Why I Believe

As I have stated before, I am a true believer in the big man in red. I learned my lesson early. When I was five or six, thinking logically, I started calculating the number of hours in a night, the number of houses in the world, and the amount of time it would take someone to jump out a sleigh and come down every chimney. Funny, I believed that there was a chance the reindeer flew, he had an accurate list, and he lived forever. The idea of elves was questionable. Anyway, putting the package together, as Mr. Spock would say, "This is totally illogical". When I posed my theory to my father, in his wise way, he took it in stride, and said,"Well, you have thought this through and you have some good points." His answer really bothered me. I expected some argument.

As Christmas got closer, I tried to co-op my younger brother into my theory. He wasn't buying it though. He was holding out for that large yellow Tonka Dump Truck to go with the Tonka Road Scraper he got for his birthday. He had the page marked in the Sears & Roebuck Wish Book. 

Remember that wonderful red catalog that would come in the mail a month or so before Christmas? My brother and I would fight over possession of it for weeks. Each of us clearly marking the items we wanted from the incredible selection of toys in the back of the book. But I digress.

Every year, Santa would make one short visit to our small town and hold court at the local Sears store located on the town square. That particular year, my father suggested I go with him to take my brother. As we walked up to the store, there was a crowd of excited children with their parents expectantly waiting to see the big man. (I still had my doubts. After all, how did he have time to visit every town.) My father led us through the crowd.

As we walked through the door, a loud voice boomed from the back of the store. And, what followed changed my life forever. Santa called my name - loudly. The line waiting to see him parted and there he was sitting in his big chair. "Someone told me you no longer believe in me," he said in a questioning voice. "Come hear. Let's talk." Somehow I made it down the aisle. As I approached him, he looked down at me and smiled. 

"Oh, I believe," I quickly said. 

"I thought you did. Now let's discuss that Chatty Cathy on page 105 of the Wish Book. I think that was on your list." If I ever had a doubt, that night I drank the Koolaide.

As Daddy took us home, I just couldn't stop talking about how nice Santa was and how hard his job must be. Daddy just smiled. "Santa" was the local radio announcer, Mr. Guy Kirby, a good friend of my father's. Needless to say, Mr. Kirby had some inside information and was prepared for me. When I was older and learned the truth about my "Miracle on Russell Street" I was in awe of what a father would do to make sure his little girl did not lose the magic of Christmas.

The Christmas Tree

 'Tis the Season - Right? The Season for family, friends, frolicking, and, most importantly, the pièce de ré·sis·tance - the Christmas Tree. Whether live and fresh or synthetic and artificial, it is the symbol of holiday hearth and home. There are many interpretations of this festive conifer. In the 60's there was the silver (aluminum) tree with the multi color light wheel projecting a parade of colors on the tree. These days, artificial trees come in a myriad of colors (without the light wheel) pink, blue, purple. There has been the tree that hangs upside down from the ceiling. I had a friend who would decorate a tree then burn it. (If nothing else, this made a statement). There are the "designer" trees where someone pays a small fortune for someone else to decorate their tree. Personally, I think this defeats the purpose.

There is "a tree in the Grand Hotel, one in the park as well, It's the sturdy kind that doesn't mind the snow". The largest tree I've ever seen is the one at Rockefeller Center. And, of course, the simple sad looking tree Charlie Brown had.

Whatever the type, most of us grew up with childhood memories of our family tree. As a child I cannot remember exactly when we got our tree. I do remember where - a tree lot off the St Matthew's Rd. You know, the traditional area outlined by white light bulbs strung from pole to pole. It was a Frazier Fir, if I recall correctly. It is was not from such a lot, it was from the Piggly Wiggly. After all, the first site of the Christmas trees lined up outside the grocery store announced the official beginning of the holiday season. Like many homes back then, we had the traditional tree lights of the time, the ones the size of your thumb when an entire string could easily heat a room. At High Acres, we had a simple Virginia pine that we cut down on the farm.

When our children were young, we selected and cut down our tree on a tree farm. Usually it was a Leyland Cypress. And, we always got it the Friday after Thanksgiving.

When the Christmas Tree farm we frequently used closed, we found another one, about an hour away. In addition to Leylands, they had several different varieties we tried over the years. There was the Noble Fir, supposed to be the "King " of trees. A truly beautiful tree that unfortunately lost much of its needles before Christmas day. There was also the Blue Spruce- a lovely tree with a blue Hue. Unfortunately, the branches were so prickly that by the time the tree was trimmed, our arms looked as if we had been in a cat fight, and the cat had won.

When our family joined the episcopal church, I was surprised to learn that the tree was not to be  until Christmas Eve and stayed up until Epiphany, through the 12 days of Christmas. (Turtle Doves and all). Even as members of the church, we continued to put our tree up the Friday after Thanksgiving (and take it down before New Year's Eve). It was blasphemy but in the church's benevolence we must have been forgiven as we were never excommunicated.

Talking with friends, I find there are many traditions (and theories) about when is the right time to buy the tree. But, to each their own. Personally, given the amount of effort, time, and money, if the tree is not put up 4 weeks before Christmas, it is not worth the investment. So for me it is some time Thanksgiving week.

That being the case, this upcoming week is "The" week. Furniture must be rearranged, boxes and totes filled with lights, balls, and garlands brought out, a holiday playlist selected, and the "perfect" tree brought home. There will be the frustrating issue of getting the tree straight in the stand, rotating it to see the best side, untangling the lights, and then getting them straight on the tree. Too many lights on the top and we may run short at the bottom or vice a versa. At that point the process can slow to an enjoyable pace. I may take a day or 2 to carefully place each ornament on the best place. 

I think we often fail to realize the joy of pulling each ornament from its box. For each individual ball, toy, or whatever has a story. I cannot speak for everyone, but I find myself cherishing each memory as I hang the ornament. It may be a ball with a glass opening that shows a miniature scene inside. In one case, it is Charlie Brown and Lucy ice skating. This was a special Hallmark ornament from the 70's I got as a child from Daddy's store. (Hard to believe that 50 years ago.) There are the ornaments collected from places traveled. The ones that were gifts from special friends. And, always the precious ones made of Popsicle sticks, glue, and pipe cleaners.

There are the glass balls I found on sale when we trimmed our first tree. I never thought of the expense of trimming a tree until the Christmas of 1982 when got our first tree. It was only then I realized that it would take patience and time to collect enough ornaments to properly decorate our tree. From this lesson I started a tradition of giving our granddaughters ornaments each year for Christmas so they will at least be a bit more prepared for their first tree than we were.

So each year's tree is a labor of love, a family tradition, a trip down memory lane, as well as the ultimate decoration that is the center of the home's holiday tradition. Then like something akin to a castle on the beach that awaits its fate by the change of the tide, in a manner of weeks, the process will be reversed, and everything will be put back up, moved back out, and the tree retired to the rubbish or recycle bin. We will be as glad to see it go, as we were thrilled when it was first put up. 

Julian Fellows Continues the Saga

 I recently learned that Julian Fellows has come through again. It has been announced that there will be another Downtown Abbey movie to be released in March 2022 -  Downton Abbey - A New Era. Based in the 1930's, it continues the saga of the Crowley family. 

But there are questions:

Who are the newly weds shown briefly in the trailer - perhaps Tom and Lucy who met when the King and Queen visited Downton? 

Just who was this mystery man of the Dowager Countess Violet's past? Were there more men in her life than the Earl of Grantham and Prince Kuragen? Is this who she visited when she disappeared to the south of France to get over being offed the Hospital Board?

What are George, Caroline, Sybil, Marigold, and Edith's second child up to?

Does Micheal Gregson reappear having been lost in Germany with amnesia since before the Great War, and complicate Edith's life? Or does Bertie tire of her and move onto another lady? Perhaps the Duchess of Kent? (Poor Edith)

Does the great house become way too expensive to manage and the family sell it to the Catholic church to be run as a home for wayward women (with Lady Isabel Merton - nee Crowley running the show)?

Do Daisy and Andy marry and turn Mr. Mason's tenancy into an organic jam operation?

Do Mr. Mason and Miss Patmore find true love?

Who is the glamorous blond who appears briefly in the trailer entering the Abby?

What becomes of Thomas's relationship with the King's Valet?

Do Violet and Maude make pretty and move to the South of France?

And who owns the yacht? Perhaps Harold?

Oh, so many questions. A lot can happen in the years between the mid 20's and mid 30's. 

Here is the trailer: Downton Abbey - A New Era

A Muff or Not

 Most of you know I was brought up in South Carolina, a state where "winter" weather is limited to 6 weeks in February and March. Maybe every 4 or 5 years snow will fall, generally just enough to cover the ground and cause mass pandemonium. 

All that said, my mother had certain ideas in her head of things that were proper. Not necessarily practical but proper.

There was a piece of "Winter" apparel Mama thought I needed to have and use. Beyond a scarf and gloves which were rarely used, Mama decided I needed a muff, a full white rabbit hare muff.

For those of you not familiar, a muff is defined as "a tube made of fur or other warm material into which the hands are placed for warmth". Such as this one as seen in the 1880's, in Europe where there is a true cold winter 4 months of the year. Memories of the snowy sleigh scenes in Dr. Zhivago come to mind, not the "chilly" winter days in South Carolina where the temperatures rarely drop below 40.

This is definitely not the first thing that comes to mind when one thinks of South Carolina. 

So in December, I would be dressed for church in my short sleeve velvet dress, black patent leather shoes, short white socks, and a muff. If it were cold enough I may have had on a sweater or a coat. But this begs the question - if it is not cold enough to wear tights or a coat, what in Sam Hell's name does one do with a muff? Well, in my case, thankfully (or maybe not), it came with a lanyard that went around my neck, preventing me from losing the blasted thing. Just for the record it is a very efficient hand warmer.

This all comes to mind the other night when I was watching a movie (the story line being in Europe) and one of the ladies had a brown fur muff. In that instance, it looked appropriate. Of course the story line was based in the Victorian Era and it was the winter season. (As in snow on the ground and temperatures in the low 20's).

I spared my daughters of this ridiculousness. I'm not sure they even know what a muff is. 

Don't get me wrong, in the right weather  (very cold), and the right situation (one that includes a lot of snow and a sleigh), a muff would be an appropriate piece of apparel. And next time, I find myself in that situation, I will no doubt be unprepared without a muff.

Perhaps, I should thank Mama. If nothing else, she prepared me for the $500 question on Jeopardy,  under the category of "Obsolete Victorian Winter Accessories" -  the clue being "The fur tube Victorian women used to keep their hands warm." Ding, Ding, Ding - "What is a muff?"

Silk Purses, Sows' Ears, and Wet Hens

Every once in a while random thoughts go through my mind - not necessarily world peace type thoughts or questions of the universe. But, there are some things I just have always wondered about.

I'm pretty sure pigs don't fly but do the cows ever come home? 

How actually mad does a hen get when doused in water? Does it take dogs and cats?

Exactly how drunk was Cooter Brown any way? 

And, just who was Sam Hill?

I didn't know frogs had hair, if so it must be pretty fine.

Do grasshoppers have knees?

And, God help us if that creek ever crests.

Can the pot and kettle really speak, and, if so why is the kettle black?

What is the difference between a doohicky, thingamajig and whatchamacallit?

Certainly a cat would know better than to walk across a hot tin roof.

Is there a antonym for  "Highfalutin"?

Frustration in the Check Out Line

 Do I look like I care? Seriously!

A day or 2 ago I was in line at the grocery store. The lady checking out 2 folks ahead of me, apparently did not realize that she would have to pay for her groceries. So after the cashier had checked her out and filled her bags, the customer started digging into her large purse to find, of all things, her check book. Then there was the issue that she seemed to have misplaced her pen.

Meanwhile the lady in front of me had a toddler in her buggy. She was on her mobile chatting - fairly loudly. "Well honey, I'm sorry but I figured you would not have the day off." Silence. "Sweetheart, you work in retail, that's the day after Thanksgiving - Black Friday. No one at the mall will have that day off." Silence. "No, I know you cannot drive 6 hours home Wednesday night, then 6 hours back Thursday. It makes no sense." Silence. "No, I'm afraid I cannot buy you an airline ticket." Silence. "I'm sorry, but I just can't." Silence. "Honey, I just can't."

Now, to get the full picture, the entire time of the phone call, the toddler was throwing a toy on the floor, and crying for her mother to pick it up. The mother would pick the toy up (all the while continuing her phone conversation) and give it back to the child, saying,"Don't do that." But, the child immediately did just that. After several of these out bursts, I wanted to grab the toy, put in in my bag, and inform that child that if she cried again, Santa Claus was not coming. But, I held my tongue, after all the child was not mine - thankfully. And, obviously the child and the mother would repeat this exercise until the child tired of throwing the toy down and having a fit.

When her phone call ended, the lady turned to me and announced, "She just hung up on me." As she put her phone back in her purse, she continued,"That was my oldest daughter. She just got her first job at a mall and thinks she should have Black Friday off." She stopped, picked the toy off the floor, gave it to the child and admonished her that 'If she did that one more time. . .'

She continued her story. "She has been our problem child and I have just had to do tough love. She makes poor choices. She dropped out of school. She is living in this horrible little place in a sketchy neighborhood. The boy she dates is horrible. And, this is her first job - at 19. Now she is upset about missing Thanksgiving." Just then, the mother turned to the toddler and once again told her, 'Not to do it again.'

I looked ahead and hoped the older lady had found a pen, written her check, took her groceries and left. But, alas, it was not be, she was chatting with the cashier. At this point, I wanted to wake up from this frustration dream. But, the sound of the toy being thrown on the floor, made me realize it was not a dream, just a nightmare in real life.

The mother continued,"I just don't know what we are going to do with her. She just makes poor choices. I just don't understand. I have given her everything - given her money, a car, and paid her rent. She keeps saying she is going back to college, but this boy she lives with doesn't want her to. Thankfully, she finally has a job."

Just then she realized that the lady ahead of her had moved on and she needed to get her groceries on the counter and check out. Thankfully that turned her attention away from me. Just when her groceries had been bagged, the toddler, once again repeated her throw-the-toy-on the floor- and cry routine. The cashier was losing patience. I did not fault her. The lady turned to the cashier and laughed, "I guess I need to pay." She opened her purse and started rumbling around, I assume to find her wallet. 

As she did, she looked at the cashier and started up, "I'm sorry, but my oldest daughter just called. She's upset because she cannot come home for Thanksgiving. See, she has made poor choices. . ."

All I could think was - Shoot me now. I need to develop a visage that shouts, "Don't share - I really don't care!"

Yearning for Our "Old" Norm

 This is the time of the year when we start thinking about the new year coming up. Just saying 2022 is as if one is talking about the distant future. 55 years ago, I pictured life in 2022 like the Jetsons lived. Certainly by now, we would having flying cars and robotic maids. (Well, thanks to Hazel, at least one of those is true.)

But rather than go to the future, I find we are more likely looking back to the past for comfort. Remember the days when one could visit anyone anywhere with no concern over vaccinations and masks? Think of the family holiday get-togethers when our only trepidation was Uncle Howard showing up, three sheets to wind telling his very inappropriate jokes about the fairer sex and politics.

As I age, I long for the family Christmas dinners of years past. The one with my mother's family that was always a great time. My brother and I got to see our cousins and run free through my grandparents' rambling home. As a younger child, it was Christmas on their farm in Marlboro County. My memories of those holidays were of a dining room table covered with dishes of wild game my grandfather brought home, and all the other familiar foods of a holiday dinner. Thankfully the distant memories of those days are well documented on the home movies my father took. 

Christmas dinner on my Daddy's side was a whole different ball game. My brother and I were the only grandchildren, and according to my Aunt Kat and Granny, we could do no wrong. This visit was always a quiet affair until Auntie (my 300 pound Great Aunt) showed up with her ever present pack of Salem cigarettes and off colored stories. Then the fun really began.

Those years until now seem like a movie reel that is running at reckless speed - way too fast. As we age time really does go by faster. (I wrote a post about that phenomenon a while back.) Just when we are mature enough to appreciate every minute of everyday, we find they passing at lightening speed. 

This year I only yearn for our "old" norm - days when we will no longer be confined by a pandemic. Now I am frustrated by the knowledge that this could quickly go back to that normal if more of the country's population would get vaccinated. But, I digress. 

Once again, I am looking backwards to get to the future, hoping time slows down, and trying to enjoy every day before it slips away. 

 

First Class Any Where in the World, Except Down Under

 I'll be the first to admit that I find the USPS (United States Postal Service) frustrating. However, I know of no other service where, for less than 60 cents one can send an envelope across the country (all 50 states). And, they deliver your mail to your home. And, let's face it, the post office is an American Institution, first introduced by Benjamin Franklin.

I was horrified last year to learn that the new Post Master General was going to "revolutionize" the postal service by cutting hours, doing away with postal machines, and, as of September 3, 2021, suspended service of First Class US Mail to Australia (Honest truth!). What did Australia do to deserve that? What's next? The United Kingdom? 

Seriously, I agree the postal service needs some updating, but I question cutting worker's hours, deciding that the latest machines that quickly read and sort mail are no longer needed, and, oh yes, who wants to send anything to Australia. I checked and one can still send a First Class letter to Tibet and the Seychelles, but not Australia. Needless to say, the Post Master General does not have the USPS in his best interest. Perhaps his personal investments in shipping and mailing services in the private sector have something to do with his trying to kill the Post Office by a 1000 cuts - just saying.

All this said, I needed to drop a package off at our local Post Office. I had gone online and already paid the postage, printed the label, sealed and labeled the box. All I needed to do was put it on the counter. It was just a little bit too large to put in the regular mail box. Our local post office is only open from 10 until 4 (and closed for lunch between 12 to 1). 

When I arrived at 10 am, it was not open. It was not long until there was a short line of patrons waiting for it to open. By 10:15 there was much conversation about the post office operating on "Postal Time". Quips were made about the shortened hours. One lady gave up and left. Then a young man standing with us just laughed. "We are going to be here until tomorrow. I just remembered it is Veteran's Day" - a national holiday when all federal government office are closed.

With all the stress and pressure the service is under, they definitely deserve a day off. Now, I just need to find another place to drop off my package. I'll have to come back to my local post office to buy my stamps. However, I need to plan my visit after 10 am, before noon, after 1 pm, before 4 pm, on a weekday (Monday - Friday), and not on a Federal Holiday. Doing the math, that gives me 25 hours in any given week without a federal holiday. I'll mark my calendar.

And, as a caveat, I dropped my USPS box off at the Friendly UPS that is opened every day and does not close for lunch.

The season of Lords, Ladies, and Turtle Doves are Upon Us.

 It's that time of year again. That time, when like it or not, the Christmas season is upon us. Once again Thanksgiving is overlooked, much like the red headed step child relegated to the table in the kitchen. Anyway, a true look at the economics of the day, is the price of the 12 Days of Christmas. 2020 was a bit short, given due to Covid there were no: Dancing Ladies, Leaping Lords, Pipers, or Drummers. But as we get back (close) to our old norm - if it exists, all twelve gifts are once again available. Here is the list of the cost of the gifts.

• A Partridge in a Pear Tree - $235.40
• 2 Turtle Doves  -                 $567.00
• 3 French Hens -                  $264.60
• 4 Calling Birds -                 $755.94
• 5 Golden Rings -                $1,190.70
• 6 Laying Geese  -               $775.20
• 7 Swimming Swans -         $14,700.00
• 8 Milking Maids -              $64.96
• 9 Dancing Ladies -            $8,461.82
• 10 Leaping Lords -            $11,200.00
• 11 Piping Pipers -              $3,078.73
• 12 Drummers -                  $3,328.92

For a grand total of $44,623.27

Of course 2020's cost was only $16,168.14 due to the lack of Ladies, Lords, Pipers, and Drummers. 2019's cost was $38,953.59. The 2021 total clearly reflects the inflation that dominates the front pages these days, as compared to 2019, the cost has increased by a little less than $6,000.

Now, as a caveat, with the shipping issues and shortages, the Golden Rings may be a little hard to find. The Lords may have issues getting here, given the Covid travel restrictions and flight cancellations. 

A bit of history here. The song was first published in England in 1780, although its origins are probably French. The current version is an arrangement first published in 1909 by English composer Frederic Austin.  The first day starts with Christmas day and run the 12 days until Epiphany. 

But, all said, and God willing, the 2021 Christmas season will once again enjoy these 79 delights.

Happy Holidays!

When You Care Enough . . .

There is one holiday tradition that I hold dear - Christmas Cards. In these days of texts, emails, and e-cards, I feel the least I can do is take the time and effort to send a pen and ink, authentic paper Christmas card to my family and friends. At this point I long for the obnoxious letters included in cards I received years ago touting the accomplishments of the sender's children. You know the ones, when everything from an Olympic medal to a Fullbright Scholarship to being the 3rd string short stop on the local Little League team was regaled in lengthy text. As tedious as those were to read, I found the ones lamenting over every ache and pain, Doctor's visit, and medical prognosis to be the worst. 

I think this tradition on my part goes back to Daddy's drug store. In the 60's and 70's, he was the only Hallmark dealer in our town. Each year around September, the Hallmark Representative would come to our home. He would have with him this huge (24 x 18 inch) dark green loose leaf book. Each page had a different card attached with the accompanying envelope. Mama and Daddy would sit with him and select the cards that would be sold in the store that year. Also, Mama would place an order for the personalized card our family would send. Later that week, Daddy would let his customers know that the book was in the store and they could order their personalized cards.

As dear a place in my heart as Hallmark has, I generally try to find some unique card to send each year, be it by Hallmark or not. I usually start in late September looking for the right card. Some years they are handmade, others they have been designer and fairly pricey. This year I found some precious ones that were not that expensive. After all, it is the thought (and effort and follow through) that counts.  My list rarely changes. I may add new friends I have made this past year. OK, I'll admit that I may drop a name or 2 off the list. But only if I no longer want to encourage that relationship. Fear not, if for some reason you do not receive a card from me this year, no doubt it got lost in the mail.

Also, each year I look forward to receiving holiday greetings in the US Mail from friends and family. For some, it is the only time I hear from them. So my holiday season begins each year as I sit and address my cards. Perhaps I'm old fashioned, but there are some traditions I feel should be carried on. 

My Nemesis

 As with anyone who has attained my age, I have accumulated several nemesis along the way. I think my earliest foe was a girl named Rhonda in 6th grade. That was followed by Algebra in 10th grade, Biology my freshman year in college, and Astronomy my sophomore  year. I shudder with just the thought of cell structure or the Andromeda Galaxy, But, I digress. And I'll spare you my entire list of antagonists.  

However, the most evil enemy I have encountered over the years is my bathroom scale. The status of my day is made or ruined by this small flat electronic device. I learned years ago that the only way (no pun intended) to control my weight is to subject myself to this device of torture. I have an acceptable range of weight that I need to stay within. A bit over the range tells me that I need to "seriously watch" what I eat that day. Within the range means I just need to "watch" what I eat. If the God of the Scales blesses me with a number below my range then I am free to eat without worrying so much. But reckless abandonment is never on the table. That joy ended many years ago.

Coming in at a close second to the evil scales is my clothes. I despise tight clothes. Not only are they unsightly and uncomfortable, they are an undeniable sign that my weight is edging up. Since I refuse to buy larger clothes, the tight material around my thighs and weight is a constant reminder that portions need to be decreased and sweets eliminated. 

So I live in a constant tug of war with my weight and size. Each year nature makes this a miserable tussle, one I lose more than win. So while most people would chose unlimited money if granted a wish from the genie,  I would choose the ability to eat with reckless abandon, needless to say, followed by the a second wish for the monetary resources.

If nothing else, I could purchase a kinder set of bathroom scales that would not torture me each morning. And to think some people fear speaking in public or crossing a street.