom every day so I could peek into the “lady’s boudoir.” In the room, made dark by the heavy closed velvet drapes, the interior appeared lush. I’d pause on my way in and out of the bathroom to catch as long of a glance as I could.
And so, Mrs. Bunting began my more formal education of “comportment.” I practiced walking up and down the sun parlor with a book on my head. “A young lady must always know how to carry herself.” She had a rule for just about everything a young lady should do. I practiced sitting quietly on the porch, hands folded. “A young lady does not fidget.”

My sisters didn’t escape all the instructions, either, as Mrs. Bunting always started her lessons at the table. “Always unfold your napkin slowly and place it on your lap before you pick up your spoon. That’s how a lady conducts herself.

          “And when you are finished, place your spoon beside the dish, not in it. Then, blot your lips with your napkin, even if you don’t think you need to do so. Then fold the napkin and place it next to your plate.”
          And again, she would repeat, “That shows you know how to act like a lady.”
          “Always say thank you as well, no matter how simple the meal or food.”

At this point, my two sisters would ask the prerequisite question, “May we now be excused?”

Mrs. Bunting would nod her regal head and as they scrambled from the table, they always rolled their eyes at me since I chose to remain behind. Years later, I questioned my understanding about the word she used, “comportment.” Had I confused it with deportment, a category on our elementary school report card? I looked up the two words and realized the subtle difference. No, Mrs Bunting was definitely teaching me how to comport myself as a lady. Each time I unfold my napkin, I think of her.

And to this day, if I sit in the sun and close my eyes, I can see myself sitting on Mrs. Bunting’s sun porch, practicing my ladylike behavior. Now, I wish I could have acknowledged the awareness she gave me during that brief time we spent together---the appreciation of common courtesies. If you have Mrs. Buntings in your life, consider letting them know they’ve influenced your life. And so, today, I want to say “thank you, Mrs. Bunting,” for taking the time to teach me the value of manners.

 

The Good Old Days

Do you ever miss what you consider “the good old days?” Sometimes, I must confess I do find myself getting nostalgic about how life used to be. Billy Joel sums up those sentiments in the first verse of his song, “Keeping the Faith,” and as he says so well, it’s tempting to get “lost in let’s remember.”

Let’s face it. For many of us, the innocence of an earlier time in our lives can cause a longing for the past. In our memory those days evoke a simpler life style, one in which candy bars were bigger and a half gallon of ice cream was really a half gallon. I can also recall long summer days where getting lost all day, or at least until the real cows—not the proverbial ones—came home, was the norm. All that innocence of an earlier time can make one long for times past.

Unlike some of the images Billy conjures up in his iconic song, I was the “good” girl in the poodle skirt worrying more about whether my saddle shoes were polished to perfection or if that threat of a pimple on my chin would erupt before the Friday night canteen. My sole rebellion was hanging out of my friend, Jeannette’s, window puffing away on a cigarette. That adventure didn’t last too long as neither of us really enjoyed the taste or the smell of Luckies.

Still, I do look back on those carefree and rather egocentric days with pleasure, but I like to think “the past never got in my way.” So, if you think “I'm feeling older and missing my younger days,” read on.

Despite what I now consider some of my shallow teenage priorities, I also recall deep yearnings to live a life with greater meaning and purpose. I just wasn’t sure what path that should be. Deep within, though, I always “had the hunger,” a desire to find out where I was supposed to go and what I destined to do with my life. 

“Keeping the Faith,” as Mr. Joel states so clearly  involves holding onto the “desire” and the “music that “sets me on fire.”

Billy’s wisdom continues when he sings “you can get just so much from a good thing. You can linger too long in your dreams.” That’s what can happen when you believe all the good things in life are in the past. But here, I must disagree with my musical mentor. I don’t think we have to say “goodbye to the oldies but goodies.”

Instead, we need to put those days in perspective, not up on a memory pedestal as we are reminded that “the good old days weren't always so good.” That’s something we need to remember—sometimes social mores can bind us into corners. 

That became so clear to me recently when I found this picture of my husband and I posed on my parents’ porch, for the “Going off for the honeymoon” picture, one of the required photos in the ‘60’s wedding album. I recall that moment so well. I wore a pillbox hat, a suit with long sleeves, nylon stockings with the mandatory girdle though I weighed barely 100 lbs. The day of our May wedding was a record ninety degrees, yet the thought of wearing something cooler never occurred to me because I accepted the rigid social expectations of the times.

Finding this image got me thinking about how much I treasure my freedom now and  no longer have to worry about social trappings like not wearing white shoes after Labor Day or a hat to church. Now I’m completely unfettered, no more mental or physical girdles for me!

How about you? What do you not miss about your younger days? Then again, what do you miss? I do miss getting letters, those hold-in-your hand personal missives that you can feel and read over and over. But that’s a blog for another day…

So, I must finish with agreeing totally with the maestro when he stresses “And tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems.” For despite all the sadness and the turmoil in today’s world, I have hope.

 So, I sit back in my chair and listen, not to my 45’s, but to the music channel on my TV, sip my wine in my new stemless glass and think to myself, “ain’t it wonderful to be alive.” And plan on living as well and as long as I can while “the rock ‘n’ roll plays” and “the memory stays.”

Yes sir, I am “keeping the faith,” one lovely day at a time.