The Tree in the Corner

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It was always tradition that the Christmas Tree be put up the day after Thanksgiving. It was a cedar tree that was cut from a nearby pasture. I got into this seach so much that for months after Christmas I spoted every cedar tree that I passed riding in the car or walking down all the country roads. It always seemed the best thing to do would be cut down a great big cedar and chop the top out of it. That was not possible for me and my little brother to do with the tools we had. The tree was cut with a dull axe that we just went to the car shead and found. Grand mother always told us over and over not to get a very big one. I was always ill about that, why could it not sit on that table in the living room. It would be much better to have a big one on the floor. We always listened to her, because we knew it had to go where she wanted it, besides how could we move the sofa that Daddy slept on. This sofa was covered with gold plasic that was redone by the man in Elgin that covered furniture. She was very proud that that sofa had held up so well. The springs in it even gave way on the end that Daddy laid his head on. Daddy being the handy man he could be had put a piece of sheet metal on that end to hold it up. The tree was to sit in the corner left of that sofa, not in the window where I thought it should be. We had the big candle light shaped bulbs in all the great colors. The decorations were what had been given to us and what we made. We saved wrapping paper from year to year. It was a given that you be careful unwrapping not to rip it; we all new it was to be saved. Really it was not bad to re-use it over and over. Our presents always looked pretty to me. Santa did not wrap the gifts they were placed all around the tree for us to get up and see Christmas morning. Grandma and Grandpa sent us a package from Michigan every year. Those were the best. My favorite ever from them was a Jane West Doll. She was just a little bigger than a Barbie Doll and had clothes that could not be removed in western style. There was skirts and boots that would fit over the built in clothes. She was hard plastic all over, even her hair, but she was the greatest entertainment. Grandmother really did try to get as close to the list we made as she could. I asked for a football jersey one year and Santa brought a navy sweatshirt with the number 10 ironed on the back. To be a grandmother she could make me happy on a limited amount of cash. Blow Dryer was another big gift that I asked for all year from Santa. I had been at my friends house and she told me when I used her's that my hair looked good and that's what I needed. This was summer and I knew that if anyone could afford a hot comb, it would be Santa. The tree would have one under it I was sure. I was even more sure when I found it hid under some clothes in my grandmother's bedroom. My cousins had told me the terrible truth about Santa, but I would not accept it, until I found the hairdryer.
I have always made the best of each situation. It can be done. There is always the sky. It does not matter what is going on around you the sky is there for a great escape. From the sky there is the sun to give us warm days, adding wind to a warm sunny day just adds extra surprise. Even the rainy, stormy days escaping to notice the feel of the air can take away much pain. When I realized that my heart was so broken that I could not find happiness from the air around me is when I knew it was within me to discover the easy way back. Simple and free are the best gifts God gave us. Then there is snow, beautiful white snow. The air feels a certain way on a cold and snowy day. I have always been someone that could find something to make me feel better in the worst of times. Being a child may have made it easier to find a happy place.

I have mentioned walking home from school for lunch before. This is something I did even when the snow was up to my knees. Kindergarten is somewhat of a blur to me, but there are parts that I remember vividly. The teacher was old; she played an old organ to us sometimes. She reminded me of Granny of the Beverly Hillbillies. While we were up north I attended the school closest to Morley Street; where we lived before the fat banker came. The school name was Pageant. It had to be really close for me to walk to school at five years old. I had white boots with fake fur around the top. The boots I remember well because they were a treasure in a box given to us by some charity organization. Just like the ice skates the boots were one of my favorite memories of digging in those boxes that appeared at our house.

The boxes appearing made up for the fact that Santa did not come one year that I remember. The next door neighbor informed that Santa had brought her toys on Christmas Eve that year. I was so smart that at five she was wrong and I was right. Santa must have come on Christmas Night; I wasn’t sure, I must have forgotten was what I convinced myself into believing. Christmas Night I was sure that was when I would get my toys. On Christmas Night he didn’t bring anything, I was sure it was my fault. It was true if you are bad Santa will not come.

It was still freezing cold the day the box came with a pair of ice-skates in it. I grabbed ice-skates from the box like they had been placed under a Christmas tree by Santa. I had never had ice-skates. Making sure they fit was not important to me or Mama. That may have been why they wobbled so on my feet. Could have been why I hit the ground so fast. I had never skated and I was too young to realize that falling was something that would happen when I chose a frozen mud puddle just outside the house to skate for the first time. Somehow I made it down the steps onto the puddle without falling.

Once on the frozen mud puddle my feet went every which way. I hit on my knees and elbows skinning myself on every spot that the hard frozen puddle touched me. I still remember how bad that hurt. I was freezing cold, because getting a coat was not an issue as I had a new pair of ice-skates. The cold the sting of the cuts and the pain of the lick I took was awful. Getting back into the house was even worse. The trip down the stairs was a much happier trip. Climbing the three or four steps was much harder without the thrill of getting to skate. Then the pain added to the realization that skating on a mud puddle was not such a great idea after all.

Thanksgiving



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 My grandmother always dreaded the holidays.
She said that so many bad things had happened in our family during the holidays. I wonder if it is just our family or does it really seem that tragedy strikes many during the holiday's. It could be that we pay more attention, because someone's happy time of year has been interupted. My grandaddy died on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. This made our family attend his funeral on Thanksgiving Day. He was placed in the livingroom of our new brick house that was built that year. It was built that year, because on Thankgiving the previous year the house had caught on fire. It had caught fire while my grandmother was in the hospital. Four years before this fire, there had been the fire that killed my Uncle Bill, his wife and his twelve year old son, Wade. With all of these bad things happening at Thanksgiving it is easy to see why grandmother always said Thanksgiving was a bad time for our family. It really did not end with their generation. The holiday time seems to still be when we loose members of the family. Last year just after Christmas Keith's son was killed in an car accident. In 1993 Aunt Faye's son in law was killed just before Halloween. This being the year I accept as the end of life as I knew it because, my husband was driving the car. This is when I decided that ok, I can't have a nervous breakdown today, I have too much to worry about fixing. I have to go to work, I'll breakdown on a day that I have more time. "Make a riffle," is what my grandmother called having to fix things that were going wrong.
Garnering Wisdom is not just getting wisdom from the wise, it is remembering the messed up and not doing the things they did.
I thank all the people that I have garnered such wisdom from. Thanksgiving is a time to be thankful and I am going to continue to be thankful. Thankful that God has helped me make it another day. This is my prayer each night, not just Thanksgiving; "Thank you God for helping me make it through this day."

You Gotta Love Frank

 


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  Mildred, the church gossip, and self-appointed monitor of the church's morals, kept sticking her nose into other people's business. Several members did not approve of her extracurricular activities, but feared her enough to maintain their silence.
She made a mistake, however, when she accused Frank, a new member, of being an alcoholic after she saw his old pickup parked in front of the town's only bar one after noon..
She emphatically told Frank (and several others) that every one seeing it there WOULD KNOW WHAT HE WAS DOING !
Frank, a man of few words, stared at her for a moment and just turned and walked away. He didn't explain, defend, or deny. He said nothing.
Later that evening, Frank quietly parked his pickup in front of Mildred's house ... Walked home .. . .and left it there all night.
(You gotta love Frank!)

The Fifty-Dollar Car

You are just like your mother/father. It is said over and over to each and everyone of us. Great if you have or had wonderful parents. Inside every home are things that are hidden from the outside world. Uglyness is something that is not notice until you become close to a family. I find it heartbreaking to know that some families hate each other, really. The nice things they do for each other are only to make a show. With all the vices my family had; they did not hate each other. They loved themselves, whiskey and stuff more.
There is a never ending family cycle even inherted by my generation. The one's of us that now have adult children are acting like the disfunctional ones of the past. A car, different car; the son of a son let the family tradition carry on just recently. The 1960's story has always mad me sick that there were such selfish people in the world, much less in my family. Abe my grandfather; I have mentioned before there is a special Hell for this man. His son came to him telling of a car in Whitehead that he wanted to buy. The owner was asking $50 for the car. Uncle Bill had to save the money for the car. His wonderful father took $50 to the owner, almost immediatly, bought the car for the $50. Abe took the car home showed his son he bought the car. Uncle Bill, his own son really wanted this car. He got the car finally, after his own father made him pay $75 for the car. Imagine making a $25 profit off of you own son on purpose. Next generation, dad comes home; son has his car; he has painted; fixed up good to drive and is made give dear old dad the car.