Oddball Christmas! Cee’s Oddball Challenge, Dec. 24, 2015
Covering All the Bases
It’ll be a Blue Christmas Without You
http://ceenphotography.com/2015/12/20/cees-odd-ball-photo-challenge-2015-week-51/
Oddball Christmas
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Category Archives: Christmas
Believe
Believe
I don’t know of anyone who loves Christmas as much as my mother did. She could barely wait for Thanksgiving to be over to put up her tree. Those trees were covered with icicles, bubble lights, angel hair and boxes and boxes of ornaments saved and added to over the years: blue or pink plastic birds whose legs fit over the branches so they seemed to be standing on them, a treetop angel with spun white hair and a face cracked and marbled over with age, strands of large lights and later dozens of strands of miniature ones, homemade ornaments, glass balls, plastic stars, candy canes—each year the number of ornaments grew. The tree was always fresh and the largest she could find, screwed into the Christmas tree holder that held water to keep the needles from falling off for as long as possible.
Under the tree was always a skirt of White pull-apart Christmas “snow,” a plastic church that lit up inside and presents, presents, presents: handmade gifts from the church bazaar, clothes and toys purchased in Pierre, 60 miles away or ordered from the Montgomery Wards or Sears catalogs. The tree went up the day after Thanksgiving and came down only after the new year had arrived, but the pine needles in the carpet crevasses and its borders along the wall remained like hidden memories to be discovered for months afterwards.
The year my mother died, my sister Patti could not bear to think of putting up a tree or celebrating Christmas. I was far away in Mexico and it was the first year in her life that she hadn’t celebrated Christmas with my mother. I knew she was grieving, but I was deep in my own sadness of the past year. In January, I had a hysterectomy and on the day I returned from the hospital, I learned that my mother had gone into the hospital.
My doctor had forbidden air travel but we considered putting a mattress in the back of the van and having my husband drive me from California to Wyoming, but my sister assured me there was no need. It was nothing serious—just a bout of pneumonia. We’d been there for Christmas less than a month before and we could come again once my mother returned home from the hospital.
But that trip was never to be experienced, for within a week, my mother had passed away. In March, my husband Bob flew to Michigan to be with his mother who had gone into the hospital, and after ten days, she, too, passed away. Then in September, two days before we were to drive down to Mexico to move into our new house, Bob discovered he had cancer and lived just three weeks. All-in-all, a sad year that had been moderated by our happiness in looking forward to a new life in Mexico.
A few months after Bob’s death, I went forward into that new life, but my sister was left in the town where she and her husband lived and where my mother had lived for the last six years of her life. Everything around her reminded her of my mother; and with the advent of Christmas, those memories grew more poignant.
The small Wyoming town where my sister lives is two hours south of Billings, Montana, which is her usual shopping town and where she goes to get her hair cut and to the doctor. A few weeks before Christmas, when a friend asked her to accompany her on a shopping trip there, she agreed. Even though her heart was not in it, as they browsed in a local store, she bought a few items, paid for them with her credit card and carried the bag to the car.
It was not until she got home and unpacked the bag that she found the small package in the bottom of her bag. She unwrapped it, trying to figure out just what it was––nothing, surely, that she had purchased. As she removed the final layer of paper, this is what was revealed:
Where had it come from? How had it gotten into the bag? She had not purchased it. It was not listed on her receipt. Nor had her friend purchased it, so it wasn’t a case of the clerk putting it in the wrong bag. Was it the last Christmas miracle provided by a mother who over the years had so faithfully purchased the new boxes of fragile icicles to hang above wrapped boxes that contained dolls, new Christmas dresses, ice skates, princess phones, bottles of bubble bath or miniature formals for our favorite dolls? Skunk games and paper dolls and books, first watches, necklaces, music boxes and drop seat pajamas? With no other explanation, my sister could not help but consider that perhaps it was a little message from my mother, urging her not to give up her faith in and enjoyment of Christmas.
It has been fourteen years since my mother died, and my sister has hung the ornament on her tree every Christmas since. It has been a few years since I spent Christmas with her, and I had forgotten this story, but yesterday, when I arrived in Phoenix to spend Christmas and took pictures of her tree, she repeated the story again.
Her tree is miniature in comparison with my mother’s tree, but it is infused with my mother’s love of Christmas and everything it entails —a childlike sense of wonder that to this very day, my mother encourages us to share. Tonight, as my sister and I fill stockings for each other, her husband Jim and the longtime friends who will arrive tomorrow, I’m sure she feels as I do––both of us “good girls” who are minding our mother by remembering to BELIEVE in the magic of Christmas.
HERE is a link to my favorite photo of my mother, plus other stories about her.
For more Christmas trees around the world, see: http://silverthreading.com/2015/12/06/christmas-trees-around-the-world/
and, consider posting a picture of your tree-topper HERE in Hugh’s blog to provide a meal for a hungry dog.
My Sister’s Xmas
My Sister’s Xmas
My sister’s ultra modern house (black and white with touches of desert) is the opposite of mine but beautiful, I think. Her closets are less cluttered as well! Merry Christmas, everyone!!
http://silverthreading.com/2015/12/06/christmas-trees-around-the-world/
Nopales Xmas Tree
If you’ve already seen the posting I did of the Xmas tree made out of dried red peppers and think you’ve now seen everything, check out this Xmas Tree posted on the La Manzanilla Message Board: Continue reading
Chile Tree!
This tree at the Nueva Posada in Ajijic, Jalisco, Mexico is huge and is made entirely of dried red chiles (Spanish spelling) with poinsettias and a few juniper boughs for accents. It was very hard to photograph but hope this gives a general idea.
Feliz Navidad!!
http://silverthreading.com/2015/12/06/christmas-trees-around-the-world/
Another Mexican Xmas
Another Mexican Xmas
Wanted to share another beautiful tree. This time it is the tree of my friends Harriet and Paul.
http://silverthreading.com/2015/12/06/christmas-trees-around-the-world/
Christmas Posada
Christmas Posada
The girls in the belly dancing class asked if they could have a posada. If you don’t know what this is, I’ll explain as we go along. They struck a bargain. They’d provide the pinata if I’d provide the prizes, the bolas and the refreshments. Seemed fair to me, so the planning began.
Although the pinata they brought was very pretty, Unfortunately, it didn’t have an opening, so we had to perform a bit of surgery with the cake knife to get the candy in.
Then they provided a bit of entertainment.
Little sisters asked if they could join in, too and they paid close attention to try to follow along.
After the dance came tamales, horchata, cookies and Christmas cake. When Audrey offered chips and guacamole, girl after girl turned them down. Then we tried dipping a chip and offering it. After that, the girls lined up for their own portions. It turns out that none of them knew what they were supposed to do!!! Looks like guacamole and corn chips is a purely American or gringo custom. They polished off the chips and guac!
I am obviously enjoying my tamale. Believe it or not, this is the best of the pictures of me that Audrey took!
Then came the pinata. I suffered a bit of trepidation over the likelihood that someone would be hit over the head with the stick as they dove in for the candy while the girl yielding the stick was still swinging it, but there were no injuries. I wish I knew how to add the video Audrey took. They had so much fun and were so gleeful. This picture doesn’t quite capture the amount of fun they had.
This is the sad remains of the pinata.
Afterwards was the posada. Usually this consists of Mary on a donkey, Joseph by her side, children trailing after. They go from house to house asking for a place to stay for the night. Travellers sing their roles. People in the houses sing theirs. Finally, someone lets them in and they go in to have a pinata and to each be given bags of candy (bolos.) In this case, half went into a room and the rest of us stood outside. We would sing the words asking for shelter. They would sing back that there was no room. We went back and forth a number of times before they finally let us in. The girls were absolutely delighted with this ceremony and all knew the words by heart, although they didn’t do too well with the tune.
Afterwards, we distributed bolos (bags of candy) to each girl to insure each had a good share of the goodies..
One little girl who had brought these beautiful little origami Christmas trees for her special friends presented one to me, Cynthy and Audrey as well. Very touching. Each was so carefully made with tiny balls glued on. They were formed on top of a baby food jar full of Japanese peanuts and little Mexican candy bars that tasted just like Snickers bars–both my favorites. I was so touched by this gesture, as I was by the hand painted box presented to me by Cynthy, who had made it herself.
I surprised her with a fringed suede cloth vest she had tried on in Guadalajara when we went to buy the bangle scarves for the girls to tie around their waists. I had bought it saying it was for Audrey and saved it for Christmas.
All in all it was a lovely night, in spite of the fact that I forgot to bring my camera. Luckily, Audrey brought hers. Thanks, Audrey, for the photos.. The girls, who each brought a friend, were squealy and excited. As I left the Cafetto Saga where we held the Posada, a little boy and a little girl who lived across the street watched me enter my car with great interest. I asked them if they wanted my bag of candy, telling them it was to share. They quickly accepted and ducked into their house to examine the contents. I went down the block to make a U turn and by the time I drove back by their house, there were six children gathered around the bag, excitedly sharing the candy. I loved this generosity on their part. The Christmas Season is alive and well in Mexico.
Feliz Navidad!!!
Earlier I showed my Xmas tree from a few years ago on Silver Lining’s blog. Now I want to show you my this year’s tree. I had thought not to have one since I’m going to my sister’s house in Phoenix for Xmas, but thanks to the generosity of one little girl, I have my very own very special tree as well.
NaPoWriMo 2015, Day 4: Internet Appetizers
Internet Appetizers
Casting our nets wider,
we gather matching minds and hearts
like small silver fish–
just a tiny bite, each one,
trying to fill a big appetite.
No big fish
to struggle to land.
Just nibbles,
one after another,
taking the edge off our hungers.
The Prompt: Write a “loveless” love poem. Don’t use the word love! And avoid the flowers and rainbows. Try to write a poem that expresses the feeling of love or lovelorn-ness without the traditional trappings you associate with the subject matter.
This subject seemed to grow when it came time to do my Daily Post on WordPress. To see more of what I’ve said, at greater length, go HERE.
A Christmas Gift for You All!
A Christmas Gift for You All!!!
I have been combing my brain trying to think of some gift I could give you all to thank you for your support over the past year and it suddenly occurred to me that I had the perfect one already made. Below, I am presenting my entire Christmas storybook, minus the pictures (except for one) in the hope that you will read it aloud to someone you love this Christmas.
The other day I got a fan letter from the uncle of a two-year-old who laughs out loud every time they mention Aunt Knox and demanded that it be read to her every night for three nights in a row. (What has happened since then, I do not know.) I also received a video of an 8-year-old reading it aloud (without faltering over one word) except, with typical 8-year-old humor, he substituted “spanking” for the word “sox” every time, in spite of the protestations of his Grandma. His younger brother thought he was hilarious, so perhaps it was a kid thing.
So, here it is, my present to you. What you do in the way of altering it to suit your own brand of humor is up to you. I am also including one illustration so you can get a mental image of Aunt Knox! The cover is pictured on my “Children’s Books” page on this blog if you crave seeing one more illustration by the talented Isidro Xilonzóchitl. There are 16 in all in the book. He did have fun with the gift-listing ones!!
I also just received his illustrations for our next book, which I hope will be out by April.
Copyright© Judy Dykstra-Brown, 2014. (please do not transmit in its entirety in any form. If you wish to reprint an excerpt, please include a pingback to the original.)
Sock Talk
(A Christmas Story)
by
Judy Dykstra-Brown
I’d heard the story many times
of Great Aunt Knox’s beastly crimes—
toward Mom, who, as a kid like me
was as upset as she could be
whenever she received a box
from her Aunt Knox.
For, in tinsel or in birthday wrap,
in ribbon or in mailing strap,
whatever it came wrapped up in,
whatever the gift could have been,
twice a year from her Aunt Knox,
my mom got sox.
I wished that I could have some talks
with this Aunt Knox.
“Aunt Knox,” I’d say while we were talking,
“a Christmas gift goes in a stocking,
not the other way around.
Stockings never should be found
inside a present,
’cause it’s not pleasant
to wait and wait and wait and wait
for the proper opening date
just to open up a box
of sox!”
Of course, these talks were all imaginary.
I was never even very
sure of whether Great Aunt Knox was still alive.
I didn’t know how long a great aunt could survive.
So when my mother got a letter
from Aunt Knox and said, “I’d better
ask her here, I haven’t seen her for so long.”
“I was wrong,”
I thought, “the dread Aunt Knox
still walks!”
And when Aunt Knox called up to say
she’d visit us for Christmas day,
I knew that this would be the year
I’d bend her ear.
I went to buy Aunt Knox perfume
and put fresh flowers in my room.
I’d even give Aunt Knox my bed
and sleep upon the floor instead.
But it was still hard to believe
that in our house on Christmas Eve
I’d finally have those long-planned talks
with my Aunt Knox.
I’d never met Aunt Knox before,
but when I met her at the door,
she gave my nose a playful tweak,
and ruffed my hair and kissed my cheek.
(Aunt Knox’s kiss was surely wet.)
She asked me what I hoped to get
for Christmas. Then she pulled me near
and cupped her ear.
“She’s kind of deaf,” my mother said,
So I got right up beside her head
and shouted to my Auntie Knox,
“I wouldn’t mind a bird that talks,
a sand pail or a music box,
a robot that both speaks and walks,
a diary with keys and locks,
a tumbler that can polish rocks,
some overalls or painters’ smocks,
but you know what?” I said, “Aunt Knox,
when I rip into a box,
It seems as bad as chickenpox
to just get sox.”
I asked her if she understood.
She smiled and said she surely could.
She asked what else and bent her head
closer to me, so I said,
“I’d like lots of other things:
paints, crayons, ruby rings,
a horse, a Barbie doll, some books,
a new toy oven that really cooks,
a ball, some blocks, a jigsaw puzzle,
a baby crocodile with muzzle,
bubbles, bracelets, purses, beads,
comic books, sunflower seeds,
a kid’s Mercedes just my size,
or even a Crackerjack surprise
I could accept
except,
please,” (And here I gave her hand a squeeze,)
“please, please,
Aunt Knox,
don’t give me sox!”
She rose and said she’d heard enough,
although she’d missed some of the stuff
I’d said because she’s hard of hearing.
She said with Christmas quickly nearing,
she’d be off to do some shopping,
and she assured me she’d be stopping
for a special gift for me.
And sure enough, beneath the tree
that night there was a package wrapped,
my name on it. I poked and tapped.
I squeezed and shook it, poked its side,
but never could I quite decide
what it was. She wouldn’t say.
She said to wait till Christmas day.
At bedtime, though, she kissed my ear
and said, “It’s on your list, my dear.”
All night I lay upon the floor
listening to Aunt Knox snore.
I didn’t mind the noise at all
’cause I was sure she’d bought the doll.
And just before I fell to sleep
I prayed the Lord Aunt Knox to keep
safe from harm
and dry and warm.
On Christmas morning, while Aunt Knox dressed,
we pushed and prodded, shook and guessed
what was tied up in each bow.
And my Aunt Knox was surely slow.
I ran upstairs three times or four
and knocked and knocked upon her door
while Aunt Knox said that she’d be there
after she had curled her hair.
I thought Aunt Knox was never coming.
My brother drove me crazy drumming.
So when Dad joined in his prum prum prumming
I accidentally elbowed Roy
to the beat of “Little Drummer Boy.”
Then mother almost made me go
upstairs to bed again and so
our Christmas started sort of slow.
Then, finally, Aunt Knox came down
attired in her morning gown
to give my nose another tweak,
to ruff my hair and kiss my cheek—
a wet one, but I didn’t care,
’cause my Aunt Knox was finally there!
I grabbed my present from the tree,
the one Aunt Knox had bought for me.
Again, her words rang in my ear.
She’d said, “It’s on your list, my dear.”
I couldn’t wait to see in it.
I wondered what could be in it.
Perhaps it was a bird that talks,
a sand pail or a music box,
a robot that both speaks and walks,
a diary with keys and locks,
a tumbler that can polish rocks,
some overalls or painters’ smocks.
But when I opened up that box,
my Aunt Knox
had bought me sox!!!!
A dozen pair were there inside—
sox long,sox short, sox thin and wide.
The clock advanced by tics and tocks
as I glared up at mean Aunt Knox,
but I couldn’t think of a word to say
appropriate to Christmas day.
“Well, try them on,” my mother said,
but I just nudged the box instead.
I’d had such fantasies of dolls
and ruby rings and bowling balls.
Then Aunt Knox came and kissed my head.
She’d meant to give a doll, she said,
till she remembered that in our talks
she was sure I’d mentioned sox
many times, while she could not recall
whether I had mentioned doll
at all.
“Why don’t you try them on, my dear?”
my Aunt Knox asked with awful cheer.
And she was grinning ear to ear
as she held out some sox with seals
emblazoned on their toes and heels.
I took them as my brother Roy
gleefully unwrapped his toy.
The robot that both speaks and walks
was what he got from Great Aunt Knox.
“Do try them on,” my mother said,
but I just stood and hung my head.
I could have gotten something great.
Instead, these sox would be my fate
forever, like a family curse.
I tried to think of something worse
but couldn’t. And I rued the day I’d had those talks
with my Aunt Knox.
Meanwhile, Mom was rifling through
sox red and yellow, pink and blue
to pull a pair of lumpy sox
from the bottom of my Christmas box.
“Why don’t you try these on?” she said.
The sox were gray with purple thread
around the legs—
the very dregs
of that whole gruesome box
of sox.
So I pulled on the seal-decked sox
held out to me by Auntie Knox.
I craved the robot Roy had got,
but sox were not too bad, I thought,
and clicked my heels and did a dance
to try to give those sox a chance.
I turned three somersaults in all,
then slid my sox on down the hall.
I stuck my sox up in the air
to show old Roy I didn’t care.
But pretty soon I said, “You know
there’s something in this stocking’s toe.”
I pulled it off and felt inside—
something round and not too wide,
something empty in the middle.
I pulled in out to solve the riddle
and while I thought I’d find some “thing,”
I found instead a ruby ring
Well, then I dove into that box,
reaching into piles of sox,
shaking out sox thin and wide,
seeing what could be inside.
I found a ball, some blocks, some beads,
a Barbie doll, sunflower seeds,
a diary with keys and locks,
a puzzle and a music box.
I shook out sox both short and long.
I shook out sox all morning long.
I finally shook out so much stuff
that even I had had enough—
almost.
I was only six back then,
but now that I am nearly ten,
every year my Auntie Knox
sends Roy bowling balls or blocks
She sent my dad a cuckoo clock.
She even sent my mom a wok.
Twice.
Sometimes she sends me something nice—
a robot or a music box—
but if I’m lucky, my Aunt Knox
sends me SOX!!!!!
And to all a good night!!
RESOLUTION
The Prompt: To Be Resolved—We’re entering the final days of 2014 — how did you do on your New Year’s resolutions these past 11.75 months? Is there any leftover item to be carried over to 2015?
It isn’t my fault that my storybook’s still
thirty-two pages piled in a hill
next to the scanner on my kitchen table.
I’ll get it formatted when I am able.
Right after I glue all this beach stuff together—
each seashell and heart stone and pelican feather—
to make a Yule tree, then to make a Yule altar.
For weeks I’ve worked on them. Never did I falter.
Then I had beach walks to do, daily swims,
tequila to drink as the sun slowly dims.
Everyone gathered to put down the day
and bring on the night time. What more can I say?
A Saturday writing group, dinner with friends.
Of new obligations, the list never ends.
Now it’s two days till Christmas with parties to go to.
And a party to give that no one has said no to.
And so I’m not sure how many will come
I said “bring your friends” which I fear was most dumb.
It seems that I really don’t know how to do
a party where I only ask just a few.
I don’t know how much food or know just how many
napkins to buy. Plates and cups? How uncanny
that I haven’t planned this thing better this year.
I’m not only slipping—I’ve lost it, I fear.
My thought streams are verging on, “Hey, what the fuck!”
I don’t know how many are bringing potluck
so there may be no food and not enough booze.
This party I’m giving may be a real snooze.
And right after this one are three potlucks more.
I think that it calls for a trip to the store.
I must clear out my house once I am able.
Clear all of my art projects off of the table.
Hide my computer, relocate my scanner,
put up more Christmas lights under the banner.
There is so much for this writer to do
that I fear it will take one more week, maybe two
to format my book both for Kindle and print,
for somehow, my time has just got up and went.
This retreat to make time for my book has been taken
once more by busy work, book tasks forsaken.
But right after New Years, I swear they’ll be done.
No more excursions and no more beach fun.
I’ll sit at the table, right there in my chair.
I’ll chew on my pencil and worry my hair
and get this book formatted. Then get it sent
off to the printer so I can say “went.”
Instead of “will go” when all my friends ask
the state of the manuscript, stage of my task.
“I’m finished!” I’ll say. “Glory be, I am done!”
And I’ll feel less guilty for swimming and fun.
Then I’ll start in on the next book or two.
It won’t be hard, for there’s nothing to do
to distract me or keep me from doing my task.
Nothing to go to. No one to ask.
Except for my writers’ group, Friday night dance,
and a trip up the coast, if we have a chance.
The art show where I said I’d show a few pieces—
a ” few” obligations? The list never ceases.
I guess the truth is that our lives are made up
of what we must do and what we give up.
The irony, though, of the whole situation
is that it’s a matter of choice and duration.
The more tasks we find that we just have to do,
the more that we put off the remaining few.
I guess it’s a case of just fitting in
who we will be with who we have been.
That I keep on writing’s important because
I’d rather write “is” instead of put “was”
in front of “a writer” for the rest of my life;
but also in front of a friend, sister, wife.
For if we don’t put off living, doing and seeing,
the best stories we write will be tales of our being.
Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and may all your resolutions be met.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 