Category Archives: Holiday

Halloween 2017

Halloween is not Kiko’s favorite night.  While it’s nowhere near as bad as July 4th, since there are no fireworks, he does not find it pleasurable.  He senses that his pack is getting ready for something out of the ordinary, but he’s unsure as to what.  When the parade of doorbell-ringers begins, he doesn’t get it.   Who are these figures that stand at the door, but rarely come in?  He has no chance to greet and to smell them.  That is no fun at all.  In the photo above, he peers anxiously out the storm door, clearly wondering what the night will bring. 

Slim and his dogs, on the other hand, are in their element.  It’s their Big Night.  Bring it on!, they say, we’re ready for the unexpected!    

May your Halloween bring all treats and no tricks, unless you’re into that sort of thing!

Skeleton Crew ’17

Time to rejoice and be glad, for our old pal Slim has returned for his annual October visit.  His devoted dog posse is with him, of course:  Champ, Fluffy, Elfrida and tiny twins Ruth and Rocky, all in the highest of Halloween spirits.  The group has kept to their diets for months, and now it’s time to chow down on treats.  When Slim and friends show up, every day is a candy corn and Butterfingers kind of day. 

These beautiful late October days have been perfect for basking in the sun during breaks from Halloween prep. 

Slim shares a particularly hilarious anecdote from his days as a Princeton grad student. 

Slim and the gang love tradition.  Ever the gracious, generous hosts at our church Trunk or Treat event, they’re eager to catch up with old friends like this perky Pink Lady and currently furry Sheltie pup. 

Kiko joins the pack for their pre-Halloween joyride.     

Could Kiko be more ready for a ride?  Enough with the banter, Slim, his upright posture and forward focus declare, let’s get a move on!

And so Slim peeled out, but with expert control and discretion, and he was off to buy more goodies for the main event.  (The gang has perhaps indulged in too much snacking.)  

Halloween is here!  Be ready! 

 

For previous Skeleton Crew posts, see here, here, and here. 

Father’s Day Thoughts, 2017

Daddy’s final church directory photo

My father never made a big deal about days like today.  He wholeheartedly appreciated any modest gifts I might give him–a tie, cufflinks, a gift card to Long Horn Steakhouse–but he didn’t expect them, and he never considered them to be his due.  What he loved best were probably the photos I sent, especially the photo books I made for him.  He wasn’t enamored of stuff.  Daddy was, or at least seemed to be, to an almost extraordinary degree, perfectly content with his life in terms of the material and the intangible.

While Daddy wasn’t one for long telephone conversations, he valued a quick call on Father’s Day or his birthday.  I’d say I loved him, he’d say he loved me.  These weren’t just words, although we said them often.  In recent years, upon hearing my voice on the line, he usually said, “You sound like my little girl.”  Those words were a comfort.  I could hear the laughter in his voice, see the smile in his eyes.  They affirmed that I would always be his little girl.  And I could always be certain of my father’s love. 

My ears won’t hear Daddy say those familiar words today.  But they echo in my mind, and I will treasure them in my heart, forever.  How blessed I am to be my father’s girl. 

Daddy & me, in the back yard of what was then our new home in Atlanta, 1968.

For other posts on my father, who died on July 22, 2016, see here, here, here, and here.

On This Mother’s Day 2017

If Mother’s Day is here, then Father’s Day can’t be far behind.  On both days, Daddy’s absence will be keenly felt, more so than usual.  If you lost a parent in the last few years, you know the feeling. 

I give thanks that I was born to my warm, loving, smart and funny mother, who is still very much with us.  Before long, she will be closer still, when she relocates from Atlanta to Virginia.  And I’m thankful that we had Daddy with us for so many years.  I’m immensely grateful for the happy, comfortable life my parents worked so hard to build together, primarily for my benefit. 

And on this first Mother’s Day without Daddy, I say a prayer for my mother, and for all the mothers, young and old, who are facing yet another day without their partner. 

Chapel Hill, North Carolina, 1965

On the steps of my parents’ married housing apartment at UNC

Paris, 2002

For so long, it was the three of us.  Now we’re two, but our hearts are fuller because we carry Daddy with us always. 

A Different Kind of Easter, 2017

The first year following the death of a loved one, every day brings a loss that must be faced anew.  Holidays, especially, those days of expected celebration, are tough going.  Absence becomes a heavy, all-suffusing presence, a thick cloud of anxious dismay. 

This would be the first Easter without my father.  

And it wouldn’t be only my father’s absence that would make this Easter different.  My daughter was, at long last, in the final stages of college choice.  She was in the process of comparing the  schools to which she’d been accepted.  Over spring break, she’d come with me to Atlanta and we’d tour Georgia Tech. On Good Friday, she’d fly to Rochester to meet my husband.  They’d spend Easter with his side of the family.  She’d take last looks at the University of Rochester and Union College in Schenectady, NY.  I’d stay in Atlanta.  It would be the first time I’d ever spend an Easter away from my husband and daughter.  But it was being present with my mother, in the face of Daddy’s glaring absence, that took priority. 

I didn’t like to think about what the day would bring.  The words of that hymn, God of Grace, and God of Glory, kept echoing in my head:  Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, for the facing of this hour.  On Easter morning, around 10:25, Daddy wouldn’t be standing by the back door, jingling his keys, looking spiffy in his navy suit and perfectly knotted tie.  He wouldn’t be close beside me as we sang the beautiful resurrection hymns in church.  Mama and I would certainly need wisdom and courage to face that hour. 

We’d need our faith.  And with it, we’d find comfort in Charles Wesley’s words in that perhaps most frequently sung of all the classic resurrection hymns, Christ the Lord is Risen Today:

Where, O death, is now thy sting? 

Once he died, our souls to save,

Where’s thy victory, boasting grave?  . . .

Made like him, like him we rise,

Ours the cross, the grave, the skies. 

We’d envision my father, free from the chains of illness that had gripped him at the last.  His unique spirit more beautiful than his earthly presence in the prime of his life, he soars now where Christ has led.  The message of Easter would see us through.  It would give us strength for the living of these days. 

What, I wonder, would we do without our faith? 

Easters Past

When I envision the perfect Easter day, I think of one spent in Atlanta with my parents, my husband and daughter.  Most Easters during my daughter’s childhood found us in that well-loved and familiar place. 

My daughter’s first egg hunt was at my home church in Atlanta.  She was not quite three, and her public persona was quiet and timid.  I feared that in the wake of louder, bolder children, her basket might well remain bare.  She was neither quiet nor shy with family, however.  Should the hunt not go well, my husband and I would experience the full force of her fury afterwards.  So we coached her.  We practiced in my parents’ yard:  When you see an egg, pick it up and put it in your basket.  Don’t take an egg that someone else is about to pick up, but don’t wait too long, either.

 

Mama cared little about the Easter egg hunt; she preferred to stay home, cook the ham and devil eggs.  But Daddy loved being with his granddaughter for the hunt.  He gloried in walking along beside her, cheering her every find.  He didn’t have to muster fake enthusiasm, as many grandparents diligently try to do.  He simply had it, and it bubbled up and out.  When it came to his granddaughter, his cup runneth over.  Until it suddenly ran out, and by then, both he and my daughter were grumpy and ready to go home.  They’d snip and snipe at one another like siblings.  My daughter rather appreciated that aspect of Papa’s personality; he became the brother she would never have. 

 

We needn’t have coached our toddler on egg-hunting strategy.  Every church bunny in our experience has been exceptionally generous and not particularly inclined to hide eggs, preferring instead to scatter them abundantly in plain view.  Every child left with an overflowing basket.  Our daughter and her surrogate brother were pleased.  My husband and I were happy and relieved:  another milestone community event successfully completed.    

 

On Easter morning, our daughter would find her basket on the dining room table, filled with goodies.  There would be a reply from the Bunny to the note our daughter always left him. 

After church on Sunday, we typically took the annual photo of our daughter on the steps of the rock garden by the azaleas.  These pictures document her growth from baby to teen. 

The perfect Easter day that I see in my mind–that’s no longer a possibility. 

Things change.  This Easter would be different.

 

Extreme Gift Wrapping 2016

We’re more than two weeks into January, so it must be about time for my final Christmas post.  Soon, it will even be time to begin taking down the holiday decorations.  I tend to postpone this process further each year.  It’s my way of pretending that time isn’t flying by quite as fast at it really is. 

Christmas was almost upon us, and my husband had mentioned no grand plan for what has become his annual inventive presentation of our daughter’s gifts.  Had his years of Extreme Gift Wrapping come to an end?   They began in earnest in 2011, and every year since, he’s been under pressure to come up with a new scheme.  This becomes ever more difficult, but still, I doubted he’d simply give up.  (For his earlier efforts, see here, here, here, and  here.)   

He hadn’t.  On the morning of Christmas Eve, a small blue gift box appeared to be floating just in front of the tree.  Close inspection revealed that it was attached to the ceiling with fishing line. 

Upon returning that evening after our church’s live nativity and Christmas Eve service, D and I found that seven other boxes, of various sizes and colors, had been added.  They all appeared to hover in mid-air.      

The effect was charming, almost magical.  Hats off to my husband.  He’d found a fresh new approach.  No construction was involved this year.  And not even any actual wrapping.  It was a sophisticated presentation, suitable for a young woman who would soon be heading off to college. 

What will he do next Christmas, I wonder?  I bet he’s already got some ideas.  Our daughter should be home from somewhere, we still know not where, for her first college winter break.  My best guess is this: the tradition of Extreme Gift Wrapping will continue. 

Kiko, of course, couldn’t care less about floating gifts or elaborate packaging.  But he quickly found his stocking filled with favorite treats and a corduroy rabbit equipped with several squeakers. 

On Christmas Eve 2016, Our Live Nativity

May God’s light shine brightly in the darkness of the world this Christmas Eve. 

May you enjoy the company of angels, good shepherds, and friendly beasts alike.  You might find these at a local live nativity.  Or elsewhere, perhaps where you least expect them. 

Infant Holy, infant lowly, for his bed a cattle stall;

Oxen lowing, little knowing, Christ the babe is Lord of all.

Swift are winging angels singing, noels ringing, tidings bringing,

Christ the babe is Lord of all. 

–Infant Holy, Infant Lowly

Polish carol, trans. and arranged  by Edith Reed, 1926

Kiko vouches for the friendliness of this little beast. 

Of course, no camels or kings attended the birth of the holy baby; they arrived much later to pay their respects.  But there’s nothing like a camel to stop traffic.  And to remind passers-by that this is no ordinary night. 

Jesus, our brother, strong and good,

was humbly born in a stable rude,

and the friendly beasts around him stood,

Jesus, our brother, strong and good. 

All the beasts, by some good spell,

in the stable dark were glad to tell

of the gifts they gave Emmanuel,

the gifts they gave Emmanuel. 

–The Friendly Beasts

12th Cent. French carol

For posts on previous live nativities on Christmas Eve, see here and here