A Day in the Life of Christmas

Gramma,

Five of the thirteen grandkids spent last weekend with us.  After school was out, they arrived from three different directions, each about an hour away.  The girls chose to share the queen size bed in the guest room, a room as big as a living room and outfitted  with a fireplace and tv.  That left the boys with the little room.  The girls watched DVD's.  Much to their chagrin, the boys wanted to hang out with them.  Eventually, I sent them to watch tv in their room.

It took all morning to get them ready to go to a play.  We stopped at Walgreens so I could pick up a prescription.  They all chose a snack item and vitamin water for the road trip.  Then they railroaded me into buying them each a small toy item.  We were the first ones at the theatre.  We looked at art displays while we waited.  The kids couldn't believe the prices. 

We saw "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever."  Costumes reflected the sixties-seventies era.  The father came out in the most hideous leisure suit I have ever seen.  I almost said WTF out loud, which I related to him afterwards.  The story revolved around two families from different sides of the track and a Christmas pageant run amok when the usual director was out of commission. 

It was funny and poignant at times, interspersed with inappropriate behavior that delighted the kids. The mean girl was fond of smoking cigars in the church bathroom.  She had no idea who Jesus was.  The boys were terrified of her and her younger sister.  The draw for this financially challenged family was free refreshments.  In the end, the three wise guys brought peculiar gifts to the manger, including a canned ham from their welfare basket. 

During intermission, the kids roped me into buying cookies, which I had intended to avoid, but it was a fundraising effort.  I hadn't been to this bare bones theatre with open seating in a  hodge-podge of chairs.  We had seen all the plays at the usual venue, where the special effects and seating reflected a high degree of sophistication.  In the car, I asked what they liked best.  The naughty kids won out. 

The last year of the Macy's Christmas display was showing in Minneapolis.  In line, there was some annoying old bag in front of us.  Her short dark hair was sprayed into a helmet.  She held a winter scarf up to her nose and mouth the whole time, as if she were fending off chemical warfare.  I began a barking cough, caused by dust, cobwebs and the smell of cigarette smoke on coats.  Each time I coughed, she looked at me in horrified disgust.  So I took pains to cough when I didn't need to. 

The animated displays were worth the wait.  Santa's gift shop beckoned at the end.  Stuffed items were thirty percent off.  I wanted to be young enough to own one of those soft treehouses with stuffed animals poking out all the knotholes.  I asked the twins if they would like to share one.  "We don't like to share,"  I could understand that.  Everybody got their own. 

The kids unboxed gingerbread houses before I could change out of my good clothes.  I was tired and put some leftover hot dish in front of Dave.  Veve and Ollie got into it over some triviality.  Ollie stormed upstairs.  I sent Dave after him.  Eventually, he put down his book and rejoined us.  Five houses were uniquely covered in frosting and candy.  The table was littered with leftovers. 

The kids ate pizza in the living room before heading to bed, which meant falling asleep with a movie.  House cleanup the next morning took upwards of two hours.  The twins were leaving around ten to go see Santa.  Dave watched the Vikings play at noon, while I took two kids to Wisconsin.  Dave took Ollie home while I watched the Packers play. 

Memories were made.  The twins said I was much more fun than their other gramma, and could they come for a week in the summer.  I hoped so.  More waffles with free reign of Reddi Whip and sprinkles.  More hands for the dogs.  More carrots for the donkeys. 

Veve's mother called the following week to tell me that the kids were told to draw something that reminded them of Christmas.  She drew a picture of a building with Macy's on the front of it. 

Oh, Holy Night

Gramma, 

Drove an hour to see two of my grandchildren perform in the annual "holiday" music program.   It has become commonplace in many schools to avoid any reference to Christmas.  The music teacher has been with the district for three years.  She is young, energetic, and innovative with her selections.  This year, it was very jazzy. 

The singing also involved actions, with hands, entire body movement and sometimes instruments.  There was a song about lighting a candle for peace.  The lights were dimmed.  Three kids with flameless candles lit the candles of other students, who in turn spread the light until they all held lit candles.  It was a somewhat mournful song, almost a lamentation of the futility of hoping for peace. 

Tears ran down my face as I though of the children of Aleppo being murdered, their last vestiges of hope and life being witnessed on social media.  Their parents pleading for help, the world watching.  No savior arriving.  No peace for them. 

For more than a month, Veve has been telling me they have been practicing a super secret song they can't tell anyone about.  She was very excited about it.  She is in the third grade.  I didn't pry.  The third, fourth and fifth grade sang their separate songs.  Then they performed together. 

The teacher was visibly nervous.  The auditorium was dark.  She told the crowd that she hoped we would like it.  She didn't know how we would receive it.  The kids worked very hard to make this happen.  As she tuned her guitar, I heard what I thought were the first frail notes of what I couldn't believe was coming. 

The kids began with soft voices, as if they were far away.  "Oh Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining, this is the night of our dear Savior's birth...."  Their voices rang out louder and louder.  The music teacher sang solo for two verses while the kids did the chorus.  Her voice conveyed a passion for what she was doing.  My eyes were leaking again.  You could hear a pin drop when it was over. 

I was among the first to stand up.  Somebody had dared to put Christ back in Christmas in a public school.  I wondered if she had gotten permission for this.  Would it become necessary to sign a reinstatement petition? 

The quality of the children's voices was beyond their years.  I would guess there were some unfamiliar with the Christmas story.  I wondered if in the process of learning the words, they were helped to understand.  Had the teacher taken a chance on overstepping boundaries to explain it?  Whatever happened here and whoever was in on it, Wow, just Wow. 

It's Cold Outside...

Gramma,

It's been a month since my last post.  (didn't that sound a bit Catholic)  We are experiencing another super moon.  The tree shadows on the ground last night were spectacular.  I love tree skeletons.  Too bad they don't photograph well.  The windchill is 25 below zero.  Prediction for tomorrow and the weekend is worse--45 below.  Snow will also be involved.  At these temperatures, the ice melting stuff does not work on the roads.  Glad I don't have to go anywhere. 

Last night I made several trips out to the rental unit in the shed.  One of the energy efficient heaters needed repair--since last summer.  Nothing like being on top of things.  Not my fault.  Our professional heating and air conditioning friend kept promising to do it.  By 7:30 last night it was determined he was unable to figure out the problem.  The off peak heaters are a breed that requires specialty training for installation and repair.  First thing I did this morning was call for repair. 

It has been crazy hectic around here this past month.  The only lull was on Thanksgiving.  We did not go anywhere or have anyone over.  I still make a large meal, freezing leftovers for soup and pot pies.  Eleanor gave up this holiday a few years back, but demanded that we show up for pie.  Forty-five minutes one way to forgo a nap and force down some pie.  Glad that's over. 

In a moment of stupidity, I almost ruined Thanksgiving by calling my estranged son to come over for food.  There is a large family gathering on his dad's side every year, but he was unwelcome.  This is not the first time he has alienated everyone with his vicious postings on Facebook and in the flesh.  He posted that he had dinner with an older couple that took pity on him.  I'm sure he was all charming and polite.  They don't have to deal with the Aaron we know. 

Eleanor had a stroke around Thanksgiving.  It was mild, with no long term effects.  She was laying on the floor in her bedroom when she called family for help.  She spent several days in the hospital before going to a nursing home for unnecessary transitional care.  She was afraid to go home because she might have another stroke and die,  She is over eighty.  WTF.  I would absolutely rather die than be in there. 

The problem for her was deciding which "Help I've Fallen And Can't Get Up" device to purchase.  Call your friends.  Ask what they have.  Nope.  She had to pester all three of her kids to research the market.  All three kids had different opinions.  We went to visit.  The nursing home was noisy--nonstop beeping equipment, loud voices echoing off bare walls and floors--bad smells and people slumped in wheelchairs.  I could smell Eleanor's halitosis before I got to her room. 

The weather was bad and we got there around dinner time.  We were practically chased off by Eleanor so she could go eat the food she was complaining about.  To get Medicare to pay for this unnecessary care, she was required to go to rehab classes that she complained about.  There were such activities as taking directions on how to make a sandwich. 

Dave's son Cory had open heart surgery this week.  When he tried to join the military ten years ago, he was rejected because he had a leaky aortic valve.  That was replaced with a mechanical valve.  He is in and out of consciousness with the pain meds.

Dave tried to get his mother to go with him to visit Cory.  Eleanor is busy having a full blown pity party for herself.  She's whining again about how she wishes her sons would get along.  She doesn't talk to one of  her brothers, but of course, that's different.  She can see the asshole in him, but not her beloved ass-clown of a son. 

In preparation for knee replacement surgery, Dave has had several doctor appointments this month.  I am required to go along so I know what's going on.  He has vague reasons why he is not telling his family in advance.  I will honor his decision.  Due to the nature of his work, he will be home for twelve weeks.  Good practice for retirement.  He also needs shoulder surgery and the other knee replaced.  Then it will be time to retire. 

I had a colonoscopy that revealed why I have had the diarrhea for several months--some breed of colitis.  The drugs are $1500 a month.  Co-pay was $150.  Hopefully two months of treatment will clear up the problem.  Cause?  Ibuprofen 800's or some prescription mental health drug.  Getting old is not my thing.  I do not like to talk about my ailments, because that is what old people do. 

Winter is here.  Going out to rearrange the snow.  Be back tomorrow. 

Super Moon

Gramma,

My super-size corgi is on a diet.  She is also on a hunger strike.  This morning I told her to step away from the dog dishes.  She knows the command.  I offered her a separate bowl of diet kibble that only she could access.  Refusal.  My corgi's have a lot of cat-like behaviors.  She walked away without even trying to vie for the prime morning spot under my desk.  I guess we aren't speaking.  I will give her a few days before I change tactics. 

Last night was the "Super Moon."  I went outside to watch it come up through the tree line.  I've been sick with something upper respiratory, so went to bed early.  The moon glow falls across my pillow as I drift off.  I planned to be outside before dawn to watch it finish the night.  Too late.  The cat weighs me down. 

My barking cough kept me from my dentist appointment.  I planned to not get dressed, maybe even go back to bed and read a book.  It's grey and dreary, but not cold.  I half-heartedly make a to-do list for the week.  I don't want to do anything.  I waste time on the computer.  Then, Bob shows up.  He used to own this house.  He lives in Colorado.  He has the gate code.  He will try to get an invitation to dinner and several nights of free lodging.  He has his a new little pound puppy with him. 

Our conversation is punctuated by my frequent coughing.  Bob quit playing Santa years ago because the kids always got him sick.  He tells me he will be in town through Thanksgiving, almost two weeks.  As usual, he repeats himself.  I nod and cough.  He tells me what he has been up to and that he has brought a car load of things for his step-kids.  Dave texts me while we are visiting.  I look at the phone and smile. 

I tell Bob that I need to let Dave know I got his text about working late.  I text him, "Bob is here."  And, I smile, because Bob drives him nuts.  He shows up without warning and stays without an invitation.  He helps himself to whatever's in the fridge.  He sits in Dave's chair.  He expects that I will cook three meals and dessert.  My phone is lighting up with Dave's texts.  "Fuck."  "Not staying at the house."  "Four dog limit."  "Hello." 

I snap Bob's picture.  His dog is sitting on the back of Dave's chair.  Good thing I can't laugh while coughing.  I hit send.  "FUCK," Dave responds.  I smile as Bob keeps talking.  I tell him Dave says hi.    Bob decided to leave.  I didn't even have to encourage him by telling him I needed to go back to bed.  I could have offered him some home made apple pie or something to drink, or dinner later in the week.  He will likely be back before he heads home. 

I text the neighbor that he is in town.  She says, thanks for the heads up."  They too have gates, and he does not have their code.  He will knock on other doors, looking for food and shelter.  I like Bob well enough.  I am more tolerant than Dave when it comes to this kind of intrusion.  My eyes glaze over and the mind wanders after awhile. Dave fumes. 

The next morning I went to feed Mr. Peepers, my canary.  Bob's dog had  left me a dog bomb and wet spot by the cage.  I had promised a friend recovering from back surgery that I would clean her house.  There was no other day I could do it.  While I was there, Bob called her.  She did not pick up.  We listened to his message inviting himself for a get-together.  I came home, still sick, exhausted, and too tired to drag the carpet cleaner upstairs. 

I'm a little jumpy.  I heard a car door slam outside and said "Oh fuck," to myself.  He's back.  It was the mail lady delivering Christmas gifts I had ordered online.  I look at my calendar for the next week to see how much stuff I have going on, real excuses.  Then I figure out how many other excuses I need to make up, just in case. 

Election Day 2016

Gramma,

November 8, 2016,  Election Day.  I wake up with a complete lack of enthusiasm that dogs me all day.  It is beautiful out, sunshine and relative warmth.  I do not want to get dressed and go to the polls.  My blood pressure rises just thinking about it.  I feel foggy.  The dog and I get in the car for the four mile drive to the town hall. 

I am not smiling.  Neither is anyone else.  I am in the booth with my cheat sheet, so I know who to vote for and who not to vote for.  I am pissy because all those relentless political ads I was forced to endure for months are not the assholes that are on my ballot.  My cheat sheet does include those who are, but that does not make it better. 

The presidential choices disgust me.  Neither speaks my language.  I feel paralyzed.  But, it doesn't matter, because I have sold my vote to my husband for six cases of beer.  I do not like his candidate.  He is a ruptured pig gut.  I do not think he is the lesser of two evils, but it doesn't matter.  I am good for my word. 

It's a rarity that I climb back in bed.  I pick up a book and read a few pages.  The cat is curled up nearby.  Her fur is soft and comforting.  My duress does not matter.  Regardless, her tomorrow will be the same as today.  The tuna will be forthcoming.  The bathroom will be cleaned.  The evening news does not predict a clear winner.  I am stone faced, resigned to whatever.  I share a bag of popcorn with the dogs.  The cat welcomes me back. 

Dave comes to bed late.  There is no word.   Later, I wake up screaming, "help, help, help."  Dave wakes me up at the same time I wake myself up.  I dreamed the bottoms of my daughter's and my feet were impaled with many needles of fine crystal glass.  Please don't let the dream ensue when I close my eyes. 

Before five a.m. I check my phone to see who won.  I nudge Dave, "Your guy won."  He says, "I know."  He has been checking his phone all night.  I am resigned.  I feel nothing.  I get up and let the dogs out, put some coffee on and start the fire.  There are states not yet called.  We are one of them.  We don't matter, because it is over.  The country has raised a middle finger to the status quo. 

I am struck by how the morning show hosts are able to deliver the news without betraying any personal feelings.  I am rarely at a loss,   don't know how I feel.  Life will go on.  I will pop more popcorn.  Meanwhile, Facebook is not funny today.  There are vitriolic rants, stunned disbelief, hate, and fear.  I can't absorb it all.  I have friends on both sides of The Wall.  I try to look for the positives. 

I think Obama Care is a failure.  For me, this is the fault of the senate and legislature.  They created a monster with their ugly little personal interests, pushing and shoving until the original intent became an unholy stepchild,  Dave and I wanted everyone to have affordable health care.  For many people, it is not affordable. In theory, it was a good idea. 

When Jesse Ventura became the governor of Minnesota, I was optimistic.  He was pretty brash and rough around the edges, but I thought he had potential.  Hopefully, he would be open-minded, willing to become enlightened in the face of facts and figures.  I was wrong.  I am not holding my breath on The Donald being any different.  Global warming is just the tip of the iceberg.  I am thinking now the same thing I thought then, how much damage can he do in four years. 

The Twins Were Here

Gramma,

It was a rare occasion that the twins were here for the weekend.  The girls turned eight on Halloween.  Their mother died of MS a year ago.  The baby is eighteen months and was here briefly while the girls were being dropped off.  They live with Dave's ex-wife and her husband in a small apartment.  They do not have legal custody.  I suspect that the kids are getting on their last nerve and  they wanted a break.  I fully expected to be hit up for money for something. 

The father of the children is busy hunting and fishing.  He bought a new boat with government money meant for the girls.  He does not volunteer anything to support the kids, including his time.  He is a weird little puke who should be in jail for tax evasion.  When his dog died, he put the collar on Tanya's grave.  The dog was not special to her.  He got another dog.  I would guess the dog gets little more attention from him than the children do.  We did not ask the twins any questions about how things are and they did not offer any information. 

Bubba and Veve were here as well, so there were four kids making noise.  Although I said no about a hundred times, I let them be kids.  No, you can't go on the roof of the house if I am not with you.  No, you can not go on the roof with shoes, it's bad for the shingles.  There is a deck that goes from a bedroom onto the roof, but the shingles are much more interesting.  Yes, you can go on the roof of the small playhouse.  There is a ladder and slide involved.  No, you may not go on the roof of the treehouse.  Get off that ladder.  No, you may not go on the dock out to the island if I am not with you.  Yes, there is a monster. 

A trip to Wal-Mart was made to pick out a birthday toy of their choice.  Nope, that's not an option, choose something else.  The multitude of pre-landfill plastic disgusts me.  Grampa came along.  He NEVER goes to Wal-Mart.  I do not go on a Saturday.  I get pissy just thinking about it.  The old woman and the old cashier in front of us were having a social event.  Dave and I exchanged glances and stink eye.  It was good for Grampa to see how fast and far $150.00 goes.  He tried to hand me a twenty for a Dairy Queen cake.  I rubbed my fingers together and smiled.  He waited in the car. 

The kids helped take down all the Halloween décor.  They demonstrated the speed of a beer truck being unloaded at a biker event.  I took the four-wheeler out back with the kids in the trailer.  We got stuck and unstuck more than once.  We raced around the yard with the dogs trying to keep up.  Then we had more ice cream cake outside.  And more popsicles.  They dragged their feet cleaning up their own stuff to go home.  I always start the process two hours in advance. 

They think we live in a mansion.  I have corrected that notion to clarify that it is a castle.  My hope for their time here is to go home and say how much fun they had.  I hope they tell their cousins all about it.  They were here once, three years ago.  Maybe they will pester to visit.  More kids is not much more work.  In the end, it's the same amount of clean-up. 

In a month, the twins will be coming for another weekend.  We will go see a Christmas play with three of my grandkids.  It will be their first time seeing our house decorated with the village and upside down Christmas tree and the lit up Jesus people out by the road.  Their mother is watching.  I know because their were dragonflies following me when I was mending fences the day they came to visit.  Dragonflies were their mother's thing.  They are not in season here in late fall.  This is all good for Grampa's spirits. 

Witches Ball

Gramma, 

Happy Halloween.  Saturday night's annual Witches Ball was a success.  The bike club and some of the Christmas cookie exchange group were in attendance.  My floors are covered with leaf litter and footprints.  Despite rain much of the day, the guys were able to get a bonfire going with a blow torch. 

Blood spurted from a steak stuffed into the neck of the headless guy.  I warned him to step away from a quilt that had taken months to make.  The flasher's interpretive dance included a stuffed pantyhose appendage, which Freddy Krueger tried to filet.  The priest and nun were unsuccessful at saving souls. 

Two zombie girls spent hours in the upstairs bathroom doing their makeup.  They didn't even take a break to refresh beverages.  I checked on them to make sure they weren't locked in.  The temperamental door intermittently requires someone from the outside to open it.  That can be scary in an unfamiliar house with a haunted reputation.  The noise coming from the Halloween village on the main floor drowned out the screaming and door pounding coming from upstairs. 

One of the cookie exchange girls showed up late, drunk and disorderly.  A big joint was hanging out of her mouth.  She is not a big pot smoker, but thought it would be cool to ask people for a light.  Her ex-husband-to-be had been a club member, but was kicked out for causing too many mandatory meetings with the Hell's Angels,  Girlfriend did not help his cause.  It is bad form to criticize another club when you are at a party on their turf. 

She decided to kiss all the guys around the fire, claiming it was her birthday and she could do as she pleased.  She was also dancing around in dark corners with a member who was there with his girlfriend.  This too, is bad form.  She will not be invited to anymore events where club members are present.  I was glad when her driver dragged her out to the car.  I would imagine she is still recovering.  Drunkeness and diabetes is not a good combination. 

Family drama kept another couple away.  The evil drunken mother of two grandchildren threw the family dog out of a moving truck.  Then she tried to choke her ex-husband, threatening to kill him and get custody of the kids.  This is while he was driving.  The kids were screaming.  They told the police they never wanted to see her again. 

One of the cookie exchange girls and her husband were headed to North Dakota to support the pipeline protest.  Otherwise, almost everyone showed up.  Two of the dogs were dressed as wieners.  Two were sent to their boxes for trying to mark guests as their territory. 

As witches arrived, I was just getting out of the shower.  There wasn't time to put on some Christmas music.  I should have gotten up earlier, but we were out late the night before celebrating at a surprise birthday party. 

A friend spent the night and helped put food away.  It had taken me all month to prepare for this event.  Sunday was spent on the couch watching bad t.v.  Then the Packers lost by one point.  I shouldn't have chosen to watch NatGeo after that.  Seeing the planet destruct from global warming is the stuff of nightmares. 

The gates are open for brave trick-or-treaters,  It is over fifty degrees here in the northwoods.  As I can't keep candy in the house without it disappearing, the kids are getting mardi-gras beads.  The grandkids will be here next weekend to help take down the mess.  Their next visit will be to install Christmas, much less involved than Halloween.