Magical Memories and Meals

This has been the most magical Christmas in my recent memory. Instead of racing around to retailers all by myself, I've been busy expanding Christmas by taking my most special ones shopping or on other outings, one or two at a time. This sort of began when one niece came to stay with us during her sabbatical from teaching and continues even today.

It continued through days and nights with best friends, a few at a time; shopping adventures with my son, his wife and their children; waking with Richard all by ourselves on Christmas morning; dining with and delighting in other nieces and nephews; de-decorating my dear friend's tree with her as we catch up in our pajamas; and languishing in the love of my daughter and her darling girls.

On Sunday, my daughter and I spent the day chatting and seeing a play together; it's the most marvelous thing having an adult child as a friend. Her sixteen-year-old daughter and I spent the next day arm-in-arm, doing about a dozen stores. What fun we had as I watched her pirouette in front of the various mirrors, like she didn't do when she was a toddler; she was much too busy putting things in order. I loved watching her be a fairy princess.

Today, the twelve-year-old and I will hit the mall and a nice Hallmark shop that is going out of business. While her sister is quite the bargain hunter in building a wardrobe, I'm not sure what kind of shopping we'll do today. I do know that this granddaughter loves to peruse gift items for others. She can usually wile away a few hours laughing along with me at the silly and sweet sayings on the cards and cute gift items on the shelves. This is also a more gourmet granddaughter, and much more easily embarrassed by public shows of emotion. I don't expect arm-in-arm camaraderie, but I hope for lots of laughs -- and more than likely a good meal.

Progeny Payback

Our children were almost grown when Richard came into our lives. We have few opportunities to say to our children, "You're getting back what you put us through." But there are some times that we simply have to gloat.

Scott was fifteen when Richard became my man. He was living with his daddy and doing a fine job of teenage triangling. If Dad said, "No," (which didn't happen often) he'd simply ask Mom. This may have been because his grandparents were deceased, so he couldn't ask them. When Scott rescued the third dog from the side of the road, his dad had had enough. This dog was quite the digger, and Scott's dad really loved his backyard retreat. This part-lab puppy just had to go. "But, Mom," Scott pleaded, "if you don't take him, Dad's going to take him to the shelter, and they'll kill him."

Scott's dad tried to convince people that he didn't like children or dogs. His children he called "My Girl" and "My Boy." All dogs were called "Dog." There was "Dog 1", "Dog 2", and he wasn't having "Dog 3." I had spent my life attempting to convince my children that they couldn't drag responsibilities home to me and expect that I would take care of them. Here we were on the horns of a dilemma; I was massively missing my boy. He was begging for a bond to me through this dog. What was a mother to do?

I knew that I didn't want a dog, but Richard loved all small, helpless life forms. We were most times busy babysitting this niece and that nephew, so maybe I could bring a puppy into the mix. I agreed to become foster parents to this dog until Scott could find him another home. And the games began.

We renamed the dog "Tuxedo" because of his sleek black coat with a white ruff. He was happy inside, but Richard just couldn't stop obsessing over how lonely the dog was to be locked out of our bedroom away from his "pack." He also never learned to read the silent signals that Tuxedo gave when he needed to go out. I relegated Tuxedo to the back yard. Tuxedo was definitely modeled on Dr. Suess's The Diggingest Dog. The yard soon looked like a mine field, which Richard referred to as the "Meuse-Argonne". Richard filled in the holes and built a kennel in the garage for the dog, but he still needed outside time.

Tuxedo apparently got nervous when he heard other dogs that he couldn't see through the wooden privacy fence. This led him to chew through the strapping on our lawn furniture -- twice. I ordered new strapping, and Richard taught himself the method for boiling it until it became soft enough to stretch across the metal frame. But Tuxedo had only begun his reign of destruction.

As do most air conditioner compressors, our unit made an awful racket when kicking on. Tuxedo must have thought this was some kind of dangerous invader, as he chewed through the wires until that noise was taken care of -- twice. The air conditioner repairman was quite amused when he had to come back the second time. Richard ordered a tooth-proof casing for the wiring, and announced that we had to get rid of "Scott's" dog before he put us into bankruptcy.

I knew that this wouldn't happen once Richard had a night to sleep on other options. His next free week-end, it was off to Home Depot for supplies to build a custom dog run, complete with washdown drain. Only Richard would have spent time making sure that the grains on each fence board were compatible before buying them. Tuxedo now had the nicest dog run in town.

We were foster parents until Scott got to be about nineteen and moved into one of his dad's rental homes with his wife. He and she were sitting at our supper table while Scott expounded on how he and his wife could now reclaim his dog, but he knew Richard had gotten so attached that he would want permanent custody. Richard heard him and immediately went to the garage and gathered up all Tuxedo's toys and other belongings. Within minutes, Scott's dog and all his stuff were in Scott's vehicle. Scott was stunned, but Tuxedo was his responsibility.

Now, Scott is caring for our ninety-six pound fur ball while we look for rental accommodations. When he took me out back to explain to me how Gypsy Woman had dug up his back yard, I couldn't help but secretly smile as I commiserated with him. Richard, on the other hand, upon hearing the story, can't stop roaring with laughter, and that's only when he's not smirking in mirth.

Torn Between Two Places

Tomorrow we sign on the dotted line, to buy the perfect property for my man and me. We'll eventually have a house with three hundred sixty degree views of water: the lake to the front, the marsh to the rear. I'm not sure what could be more perfect.

We're nervous, but also so excited to have found something in the same island subdivision that we enjoyed pre-Katrina. It wasn't our plan to build a house; all I wanted was a plot on which to park an RV. Richard, on the other hand, wants a neighborhood. Our lives never work out quite as we have planned; I never intended to own our present home. Que sera sera; whatever will be will be.

The reality is that our RV needs an engine before it can be moved anywhere, and the coastal area has really clamped down on where one can park a mobile home. RV parks charge several hundred dollars a month, so it wasn't going to be an inexpensive ordeal. In for a penny; in for a pound. We'll be in for several tons.

Richard is absolutely enthralled with his work on the PT boat for the World War II Museum. The Higgins Society project manager has asked him to be an integral part of the organization of the refurbishing of this water craft. With the Higgins PT boat measuring seventy-eight feet long, he'll now have bragging rights to the biggest boat of anyone in either of our neighborhoods. And how many of our friends' boats boast over four thousand horses of power? I'm also pretty sure none of their boats ever took a torpedo hit.

While Richard is working for "the war effort," I guess I'll be figuring out where we'll live. The house in Coker Creek, when it thaws, may become a vacation rental. Meanwhile, I'll be looking for a temporary house here in Louisiana, as most apartments don't allow dogs the size of small horses to reside in them. Our Great Pyrenees is ninety-six pounds of fur and drool. We don't know if she'll survive a summer as an outside dog, so we may need to include an air-conditioned dog house in our home design.

You may think that living on the water will keep our puppy cool, but eight inch fur isn't conducive to taking a dip in the lake. The one time Gypsy Woman tried following our daughter's dog into our pond, she became so heavy that our daughter had to drag her to shore. Esther Williams she ain't.

I'm still hoping that some miracle will allow us to live part time in two places, with or without two homes. Maybe we'll become summer vacation renters in the beautiful mountains of Tennessee.

The Boonies and the Beach

Looking on the lake for a piece of property
To build a winter home for my man and me.
He loves snow, and I love the sun;
The compromise of two homes, for now, has won.

But as we age, we can plainly see
That our energies aren't what they used to be.
Even our children have aches and pains;
It's for certain we won't be young again.

When we purchased our home, we really thought
That our children would use what we bought.
But reality didn't cooperate;
By the time we knew this, it was too late.

The work on acreage is extensive,
And hiring workers very expensive.
So we're left questioning what to do,
If we can't keep up one, how will we do two?

Do we want to become vacation landlords,
And have our beds slept in by unknown hordes?
We could have small paradises in both places,
In both of which we enjoy friendly faces.

A beach house here, a mountain home there,
We'd be on vacation anywhere.
Granny camp could be such fun,
Both in the snow and in the sun.

I'd like advice on which way to go
From realtors and landlords in the know.
And from friends and family
Who may help us more clearly see.

Before we take the plunge, we hope to get
Information on how to sublet,
And who will visit each of our homes,
As through the country our people roam.

Make your reservations today,
If in the mountains you want to play.
You just never know how or when
Reality may intrude again.

The drive is long, but rewards are great,
Although many still hesitate,
To take the forested mountain roads
To our peaceful Appalachian abode.

A tour bus would be just the thing,
But there isn't one, our guests to bring.
Do you think we should install a heliport
For easy mountain guest transport?

A Crazy Christmas

We woke up alone on Christmas day,
No children or grands with which to play.
All of them were sharing their time
In their own respective family climes.

So much family we could have seen,
But this holiday season has trying been.
Unexpected death and relationship strife
Have caused some stress in our current life.

Now, many of you may be saddened,
But our hearts were truly gladdened;
We slept in without a thought
Of any things that we ought.

We had no ham we had to bake,
No enthusiasms we had to fake.
Our gift was time with each other;
We could cuddle alone under the covers.

A buffet breakfast and a movie show
Were quiet places we could go.
Even on Christmas there are people alone;
These places substitute for their homes.

We weren't without any baby joys;
We shared supper with our niece and her boys
Her husband is one of those who work
While we celebraters enjoy the perks.

So to his place of cooking employment
We took our holiday feasting enjoyment.
The boys were thrilled to see their dad,
And what pride in their family the parents had.

And then to see our son we went;
With their new toys our time was spent.
They had finished their Christmas duties,
And were relaxing with all their holiday booty.

Snuggle time with a granddaughter
Before retiring to our hotel on the water.
Christmas is just beginning for us,
But we won't have to make a fuss.

I'm looking forward to days of shopping,
And also some theatre hopping
With our daughter and her girls
As we give Atlanta a celebration whirl.

Extending Christmas may become a habit,
No more scurrying about like rabbits,
From there to here and here to there,
All the joy in one day to share.

We did, though, miss our package caper:
Yards of ribbon and wrapping paper,
The goodies our kitchen elves had fixed,
And all those gifts specially picked.

What a surprise those things will be
Long after disposal of the Christmas tree.
What is time, after all,
But a trap into which working folk fall?

We're retired and we can decide
By what rules our clocks abide.
This goes for our calendars, too;
Any day may become Merry Christmas to you.

Conscious of Christmas

I'm happy I know the ways of Jesus;
He certainly gave good examples to us.
This is as it is meant to be,
As we strive for eternal life to see.

Our forefathers were given a path to follow
But we continue not to be perfect, and so
We were given a brother who would not sin
To allow all the Spirit's light to shine in.

The Spirit of wholeness and pure delight
Is what gives humans our special might.
We must choose our path; we each need example.
The ways of most of families are not ample.

For seeking perfection is a process;
The tribes of Abraham have done their best.
The line of David produced a man
To be an example of the Eternal Plan.

We are still left to find our way:
Jews, Muslims, and Christians today,
All come from the same blessed line.
Hopefully we'll reunite, in time.

The Holy Spirit is how we succeed
In finding the peace for which we plead.
It isn't a contest for who is right;
It's a question of whether we want the Light.

I don't call myself Muslim, nor Christian, nor Jew
Because I haven't become one with those who do.
But I seek a common message of hope and love
In all I encounter as through this world I trudge.

So let us each be our best selves,
Sharing grateful hearts and the love that dwells
In all who seek a heavenly plane
In which humanity will be freed from pain.

It begins with each of us searching our hearts
For a peaceful place in which to restart
Our earthly relationships on a higher plane:
In our own little worlds, Paradise to regain.

Remaking Marriage

Is it true that marriage can be reset?
Vows reaffirmed and responsibilities met.
Injuries inflicted, can these we forget?

How many know when they are wed
The many challenges that lie ahead?
Who stands for them when their joy seems dead?

Our families seem not to care
In our commitments to do their share
When there seems no more love energy there.

Our people need to be the well
From which we draw the Spirit's spell;
Only this our trembling weakness will dispel.

Marriages don't thrive on one to another;
They take more than being lovers.
They thrive on families of sisters and brothers.

Isn't this the community to which we are called:
To form a fortress of sheltering walls
To protect our young when they threaten to fall?

Prayer without action won't calm the storm
When a baby won't quiet in her mother's arms;
Our commitments must be in active forms.

That midnight call of a man in pain
Wondering if his mate will ever hold him,
Who of us will hear his refrain?

Let us stop simply celebrating
When two sanctify their mating;
Let's commit to the family they're creating.

The rewards are many for being a part
Of helping to fill a family's hearts;
We help give our broken world a new start.