I have known her,
How many years now, I have to count....
from 11 to 56,
she knows just about my whole life
She sat in the drain pipe, wearing her favorite dress, cotton plaid, knee sox and sturdy shoes.
There, I found her, me wandering alone
the new kid,
dressed in some Sears outfit from a smaller town south,
where farm kids lived.
Me looking dorky but still longing for a friend.
I asked her something... "What is it like in there, why are you sitting in the pipe? "
She answered, "it is the best place to be on this damn playground..."
Me, fresh from Catholic School to this public one
"You aren't supposed to swear.."
Like she cared..
She told me, " Oh,
everyone here does it, soon you will too."
She was absolutely right.
We wandered through our adolescence, crossing paths
in our various survival endeavors
like going to a big city black school - "reverse bussing'
Her courage impressed me, while
my timidity brought me back to
that snobby High School in our
"premium suburban bedroom community"
All that happened soon was never part of my dreams.
She was always there, 2 blocks away.
We could walk the forested hill and talk.
She went to Europe and wrote me long letters.
I wondered why I was not in Europe,
what courage, even to live with the Irish during
The violence of the 70's
I have boxes of our letters from all those years
They chronicle what we loved, how we lived, what we never learned to understand.
She still writes me letters, by hand.
It is in this later part of life we have our parents health issues
Our sons, we both had boys who brought our mother hearts
to full passion
This story is not over, this friendship
The years keep piling up
And the drain pipe image keeps returning
How I had the sense to ask her a question,
how she desired to answer the awkward new kid
and there
there we began on a rainy September playground
the sawdust cool and wet
Us not wanting to return to the classroom
each for different reasons
Later, we
began to write poetry
and laugh.
This story is not over, wait.
I will tell you more -and if you want
you can find someone sitting quietly away from the noisy world
of girly girls and pretense.
Ask a question, look vulnerable
It may be a friendship thread you can pick up
and weave into your life forever,
in the way which will keep you alive.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
February Questions
From a teaching article:
"Questions open the mind. Statements close it."
Some people, like my late husband Jim, were given the message that asking a question is a sign of weakness, of not knowing. Ah, how much none of us really know. How valuable is the person who knows how to ask, and does not feel the less for doing so?
My question: What do our traditional holidays tell us about our ancestors?
February is the in-between month of winter. It is the month of my birthday and my Dad's as well. It is the month where the weather will suddenly become warm and spring-like, and then retreat just as quickly into winterness. It is the month of sunrises and sunsets against the bare branches of oak trees, the mistletoe bundles arranged like little balls of fur about the stark branches. It is the month when my scented violets bloom in small purple profusions as a harbinger to spring, the scent hovering enchanting and nebulous.
It is the month of Valentines Day... red hearts and lace, chocolate and flowers, placed there in the grayness as a reprieve until those colorful Easter eggs take the stage.
I'm certain that our ancestors had reasons to devise holidays in increments thoughout the year. How clever they were, and how grateful I am.
When I go into classrooms now I see all kinds of red hearts and flowers. Hearts represent life and love. I believe so strongly in both those concepts. What a miracle our own heart is, the way it works, all by itself.
Happy Winter then, happy heart day, happy life and breath, happy birthday to all of us in Aquarius or Pisces... water and fish... life.
"Questions open the mind. Statements close it."
Some people, like my late husband Jim, were given the message that asking a question is a sign of weakness, of not knowing. Ah, how much none of us really know. How valuable is the person who knows how to ask, and does not feel the less for doing so?
My question: What do our traditional holidays tell us about our ancestors?
February is the in-between month of winter. It is the month of my birthday and my Dad's as well. It is the month where the weather will suddenly become warm and spring-like, and then retreat just as quickly into winterness. It is the month of sunrises and sunsets against the bare branches of oak trees, the mistletoe bundles arranged like little balls of fur about the stark branches. It is the month when my scented violets bloom in small purple profusions as a harbinger to spring, the scent hovering enchanting and nebulous.
It is the month of Valentines Day... red hearts and lace, chocolate and flowers, placed there in the grayness as a reprieve until those colorful Easter eggs take the stage.
I'm certain that our ancestors had reasons to devise holidays in increments thoughout the year. How clever they were, and how grateful I am.
When I go into classrooms now I see all kinds of red hearts and flowers. Hearts represent life and love. I believe so strongly in both those concepts. What a miracle our own heart is, the way it works, all by itself.
Happy Winter then, happy heart day, happy life and breath, happy birthday to all of us in Aquarius or Pisces... water and fish... life.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Friday the 13th
Driving down the hill to teach at the local Middle School this morning, the concept of 'Friday the 13th' wove it's way into my head... maybe something on the radio... the stations I wish would play only uplifting music to bring me to a work mode, but which seem to rely heavily upon extraneous commentary in the morning hours.
My favorite comedienne as a child was Phyllis Diller, who maintained that Friday the 13th was her lucky day. Phyllis was an iconoclast. I did not know what an iconoclast was when I was 9, but I somehow got that she was not following the party line, and that was for me. In order to equate myself with Phyllis, I decided Friday the 13th was my lucky day too. Ah, the impulsive logic of the child mind.
Today, being my lucky day, maybe I dropped the ball, or maybe I began with a Zen like calm which would allow me to function through the day which awaited me. The day was, as someone famous said, "One darned thing after another".
The drive was a little icy, but I safely arrived to the parking lot early, with a responsible sack lunch packed and sitting next to me. I did the last minute leave the car routines, and decided to keep the lunch in the car so I wouldn't have to lug it around, or have it get warm. I put on pink lipstick ( middle school kids seem to notice it) and I exited the car, locked it, and promptly realized that my keys were still in the ignition. I have done this before... and always think that I should never have to do it again. Well, today I was in some kind of Zen Siddhartha River, and the universe was testing me. No lunch, and a snafu to figure out later.
When I arrived at the appointed classroom, to work for a teacher new to me, I quickly began the exercise of orienting myself to the daily routine in a space of about 10 minutes. The classroom aid came in, bless her heart, and began to fill in the gaps, but even then, there were gaps... the teacher is a techie, his aid is not.
Nowadays in the classrooms they have these electronic wall pieces called 'Smart boards'. They interface with a computer, and project onto a screen. This is the new 'chalkboard'. They are very expensive, and not simple to use. I am still barely learning. (Plus, it seems the teachers have PC's, and I, alas, am a mac user.)
Laura, who teaches math upstairs, came in to help me, I sub for her and she knows I'm in the building. As she began to help me access the right programs for the smart board, we soon heard a loud POP. The bulb in the ceiling projector had just extinguished itself... funny (back to my love of comedy) that just yesterday at another school a teacher was telling me "those bulbs cost a million dollars" - perfect irony to the fact that we were studying the word 'hyperbole', for freshman English.
Another teacher arrived to look at the projector and flatly stated, "You won't be able to use this today".
All the lessons were set to appear on this smart thing, and I could not help but think about how dumb this felt to me.
At this point I began to improvise quickly and ruthlessly.... keeping my Siddhartha Zen calm. I taught the days lessons without technology. Mrs. Patrick, the classroom aid was a great boon here. She figured out how to find the math quiz, and make hard copies of it... bless her heart.
The kids in these classes were considered 'special ed', and I loved them all....
The day progressed with many actual teaching opportunities, which for a substitute constitute that warm feeling of validation which everyone seeks in a working life. I taught young James, who I had met working one on one in study hall last year. He is the gentlest middle school age kid I have ever encountered, and he smiles about 80% of the time. The fact that his home work paper was heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke made me sad. Who knows how much of his learning disability is caused by second hand smoke?
During my lunch 1/2 hour, after doing lunch duty all through what would have been the teacher's prep time, I was able to call AAA. The savior truck came and unlocked my car, so for the second half of the day I didn't have to ponder that problem any more. Thanks Mom, your yearly gift of AAA makes these kinds of goof ups so much less painful...
Another weird occurrence was watching 3 male teachers have to subdue a kid who went crazy with anger because he couldn't participate in a group game time, he had not earned the privilege. A staff person told me the district decided it could not afford to give the staff training in responding to physically violent students. I wonder how much that cost would compare to a smart board in every classroom. Technology has taken the lions share it seems, not just in schools, but in every other facet of life, except maybe that of a monk.
The day ended with me buying myself a much deserved IPA, what I thought was IPA, but turned out to be Porter. I guess my Zen state was just slightly jangled. Luckily I arrived home to a warm house, and only a few minor problems in tutoring land. My printer decided to be out of toner, and a new cartridge costs almost as much as the printer cost new. This seems like a cruel trick to me, but I am making myself realize I must accept the new paradigms, smart or not.
Now it is the weekend, and we can sit back and think about a man who practiced non-violence. That is a pleasing prospect. Happy Birthday Martin. I am so glad we have a holiday for you, we need holidays.
My favorite comedienne as a child was Phyllis Diller, who maintained that Friday the 13th was her lucky day. Phyllis was an iconoclast. I did not know what an iconoclast was when I was 9, but I somehow got that she was not following the party line, and that was for me. In order to equate myself with Phyllis, I decided Friday the 13th was my lucky day too. Ah, the impulsive logic of the child mind.
Today, being my lucky day, maybe I dropped the ball, or maybe I began with a Zen like calm which would allow me to function through the day which awaited me. The day was, as someone famous said, "One darned thing after another".
The drive was a little icy, but I safely arrived to the parking lot early, with a responsible sack lunch packed and sitting next to me. I did the last minute leave the car routines, and decided to keep the lunch in the car so I wouldn't have to lug it around, or have it get warm. I put on pink lipstick ( middle school kids seem to notice it) and I exited the car, locked it, and promptly realized that my keys were still in the ignition. I have done this before... and always think that I should never have to do it again. Well, today I was in some kind of Zen Siddhartha River, and the universe was testing me. No lunch, and a snafu to figure out later.
When I arrived at the appointed classroom, to work for a teacher new to me, I quickly began the exercise of orienting myself to the daily routine in a space of about 10 minutes. The classroom aid came in, bless her heart, and began to fill in the gaps, but even then, there were gaps... the teacher is a techie, his aid is not.
Nowadays in the classrooms they have these electronic wall pieces called 'Smart boards'. They interface with a computer, and project onto a screen. This is the new 'chalkboard'. They are very expensive, and not simple to use. I am still barely learning. (Plus, it seems the teachers have PC's, and I, alas, am a mac user.)
Laura, who teaches math upstairs, came in to help me, I sub for her and she knows I'm in the building. As she began to help me access the right programs for the smart board, we soon heard a loud POP. The bulb in the ceiling projector had just extinguished itself... funny (back to my love of comedy) that just yesterday at another school a teacher was telling me "those bulbs cost a million dollars" - perfect irony to the fact that we were studying the word 'hyperbole', for freshman English.
Another teacher arrived to look at the projector and flatly stated, "You won't be able to use this today".
All the lessons were set to appear on this smart thing, and I could not help but think about how dumb this felt to me.
At this point I began to improvise quickly and ruthlessly.... keeping my Siddhartha Zen calm. I taught the days lessons without technology. Mrs. Patrick, the classroom aid was a great boon here. She figured out how to find the math quiz, and make hard copies of it... bless her heart.
The kids in these classes were considered 'special ed', and I loved them all....
The day progressed with many actual teaching opportunities, which for a substitute constitute that warm feeling of validation which everyone seeks in a working life. I taught young James, who I had met working one on one in study hall last year. He is the gentlest middle school age kid I have ever encountered, and he smiles about 80% of the time. The fact that his home work paper was heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke made me sad. Who knows how much of his learning disability is caused by second hand smoke?
During my lunch 1/2 hour, after doing lunch duty all through what would have been the teacher's prep time, I was able to call AAA. The savior truck came and unlocked my car, so for the second half of the day I didn't have to ponder that problem any more. Thanks Mom, your yearly gift of AAA makes these kinds of goof ups so much less painful...
Another weird occurrence was watching 3 male teachers have to subdue a kid who went crazy with anger because he couldn't participate in a group game time, he had not earned the privilege. A staff person told me the district decided it could not afford to give the staff training in responding to physically violent students. I wonder how much that cost would compare to a smart board in every classroom. Technology has taken the lions share it seems, not just in schools, but in every other facet of life, except maybe that of a monk.
The day ended with me buying myself a much deserved IPA, what I thought was IPA, but turned out to be Porter. I guess my Zen state was just slightly jangled. Luckily I arrived home to a warm house, and only a few minor problems in tutoring land. My printer decided to be out of toner, and a new cartridge costs almost as much as the printer cost new. This seems like a cruel trick to me, but I am making myself realize I must accept the new paradigms, smart or not.
Now it is the weekend, and we can sit back and think about a man who practiced non-violence. That is a pleasing prospect. Happy Birthday Martin. I am so glad we have a holiday for you, we need holidays.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Where to Build the Fire
This morning, while contemplating the various complexities of the world situation - 2012- the Jack London story "To Build a Fire" surfaced in my mental stream of thought. That story was connected to a family discussion of the concept a "Three dog night" where the North dwellers only survived bitter cold by huddling up with their dogs. We have 2 lovely Huskies in my family who would be more than happy to cuddle up on a cold night.
Jack London's character had a dog, but the dog was much more able to withstand cold than the man.
The man built his fire under a spruce tree, and picked its twigs off, upsetting the balance of the tree. Finally the tree bent and its snow dumped onto the man's last good fire, his life line. He tried another fire, but it failed taking all his remaining matches. He then ran along side the creek, hoping to warm himself, his dog running with him. When he could no longer move because of cold, he stopped, and succumbed to hypothermia. The dog waited unit he knew the man was finally gone, then ran on to the original camp destination.
That story made me think again about how reliant we are on the other creatures of the world, and on the laws of physics for our survival. Where we build our fires is important. If we are cold, and this fire is of vital importance, we may take one last look around to see the landscape and let it speak to us. The dog is only a dog, but will survive because he has the genetics to do so. The creatures of the earth will serve us, only as long as our own consciousness holds out.
We talked of harmony tonight, and how when chanting or singing with other voices we instinctively search for the right tone and pitch to achieve the magic sound. It takes a keen sense of the other voices, the air, that acoustics, and the intentions of all present to create a harmony. This happens with deep consciousness. Where we listen, how we listen, where we decide to build our fire.
I like these thoughts to begin the new year. I like thinking about what I can do for survival and harmony at once. Maybe the man building the fire should have been more aware of the dog, who has been bred for generations to live in the harsh climates of the frozen North. Maybe the country could practice awareness of the tones others are singing, to blend in, rather than stand out. If we watch carefully we may hear and see the small messages our world sends to us, not always linear, not always obvious.
Jack London's character had a dog, but the dog was much more able to withstand cold than the man.
The man built his fire under a spruce tree, and picked its twigs off, upsetting the balance of the tree. Finally the tree bent and its snow dumped onto the man's last good fire, his life line. He tried another fire, but it failed taking all his remaining matches. He then ran along side the creek, hoping to warm himself, his dog running with him. When he could no longer move because of cold, he stopped, and succumbed to hypothermia. The dog waited unit he knew the man was finally gone, then ran on to the original camp destination.
That story made me think again about how reliant we are on the other creatures of the world, and on the laws of physics for our survival. Where we build our fires is important. If we are cold, and this fire is of vital importance, we may take one last look around to see the landscape and let it speak to us. The dog is only a dog, but will survive because he has the genetics to do so. The creatures of the earth will serve us, only as long as our own consciousness holds out.
We talked of harmony tonight, and how when chanting or singing with other voices we instinctively search for the right tone and pitch to achieve the magic sound. It takes a keen sense of the other voices, the air, that acoustics, and the intentions of all present to create a harmony. This happens with deep consciousness. Where we listen, how we listen, where we decide to build our fire.
I like these thoughts to begin the new year. I like thinking about what I can do for survival and harmony at once. Maybe the man building the fire should have been more aware of the dog, who has been bred for generations to live in the harsh climates of the frozen North. Maybe the country could practice awareness of the tones others are singing, to blend in, rather than stand out. If we watch carefully we may hear and see the small messages our world sends to us, not always linear, not always obvious.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Holiday Letter 2011
28 years ago this winter I stood on the banks of the Elwha River, watching the waters rush along in the hurried mode of high flood, my belly high as well with my Amery. The day after Christmas we celebrate his birth, another wistful winter, to remember other years, and the passage of time.
This has been a year of challenges and good work. Here are a few of the highlights:
*Everyone in my family has good health. It is my intent to remember gratitude for this simple fact. For anyone of my readers who does not have this, my heart goes out to you. We have clean water, fresh food in summer, and good air. It is a gift to live in the fertile hills of Northwest Oregon, where wine and water flow as do the fish in the rivers.
*All my kids live nearby. Arlyn in NW Portland, working at Paley's Place around the corner, teaching at Pacific U and George Fox, Playing with Tacoma Symphony, and working on a secret invention.
* Amery and Kirsten in Sherwood, 14 miles from me. Taking on a new pup pal for Tahoe - Meeka, with all the energy I wish I had. Kirsten, having passed the Oregon Bar exam this summer now practices as an attorney in downtown at Smith Freed. Amery has had the opportunity to work there in marketing, and now is doing part-time consulting in college athletics, and making sure the dogs are walked and dinner is on the table.
*Curtis shares my space at the 'Villa', and makes sure there is lots of firewood and plenty of presto logs, which I appreciate very much tonight. We get to take bargain basement trips about the region...and work in between at our various economic pursuits. The trips are in the older blog posts, as are descriptions of work. I enjoy having his help and companionship with all there is involved in a place like this in the country.
* My Mom and Dad are hanging on in the same house, making their way into an uncertain future, as Mom becomes more disabled from Parkinson's Disease. They are very mentally alert and still totally interested in what everyone is doing. I visit them about once a month to be part of the caregiving team. I am so grateful for the learning experience, and that they are still here with us.
* I have wonderful neighbors, Deanna and Steve, with whom I trade work for garden vegetables and massage. This past year I was part of their garlic cash crop project. From the planting, cultivating, harvesting, drying, cleaning. braiding and selling I found enlightenment. It was the culmination of a dream I've carried for many years. My facebook photo is me at the Beaverton Farmer's Market at the best garlic booth around, Mountain Top Table Lands. (The beautiful little Russian woman who knows garlic through and through came every Saturday, each time with a bigger smile on her face).
There is so much good in life. There is other stuff too, and anyone who knows my politics probably can guess that the world economic situation does not make it easy for me to sleep at night. Inequity abounds in our world, even at Christmas when we spend more money and there are bright lights to make things cheerful. It is a wonderful time for some.
My prayer is that the new year 2012 is not the end of the world, but the end of selfishness, greed, and the trend away from empathy. My prayer is that all of you, the people I love, continue to have good health, continue to be creative, and continue to keep well connected to me.... you make life worth living. Namaste!
This has been a year of challenges and good work. Here are a few of the highlights:
*Everyone in my family has good health. It is my intent to remember gratitude for this simple fact. For anyone of my readers who does not have this, my heart goes out to you. We have clean water, fresh food in summer, and good air. It is a gift to live in the fertile hills of Northwest Oregon, where wine and water flow as do the fish in the rivers.
*All my kids live nearby. Arlyn in NW Portland, working at Paley's Place around the corner, teaching at Pacific U and George Fox, Playing with Tacoma Symphony, and working on a secret invention.
* Amery and Kirsten in Sherwood, 14 miles from me. Taking on a new pup pal for Tahoe - Meeka, with all the energy I wish I had. Kirsten, having passed the Oregon Bar exam this summer now practices as an attorney in downtown at Smith Freed. Amery has had the opportunity to work there in marketing, and now is doing part-time consulting in college athletics, and making sure the dogs are walked and dinner is on the table.
*Curtis shares my space at the 'Villa', and makes sure there is lots of firewood and plenty of presto logs, which I appreciate very much tonight. We get to take bargain basement trips about the region...and work in between at our various economic pursuits. The trips are in the older blog posts, as are descriptions of work. I enjoy having his help and companionship with all there is involved in a place like this in the country.
* My Mom and Dad are hanging on in the same house, making their way into an uncertain future, as Mom becomes more disabled from Parkinson's Disease. They are very mentally alert and still totally interested in what everyone is doing. I visit them about once a month to be part of the caregiving team. I am so grateful for the learning experience, and that they are still here with us.
* I have wonderful neighbors, Deanna and Steve, with whom I trade work for garden vegetables and massage. This past year I was part of their garlic cash crop project. From the planting, cultivating, harvesting, drying, cleaning. braiding and selling I found enlightenment. It was the culmination of a dream I've carried for many years. My facebook photo is me at the Beaverton Farmer's Market at the best garlic booth around, Mountain Top Table Lands. (The beautiful little Russian woman who knows garlic through and through came every Saturday, each time with a bigger smile on her face).
There is so much good in life. There is other stuff too, and anyone who knows my politics probably can guess that the world economic situation does not make it easy for me to sleep at night. Inequity abounds in our world, even at Christmas when we spend more money and there are bright lights to make things cheerful. It is a wonderful time for some.
My prayer is that the new year 2012 is not the end of the world, but the end of selfishness, greed, and the trend away from empathy. My prayer is that all of you, the people I love, continue to have good health, continue to be creative, and continue to keep well connected to me.... you make life worth living. Namaste!
Saturday, December 10, 2011
I love How Walnut Shells Burn
I love how walnut shells burn
as I practice, morning light frozen
over a December Saturday.
In the stove window, the fire dances.
I watch the flame, from a years growing
oils formed, giving way
today,
for me -
heat and light.
as I practice, morning light frozen
over a December Saturday.
In the stove window, the fire dances.
I watch the flame, from a years growing
oils formed, giving way
today,
for me -
heat and light.
Monday, December 5, 2011
The Feast of St. Nicholas Choreographed by My Mom
My mom says, when she was about 3 years old, she had the pivotal childhood Santa Claus experience. Her uncle Walt (a dentist with a great sense of humor) had a friend who would dress up as Santa Claus and go to people's houses. This Santa came to their house as holiday 'entertainment for the children'. She and her brother were both so frightened by the character they hid behind the couch, and would have nothing to do with the spectacle.
So when her own kids were little, she decided to separate the saint from the commercial image. Mom really loves children (she had 9 of them on purpose) and the fact that St. Nicholas is a revered Catholic Saint, as well as the patron saint of children made her want to create a tradition outside the commercial one. Bully for her! Mom was counter-culture long before it was fashionable.
She refused to tell us that Santa came down the chimney, and left the gifts. In our house the gifts all had tags, with names on them showing exactly who the giver was. I remember being surprised when I witnessed my friend's homes, and the elaborate story of Santa giving gifts to every child in the world all in one night. I remember wondering what he did for the children who had no chimney.
Mom's counter-tradition worked like this: On December 6 she got out the stockings... funny odd socks from each of our own pasts. Mine was a thick, knitted knee hi I'd outgrown. The socks probably morphed through the years, but my old knee-hi is still in Mom's Christmas box. It is 50 years old by now.
The stockings were hung at the fireplace, how fortunate that we always did have a real fireplace. Mom put nuts, a tangerine, a chocolate marshmallow Santa, chapstick, little mini kleenex and chocolate kisses in each one. After dinner we got to take down our stocking, which became the desert portion of the evening. To this day I have a real thing for chocolate and marshmallow. Now Russel Stover makes them with dark chocolate, wow, too much!
We would all go through our stockings, (anywhere from 7 to 10 of us at the table) exclaiming at each little gift. As we got older my siblings would get little gifts for each other, and then it got to be even more fun. One year Brama, Mom's mother, put a lottery ticket in each stocking. I did not realize till then that she secretly liked gambling. It was great fun to scratch off my very first lottery ticket. I loved the slightly mischievous smile on her face. I can still see her delighted grin as she watched her grand kids excitedly scratching off their possible millions.
After the stockings had been emptied we opened the chocolate kisses and someone took the foil and molded a little sculpture of a Christmas donkey, or a stocking, or a tree. I don't exactly recall, but it pleased Mom so much, she rewarded the creativity with another chocolate kiss. As children, eager to amass a candy arsenal, we all began to intently fashion our little foil wrappers into fantastic shapes. By the end of desert we had a small gallery of foil artwork, which covered the middle of the dining room table, and was left there for days, even weeks to enjoy. We have continued that tradition for over 45 years now. We did that same game last Saturday. It made Mom laugh. She is fun to laugh with and it is pretty easy to get her going.
I fashioned Schwartz Peter's sack, with which he might gather bad children to throw into the river. I am not making this up... this was all written on Wikipedia. Santa has a dark helper, very "Grimm's Fairy Tales", in many European traditions, especially the Germans, our forebears. If nothing else besides BMW's and the autobahn, the Germans really know about 'discipline'.
The laughter flowed as we read all the funny traditions of St. Nicholas, and of the history. He is the patron saint of unmarried women, pawnbrokers, sailors, carpenters, children.... the list goes on. Look it up, and you will never see the fat red and white commercial image the same way.
This is an homage to you, Mom, for being a wonderfully and magically creative person. You encouraged your family to be creative. I am forever indebted to you for helping me see the world in all its color, diversity and silliness.
So when her own kids were little, she decided to separate the saint from the commercial image. Mom really loves children (she had 9 of them on purpose) and the fact that St. Nicholas is a revered Catholic Saint, as well as the patron saint of children made her want to create a tradition outside the commercial one. Bully for her! Mom was counter-culture long before it was fashionable.
She refused to tell us that Santa came down the chimney, and left the gifts. In our house the gifts all had tags, with names on them showing exactly who the giver was. I remember being surprised when I witnessed my friend's homes, and the elaborate story of Santa giving gifts to every child in the world all in one night. I remember wondering what he did for the children who had no chimney.
Mom's counter-tradition worked like this: On December 6 she got out the stockings... funny odd socks from each of our own pasts. Mine was a thick, knitted knee hi I'd outgrown. The socks probably morphed through the years, but my old knee-hi is still in Mom's Christmas box. It is 50 years old by now.
The stockings were hung at the fireplace, how fortunate that we always did have a real fireplace. Mom put nuts, a tangerine, a chocolate marshmallow Santa, chapstick, little mini kleenex and chocolate kisses in each one. After dinner we got to take down our stocking, which became the desert portion of the evening. To this day I have a real thing for chocolate and marshmallow. Now Russel Stover makes them with dark chocolate, wow, too much!
We would all go through our stockings, (anywhere from 7 to 10 of us at the table) exclaiming at each little gift. As we got older my siblings would get little gifts for each other, and then it got to be even more fun. One year Brama, Mom's mother, put a lottery ticket in each stocking. I did not realize till then that she secretly liked gambling. It was great fun to scratch off my very first lottery ticket. I loved the slightly mischievous smile on her face. I can still see her delighted grin as she watched her grand kids excitedly scratching off their possible millions.
After the stockings had been emptied we opened the chocolate kisses and someone took the foil and molded a little sculpture of a Christmas donkey, or a stocking, or a tree. I don't exactly recall, but it pleased Mom so much, she rewarded the creativity with another chocolate kiss. As children, eager to amass a candy arsenal, we all began to intently fashion our little foil wrappers into fantastic shapes. By the end of desert we had a small gallery of foil artwork, which covered the middle of the dining room table, and was left there for days, even weeks to enjoy. We have continued that tradition for over 45 years now. We did that same game last Saturday. It made Mom laugh. She is fun to laugh with and it is pretty easy to get her going.
I fashioned Schwartz Peter's sack, with which he might gather bad children to throw into the river. I am not making this up... this was all written on Wikipedia. Santa has a dark helper, very "Grimm's Fairy Tales", in many European traditions, especially the Germans, our forebears. If nothing else besides BMW's and the autobahn, the Germans really know about 'discipline'.
The laughter flowed as we read all the funny traditions of St. Nicholas, and of the history. He is the patron saint of unmarried women, pawnbrokers, sailors, carpenters, children.... the list goes on. Look it up, and you will never see the fat red and white commercial image the same way.
This is an homage to you, Mom, for being a wonderfully and magically creative person. You encouraged your family to be creative. I am forever indebted to you for helping me see the world in all its color, diversity and silliness.
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