Saturday, December 23, 2006
Hallelujah!
Hallelujah! At 6:00 PM on December 23, I am finally ready for Christmas! All the gifts are bought, wrapped, and under the tree. The cards are sent, the groceries bought, the house cleaned up, and the 7-layer salad is in the fridge for tomorrow's Christmas Eve dinner. The house is aglow with candles and lights. Soon Sean and Misty will be here to spend the night so we can get up early on Christmas Eve morning for our little family gift-giving. I always love it when all my family is together under my roof when I lie down to sleep at night. I've ordered a pizza for tonight and we plan to play Scrabble. Tomorrow after we open gifts, I'll fix waffles for breakfast, a family tradition. Then Misty and I will make casseroles to take to Granny's house. After we eat dinner and open gifts with Doug's family, we'll visit my sister Mary Jane for her Christmas Eve celebration and dessert. On Christmas morning, I'll get up early to do some more cooking, and then we'll head down to Cindy's for my family's Christmas. Weeks worth of preparations will soon culminate in a week of celebration. Doug is off all week, and of course, school is out for me. I always love the week after Christmas better than any week of the year! Finally, I get to relax.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Christmas Memories
Nothing induces nostalgia quite the way Christmas does. As a child, Christmas was my favorite time of the year, as I’m sure it is for most children. This morning I awakened early and lay in bed remembering some of my favorite Christmases. Every Christmas was special, but some stand out more than others – like the year Daddy got the Christmas spirit.
I got my love of Christmas from my mama, who always went over the top in celebration of it. She decorated and baked and played her old Andy Williams and Perry Como LP albums on our record player. (Remember those?) Daddy had two major roles to play each Christmas. One was to chop down a cedar tree from somewhere on the farm or on land he managed as a forester. The other was to pay Santa for all the gifts he brought us. Yes, even when we believed in Santa, Daddy told us he had to pay him for all those toys! He wasn’t about to let some little man in a red suit get all the credit!
Once Daddy had brought the tree in and got it to stand straight in the stand, he would put the large colored lights on it and then sit down in his recliner while Mama and my sisters and I decorated the tree. The lights were hot enough to burn you if you chanced to touch one, so we had to be careful. Cedar limbs aren’t very sturdy, so our decorations had to be lightweight, usually just colored balls and tinsel. One thing we always did, though, was sit down together and string popcorn on black thread to put around the tree. One year we got together small toys and other little household items and spray- painted them to put on the tree.
While all the preparations were going on, Daddy played the scrooge. He loved to Bah, hum-bug and act like he wasn’t the least bit interested in what we were doing. But one year, things were different. Daddy was out marking timber one day when he came upon a bounty of huge, perfectly-formed pine cones littering the forest floor. He was always one to appreciate the beauty of nature, and so he gathered a large sack of cones and brought them home. He was so proud of his find! He painted the pine cones gold and silver and placed them all around the living room. And that was just the start! Soon he was bringing in greenery and stringing up more lights and decorating everything that didn’t move. We loved it! To this day, we refer to it as the year Daddy got the Christmas spirit.
Of course, there were Christmas gifts that I remember to this day. (No Red Rider BB gun, but we did get BB guns one year!) One year Mary Jane and I got new bicycles. It was one of those exceptionally warm Christmases with highs in the 70’s, so we had a wonderful time riding our bikes around the farm and up and down nearby dirt roads. Another year, we got a large Barbie doll house and a little plastic car, a snazzy convertible, for Barbie and Ken to ride around in. I loved my Barbie dolls and played with them until I was almost fourteen. Another memorable gift was the child-size kitchen set Daddy struggled to assemble one year. It was made out of pink cardboard, with a stove that actually lit up when you turned on the burners, and a faucet with running water in the sink. We certainly got our parents’ money’s worth from that gift!
A big surprise one year was a small chord organ. I had always wanted to learn to play the piano, and begged to take lessons, but Daddy had been forced to do so as a child, and had acquired a pure hatred for piano music. No way was he going to allow a piano in his house. I was quite disappointed, but Mama ordered the chord organ from Sears and Roebuck that Christmas. It arrived several weeks early, in two very large boxes, one for the organ and one for the stool that went with it. How could she hide such large gifts? The solution came courtesy of Daddy’s bumper crop of butternut squash. And I do mean bumper! Daddy had been bringing in the huge, orange squash daily and piling them up on the enclosed porch that was at the side of our antebellum house. The porch was where we kept a large chest-type freezer and anything else that needed storing. The squash pile grew higher and wider and soon became a joke. Well, the organ arrived one day while we were at school, so Mama moved all the squash aside, put the organ in its place, and then piled the squash around and on top of it. We never knew it was there!
Remembering the organ reminds me that one of my favorite things about Christmas is the music. I soon learned to play several carols. As I mentioned earlier, the sounds of Perry Como crooning “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” and Andy Williams singing “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” filled the air whenever daddy was not at home.
( If he was home, a football game was on.) But my favorite music was the music I made with mama and my sisters when we were in the kitchen washing and drying dishes. We would all sing Christmas songs together, and those were some of my happiest childhood moments.
Perhaps one Christmas stands out in my memory more than all the others. That year we had opened gifts, and then Daddy and I went to check on a heifer that was about to give birth. When we got there, we found her in trouble. The calves’ hooves had emerged, but the heifer was apparently in great pain, and never having experienced birthing before, panicked. She was running around in a state of sheer terror. Daddy knew the calf probably wasn’t going to come on its own, so he would have to pull it. That meant getting a very frightened young cow into the corral where he could work on her. Daddy and I both chased her, but she was in no mood to cooperate. Daddy always got angry and upset when a cow was in trouble, and this day was no exception, even if it was Christmas. When her water broke, we knew there wasn’t much time to save the calf. Then, to escape us, she swam across the pond! By the time we finally got her into the corral, she collapsed on her side, and Daddy attached the chains to the calf’s hooves. He pulled so hard and was so agitated, I feared he would have a heart attack. I stood by watching and praying that the calf would live. Finally, the slimy, wet calf flopped out on the ground, looking completely lifeless. Daddy checked for breathing, and when there was none, he started blowing into its nostrils. When that didn’t work, he picked the calf up by its hind feet and shook it with all his might. He dropped it hard on the ground, where it still showed no signs of life. My heart sank. Then, we heard the faintest little “maahhh.” A miracle had occurred! There was life! Daddy and I started laughing and whooping in relief and happiness at what we had just witnessed. Slowly the calf gained strength and finally struggled to get up on its long, spindly legs. We watched quietly. About that time, we heard the honking of geese, and looked up into the blue sky to see a flock flying overheard in perfect V formation. At that moment, I was overcome with the realization of the beauty of that Christmas day. It was one of those magical moments that you can’t produce; it just happens once in a great while. That Christmas probably stands out in my memory more than any other.
I just remembered something else. I was always somewhat artistic, even as a child, and one year I decided to make a nativity scene out of Paper Mache. I spent hours molding newspaper and glue into a small Joseph, Mary, and baby Jesus, and then painted them with tempera paint. Finally, I shellacked them for preservation. Then I cut three rectangles from Styrofoam and put them together to create a triangular-shaped stable. I spray-painted it gold. (It was a very “modern” stable.) I made a paper star to hang from the center of the triangle and attached a Christmas light behind it to give light to my scene. I was quite proud of my handiwork, and Mama just loved it. Daddy, however, laughed and referred to the little holy family as the Christmas ghouls! That is what they were called for the next few years, as Mama lovingly got them out and put them on the long counter in the family room, surrounded by greenery. She would always tell Daddy they were her favorite Christmas decoration! After many years, the little figures disintegrated, but I can still see them in my mind to this day.
I guess Christmas is all about memories, and memories are what ground us. The world is too fast, too much, and too overwhelming at times, but at each year’s end, we stop our regular routine and remember. We remember Christmases past, family, and friends, and we remember that God came to be with us in the form of a small baby in a small town called Bethlehem. Merry Christmas.
I got my love of Christmas from my mama, who always went over the top in celebration of it. She decorated and baked and played her old Andy Williams and Perry Como LP albums on our record player. (Remember those?) Daddy had two major roles to play each Christmas. One was to chop down a cedar tree from somewhere on the farm or on land he managed as a forester. The other was to pay Santa for all the gifts he brought us. Yes, even when we believed in Santa, Daddy told us he had to pay him for all those toys! He wasn’t about to let some little man in a red suit get all the credit!
Once Daddy had brought the tree in and got it to stand straight in the stand, he would put the large colored lights on it and then sit down in his recliner while Mama and my sisters and I decorated the tree. The lights were hot enough to burn you if you chanced to touch one, so we had to be careful. Cedar limbs aren’t very sturdy, so our decorations had to be lightweight, usually just colored balls and tinsel. One thing we always did, though, was sit down together and string popcorn on black thread to put around the tree. One year we got together small toys and other little household items and spray- painted them to put on the tree.
While all the preparations were going on, Daddy played the scrooge. He loved to Bah, hum-bug and act like he wasn’t the least bit interested in what we were doing. But one year, things were different. Daddy was out marking timber one day when he came upon a bounty of huge, perfectly-formed pine cones littering the forest floor. He was always one to appreciate the beauty of nature, and so he gathered a large sack of cones and brought them home. He was so proud of his find! He painted the pine cones gold and silver and placed them all around the living room. And that was just the start! Soon he was bringing in greenery and stringing up more lights and decorating everything that didn’t move. We loved it! To this day, we refer to it as the year Daddy got the Christmas spirit.
Of course, there were Christmas gifts that I remember to this day. (No Red Rider BB gun, but we did get BB guns one year!) One year Mary Jane and I got new bicycles. It was one of those exceptionally warm Christmases with highs in the 70’s, so we had a wonderful time riding our bikes around the farm and up and down nearby dirt roads. Another year, we got a large Barbie doll house and a little plastic car, a snazzy convertible, for Barbie and Ken to ride around in. I loved my Barbie dolls and played with them until I was almost fourteen. Another memorable gift was the child-size kitchen set Daddy struggled to assemble one year. It was made out of pink cardboard, with a stove that actually lit up when you turned on the burners, and a faucet with running water in the sink. We certainly got our parents’ money’s worth from that gift!
A big surprise one year was a small chord organ. I had always wanted to learn to play the piano, and begged to take lessons, but Daddy had been forced to do so as a child, and had acquired a pure hatred for piano music. No way was he going to allow a piano in his house. I was quite disappointed, but Mama ordered the chord organ from Sears and Roebuck that Christmas. It arrived several weeks early, in two very large boxes, one for the organ and one for the stool that went with it. How could she hide such large gifts? The solution came courtesy of Daddy’s bumper crop of butternut squash. And I do mean bumper! Daddy had been bringing in the huge, orange squash daily and piling them up on the enclosed porch that was at the side of our antebellum house. The porch was where we kept a large chest-type freezer and anything else that needed storing. The squash pile grew higher and wider and soon became a joke. Well, the organ arrived one day while we were at school, so Mama moved all the squash aside, put the organ in its place, and then piled the squash around and on top of it. We never knew it was there!
Remembering the organ reminds me that one of my favorite things about Christmas is the music. I soon learned to play several carols. As I mentioned earlier, the sounds of Perry Como crooning “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” and Andy Williams singing “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” filled the air whenever daddy was not at home.
( If he was home, a football game was on.) But my favorite music was the music I made with mama and my sisters when we were in the kitchen washing and drying dishes. We would all sing Christmas songs together, and those were some of my happiest childhood moments.
Perhaps one Christmas stands out in my memory more than all the others. That year we had opened gifts, and then Daddy and I went to check on a heifer that was about to give birth. When we got there, we found her in trouble. The calves’ hooves had emerged, but the heifer was apparently in great pain, and never having experienced birthing before, panicked. She was running around in a state of sheer terror. Daddy knew the calf probably wasn’t going to come on its own, so he would have to pull it. That meant getting a very frightened young cow into the corral where he could work on her. Daddy and I both chased her, but she was in no mood to cooperate. Daddy always got angry and upset when a cow was in trouble, and this day was no exception, even if it was Christmas. When her water broke, we knew there wasn’t much time to save the calf. Then, to escape us, she swam across the pond! By the time we finally got her into the corral, she collapsed on her side, and Daddy attached the chains to the calf’s hooves. He pulled so hard and was so agitated, I feared he would have a heart attack. I stood by watching and praying that the calf would live. Finally, the slimy, wet calf flopped out on the ground, looking completely lifeless. Daddy checked for breathing, and when there was none, he started blowing into its nostrils. When that didn’t work, he picked the calf up by its hind feet and shook it with all his might. He dropped it hard on the ground, where it still showed no signs of life. My heart sank. Then, we heard the faintest little “maahhh.” A miracle had occurred! There was life! Daddy and I started laughing and whooping in relief and happiness at what we had just witnessed. Slowly the calf gained strength and finally struggled to get up on its long, spindly legs. We watched quietly. About that time, we heard the honking of geese, and looked up into the blue sky to see a flock flying overheard in perfect V formation. At that moment, I was overcome with the realization of the beauty of that Christmas day. It was one of those magical moments that you can’t produce; it just happens once in a great while. That Christmas probably stands out in my memory more than any other.
I just remembered something else. I was always somewhat artistic, even as a child, and one year I decided to make a nativity scene out of Paper Mache. I spent hours molding newspaper and glue into a small Joseph, Mary, and baby Jesus, and then painted them with tempera paint. Finally, I shellacked them for preservation. Then I cut three rectangles from Styrofoam and put them together to create a triangular-shaped stable. I spray-painted it gold. (It was a very “modern” stable.) I made a paper star to hang from the center of the triangle and attached a Christmas light behind it to give light to my scene. I was quite proud of my handiwork, and Mama just loved it. Daddy, however, laughed and referred to the little holy family as the Christmas ghouls! That is what they were called for the next few years, as Mama lovingly got them out and put them on the long counter in the family room, surrounded by greenery. She would always tell Daddy they were her favorite Christmas decoration! After many years, the little figures disintegrated, but I can still see them in my mind to this day.
I guess Christmas is all about memories, and memories are what ground us. The world is too fast, too much, and too overwhelming at times, but at each year’s end, we stop our regular routine and remember. We remember Christmases past, family, and friends, and we remember that God came to be with us in the form of a small baby in a small town called Bethlehem. Merry Christmas.
33 Years
Yesterday was our 33rd anniversary. We had a very pleasant day together, seeing a movie and eating filet mignon at Longhorn’s. Over our sinfully delicious meal, I looked at Doug and asked him, “Can you believe we’ve been married for 33 years?” He said he could, because he can’t really remember much about the time before we were married. I guess that’s true for me, too; it seems like I’ve been married my whole life. Then he asked me if I wanted to go for 33 more years. I did the math and said, “That would make you 87 and me 86 – it’s feasible, so yeah, let’s go for it.” Of course, we have no idea if God will give each of us that many more years on this earth, but if He does, we will spend them together. I can’t imagine anything else. We are two different people and a single, inseparable unit at the same time. There is tremendous comfort in knowing that we will grow old together. I wouldn’t want to face old age alone!
In 33 years we’ve been through a lot – the whole for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, and for better and for worse thing. There have been good years and bad years and a lot of somewhere in-between years. The good years win out. There were times when I didn’t think they would, but they did.
Probably the most difficult year was the first one. We married too young; I was still just nineteen. Both of us were self-centered and immature, with no experience of living on our own and supporting ourselves. We went from single life to married life, from rural life to city life, and childhood to adulthood all at once, and the adjustment was extremely hard. We were trying to work and go to school at the same time. Both of us were under too much stress, and we had terrible fights.
Probably the biggest mistake we made was that we stopped going to church. Our old church seemed too far away, and we were afraid of “big city churches,” so we didn’t look for a new one. We also had no friends. The few high school friends we had kept up with, had moved far away. I had too much pride to talk to my mother about my unhappiness, and my sisters were still too young to understand. I never felt so alone. I had struggled with depression since early adolescence, and now I sank into a major one. I cried, I prayed, I went for long walks by myself, and I even thought of doing myself in. The one thing I could not do was go back home; my parents would never understand. Divorce was unheard of in my family. Besides, I couldn’t admit failure. The shame would have been more than I could bear.
Then one day I made a friend. The professor in one of my classes had just returned an exam to us and made a comment about my grade being the highest one in the class. As we were leaving, a couple of girls made a very snide remark to me, something about me “ruining the curve.” Then this pretty, dark-haired girl walked up, smiled, and said, “Don’t pay any attention to them; they’re just jealous.” She introduced herself as Elizabeth. It turned out we were both catching a bus back to married housing, so we talked long enough to realize we had a lot in common. We were the same age, both newly married and living on campus, both majoring in home economics education, and both of us had grown up on a farm in a family of girls with a very strict father. And both of us were Baptists. She invited me to her church, Prince Avenue Baptist, and she seemed really excited about it. That same week, one of my professors invited us all to come to that same church. (This was an extraordinary thing to happen on the University campus!) I decided God must be trying to tell me something, and besides, I wanted a friend, so I convinced Doug to go to church with me the following Sunday night. I quickly spotted Elizabeth, wearing the green suit she would wear every Sunday for the next year since we were all so poor at the time, and she introduced us to her husband Jim. The four of us soon established a friendship that endures to this day.
We loved the church and its young pastor, Brother Bill. We found out what “preaching the Word” meant, and learned about the “spirit-filled life.” It wasn’t long before we joined the church and started going to a Sunday School class for young married couples, where we made more new friends. Life was certainly looking better. Then we went with a church group to a week-long conference held by a man named Bill Gothard. That week he spoke a great deal about marriage and family, and Doug and I soon realized we had been doing everything all wrong. We were terribly convicted about how selfish we had been. That week was a real turning-point in our marriage. We were no longer alone; we had a church family, friends, and a three-way relationship that included Jesus Christ. We were wise enough to realize we needed all that support, and when we moved with Doug’s job two years later, we quickly found another church home and have been in church ever since.
In the years that followed, there were other hardships. The greatest disappointment of our lives was realizing we could not have children, but later, the happiest moment of our married life was getting the news that we would adopt a son. I struggled with bouts of depression off and on for years; it was my personal demon. Without God, I never would have made it. He, and He alone, kept me sane. True relief finally came with the discovery of Prozac, which I foolishly avoided taking for many years. I finally realized there was no shame in admitting there could be a chemical imbalance in my brain, and that God can use doctors and medicine to answer prayer.
Our early financial struggles finally eased, and we became proud homeowners. God has truly blessed us materially. We’re not rich, never have been, and never will be, but we have also never had to worry about money since we finished school. Doug and I both found rewarding careers. We’ve enjoyed good health for almost all our married life, and so has our son. Sean has grown into a fine young man with a lovely wife of his own. I feel so blessed.
Before we were married, Doug gave me a poster. It had a picture of two chihuahuas holding onto each other. The caption read, “It’s me and you against the world.” I still have that poster somewhere up in the attic. I think it symbolizes our marriage fairly well. It’s still me and Doug, holding on despite all obstacles, and I am so glad I toughed it out during the hard times.
In 33 years we’ve been through a lot – the whole for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, and for better and for worse thing. There have been good years and bad years and a lot of somewhere in-between years. The good years win out. There were times when I didn’t think they would, but they did.
Probably the most difficult year was the first one. We married too young; I was still just nineteen. Both of us were self-centered and immature, with no experience of living on our own and supporting ourselves. We went from single life to married life, from rural life to city life, and childhood to adulthood all at once, and the adjustment was extremely hard. We were trying to work and go to school at the same time. Both of us were under too much stress, and we had terrible fights.
Probably the biggest mistake we made was that we stopped going to church. Our old church seemed too far away, and we were afraid of “big city churches,” so we didn’t look for a new one. We also had no friends. The few high school friends we had kept up with, had moved far away. I had too much pride to talk to my mother about my unhappiness, and my sisters were still too young to understand. I never felt so alone. I had struggled with depression since early adolescence, and now I sank into a major one. I cried, I prayed, I went for long walks by myself, and I even thought of doing myself in. The one thing I could not do was go back home; my parents would never understand. Divorce was unheard of in my family. Besides, I couldn’t admit failure. The shame would have been more than I could bear.
Then one day I made a friend. The professor in one of my classes had just returned an exam to us and made a comment about my grade being the highest one in the class. As we were leaving, a couple of girls made a very snide remark to me, something about me “ruining the curve.” Then this pretty, dark-haired girl walked up, smiled, and said, “Don’t pay any attention to them; they’re just jealous.” She introduced herself as Elizabeth. It turned out we were both catching a bus back to married housing, so we talked long enough to realize we had a lot in common. We were the same age, both newly married and living on campus, both majoring in home economics education, and both of us had grown up on a farm in a family of girls with a very strict father. And both of us were Baptists. She invited me to her church, Prince Avenue Baptist, and she seemed really excited about it. That same week, one of my professors invited us all to come to that same church. (This was an extraordinary thing to happen on the University campus!) I decided God must be trying to tell me something, and besides, I wanted a friend, so I convinced Doug to go to church with me the following Sunday night. I quickly spotted Elizabeth, wearing the green suit she would wear every Sunday for the next year since we were all so poor at the time, and she introduced us to her husband Jim. The four of us soon established a friendship that endures to this day.
We loved the church and its young pastor, Brother Bill. We found out what “preaching the Word” meant, and learned about the “spirit-filled life.” It wasn’t long before we joined the church and started going to a Sunday School class for young married couples, where we made more new friends. Life was certainly looking better. Then we went with a church group to a week-long conference held by a man named Bill Gothard. That week he spoke a great deal about marriage and family, and Doug and I soon realized we had been doing everything all wrong. We were terribly convicted about how selfish we had been. That week was a real turning-point in our marriage. We were no longer alone; we had a church family, friends, and a three-way relationship that included Jesus Christ. We were wise enough to realize we needed all that support, and when we moved with Doug’s job two years later, we quickly found another church home and have been in church ever since.
In the years that followed, there were other hardships. The greatest disappointment of our lives was realizing we could not have children, but later, the happiest moment of our married life was getting the news that we would adopt a son. I struggled with bouts of depression off and on for years; it was my personal demon. Without God, I never would have made it. He, and He alone, kept me sane. True relief finally came with the discovery of Prozac, which I foolishly avoided taking for many years. I finally realized there was no shame in admitting there could be a chemical imbalance in my brain, and that God can use doctors and medicine to answer prayer.
Our early financial struggles finally eased, and we became proud homeowners. God has truly blessed us materially. We’re not rich, never have been, and never will be, but we have also never had to worry about money since we finished school. Doug and I both found rewarding careers. We’ve enjoyed good health for almost all our married life, and so has our son. Sean has grown into a fine young man with a lovely wife of his own. I feel so blessed.
Before we were married, Doug gave me a poster. It had a picture of two chihuahuas holding onto each other. The caption read, “It’s me and you against the world.” I still have that poster somewhere up in the attic. I think it symbolizes our marriage fairly well. It’s still me and Doug, holding on despite all obstacles, and I am so glad I toughed it out during the hard times.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Combat Shopping
Combat Shopping
For as long as I can remember, it has been a tradition that Mama, my two sisters, and I go shopping the day after Thanksgiving. This marathon day used to drive me to distraction. That was in the old days when we all rode to town together. My sisters gave new meaning to “shop till you drop,” and every shopping day left me with throbbing feet and an ill disposition. I also accomplished very little. We never got started as early as I wanted to. Also, this was in the days before cell phones, and so we all had to stay together as much as possible or arrange to meet up (which never worked since someone was always late). Despite our best efforts, we were always losing each other and spent much of our day just trying to find one another. My sisters can go into a store and not come out again until two hours later. This invariably happened right before lunch time. I would get hungry and impatient, and they felt like I was being the bossy big sister. We would finally all go eat at Morrison’s and, while eating, try to figure out who owed who for what that had been bought that morning. (We often buy our own gifts and then let someone else buy them from us!) After refueling, it was back to the mad holiday rush. The lines were extremely long at all the registers because everyone was at the same stores; there weren’t that many options back then. This day would last into the night until I thought I was going to collapse right there in the store. The worst part was, I never finished or even came close to finishing my shopping.
It is so much better now that I drive my own vehicle. I get out early while the real bargains, the door busters, are still in effect. (This year I left the house at 5:30 am.) By the time the rest of the crew meets up with me around about 11:00, I have already done much of my shopping. We eat at Rafferty’s at a decent hour and I always enjoy their salad and delicious potato soup. When I get tired, I go home. Then Doug and I enjoy a big plate of Thanksgiving leftovers, and afterwards I can put my feet up and relax, vegging out in front of the TV. This year’s trip was actually fun! I came home at the end of the day feeling great about how much I had accomplished.
The only bad part is it all seems rather mercenary. I don’t know how to stop Christmas from being so commercialized; I know that isn’t what it’s all about. That is why I like Thanksgiving. That is a day when we are grateful for what we already have instead of thinking about what we want. One thing we have tried to do is go out of our way to give to those in need at Christmas. That makes me feel so much better about the getting part. There are certainly plenty of opportunities to be generous this time of year!
For as long as I can remember, it has been a tradition that Mama, my two sisters, and I go shopping the day after Thanksgiving. This marathon day used to drive me to distraction. That was in the old days when we all rode to town together. My sisters gave new meaning to “shop till you drop,” and every shopping day left me with throbbing feet and an ill disposition. I also accomplished very little. We never got started as early as I wanted to. Also, this was in the days before cell phones, and so we all had to stay together as much as possible or arrange to meet up (which never worked since someone was always late). Despite our best efforts, we were always losing each other and spent much of our day just trying to find one another. My sisters can go into a store and not come out again until two hours later. This invariably happened right before lunch time. I would get hungry and impatient, and they felt like I was being the bossy big sister. We would finally all go eat at Morrison’s and, while eating, try to figure out who owed who for what that had been bought that morning. (We often buy our own gifts and then let someone else buy them from us!) After refueling, it was back to the mad holiday rush. The lines were extremely long at all the registers because everyone was at the same stores; there weren’t that many options back then. This day would last into the night until I thought I was going to collapse right there in the store. The worst part was, I never finished or even came close to finishing my shopping.
It is so much better now that I drive my own vehicle. I get out early while the real bargains, the door busters, are still in effect. (This year I left the house at 5:30 am.) By the time the rest of the crew meets up with me around about 11:00, I have already done much of my shopping. We eat at Rafferty’s at a decent hour and I always enjoy their salad and delicious potato soup. When I get tired, I go home. Then Doug and I enjoy a big plate of Thanksgiving leftovers, and afterwards I can put my feet up and relax, vegging out in front of the TV. This year’s trip was actually fun! I came home at the end of the day feeling great about how much I had accomplished.
The only bad part is it all seems rather mercenary. I don’t know how to stop Christmas from being so commercialized; I know that isn’t what it’s all about. That is why I like Thanksgiving. That is a day when we are grateful for what we already have instead of thinking about what we want. One thing we have tried to do is go out of our way to give to those in need at Christmas. That makes me feel so much better about the getting part. There are certainly plenty of opportunities to be generous this time of year!
The Saga Continues...
Well, here it is after 4:00 pm, and I am still waiting. The serviceman called over an hour ago to say he was finishing up his other job and would be headed my way soon. I guess he didn’t say how soon. It probably doesn’t matter anyway because right after he called, the cable went out! I called Charter to report it. After the voice mail telling me to press #2 if I wanted to continue in Espanola, a real live person picked up!!! I was so shocked, I was speechless. Finally, I managed to tell her our cable was out. She said the outage had been reported and technicians were enroot to fix the problem. It will be interesting to see how long that trip takes. If Charter is not the worst company I’ve ever done business with, I don’t know what is. I’ll have to post this later because, of course, my Internet is out, too.
4:35 – He just arrived! Finally! He is working on it even though the cable is still out. I sure hope we have a great TV reception tonight when we watch Jericho and Daybreak.
6:35 – Well, it’s not looking too good for TV viewing tonight. The cable man worked for about an hour before Charter called him to cancel the job. They said he couldn’t verify whether his wiring worked or not without cable, so he packed up his tools and left. I called Misty and asked her to record our shows, as it looks like the cable isn’t coming back on tonight. I just love Charter.
The next day: I called Charter to reschedule our appointment, and this time the woman that answered (yes, I got a real live person again) said that she had to talk to Doug if we wanted to put in a work order since his name is the one on the account. I tried to explain that the work order had already been put in and the work had been started and I just needed to reschedule, but she insisted that the work order had been cancelled and would have to be put in all over again. This time I couldn’t even give them the last four digits of Doug’s SS# even if I knew it! The rules change every time I call up there. Anyway, I called Doug and told him he would have to call Charter, and he was not too happy about that. I suspect they have flagged our account and made a note not to deal with me. That would be pretty funny, because my husband has less patience than I have. Anyway, they are now scheduled to come next week.
The following week: Success at last! The cable man ran a line directly from our TV to the cable box outside, and it did increase our signal strength. It had been coming off a splitter. The best part is, I don't have to deal with Charter anymore for a while. Not only that, but the last person I talked to said we could get the Encore and Starz networks free for a full year at no extra cost. No gimmicks, she says. I guess we'll see about that!
4:35 – He just arrived! Finally! He is working on it even though the cable is still out. I sure hope we have a great TV reception tonight when we watch Jericho and Daybreak.
6:35 – Well, it’s not looking too good for TV viewing tonight. The cable man worked for about an hour before Charter called him to cancel the job. They said he couldn’t verify whether his wiring worked or not without cable, so he packed up his tools and left. I called Misty and asked her to record our shows, as it looks like the cable isn’t coming back on tonight. I just love Charter.
The next day: I called Charter to reschedule our appointment, and this time the woman that answered (yes, I got a real live person again) said that she had to talk to Doug if we wanted to put in a work order since his name is the one on the account. I tried to explain that the work order had already been put in and the work had been started and I just needed to reschedule, but she insisted that the work order had been cancelled and would have to be put in all over again. This time I couldn’t even give them the last four digits of Doug’s SS# even if I knew it! The rules change every time I call up there. Anyway, I called Doug and told him he would have to call Charter, and he was not too happy about that. I suspect they have flagged our account and made a note not to deal with me. That would be pretty funny, because my husband has less patience than I have. Anyway, they are now scheduled to come next week.
The following week: Success at last! The cable man ran a line directly from our TV to the cable box outside, and it did increase our signal strength. It had been coming off a splitter. The best part is, I don't have to deal with Charter anymore for a while. Not only that, but the last person I talked to said we could get the Encore and Starz networks free for a full year at no extra cost. No gimmicks, she says. I guess we'll see about that!
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