The Sacred Holy Spirit of:
Christ‘m’as Love!
Peace on Earth! Within a tiny village town
Snow white fluff drifts ever softly floating down
Faith! Christian Belief endears hearts clinging
Family! Christmas Eve! Oh! Holy Hymns all singing
Freedom! Church bells toll their sacred spiritual
ringing
Angelic second graders perform a “winter holiday”
presentation play
In white robes with angel wings, hallowed message
the innocents portray
“Silent Night!” sung sweetly soft surrounding
surreal sight
In heaven, joyous golden bells chime blessed gospel
bright
Each child in turn presents a single letter proud
“C-h-r-i-s-t-‘m’-a-s L-o-v-e-!” reverent testimony
vowed
A collective gasp escapes adoring adult attendees
What they behold is just not quite so modern trendy
Cutie, Ima Prophet holds her letter upside down
Hushed silence befalls stunned audience profound
The Deity has changed the script to: Christ‘w’as
Love!
Tread not on God’s Commandments writ celestially
above
To show respect the assembled crowd doth
respectfully arise
Joins Christmas chorus in God’s honored glory to
apprise
Faith! Family! Freedom! Might just be all there
really---is
In one eternal instant, that tender mercy judgment
will be…His!
Christian blessings are the valued valid virtue
treasures that one hath
And, Innocent shall Light the Way on Salvation’s
Heaven Path! Amen!
Merry! Merry! Christ‘m’as Love!
Plus:
Christmas Angel!
Angel-envoy proclaim to shepherd
peaceful night
Huddled close in honor of eternal
spiritual sight
Come Savior-man as midnight-star
journey ceased
Christ Jesus virgin-born in yonder
holy stable East
Winged-messenger heaven-sent
trumpeted the Way
To Mary-Joseph lodge where sacred
precious baby lay
Innkeeper kindly provide poor
family shelter sleep
Unknowingly allowed Babe to
rustic manger keep
Sentinel-guard stood watch ’til hinted
morning dawn
As Cherubim and Seraphim
harmonized celestial song
God’s Son came so man may live
forever and a day
Simply emulate Jesus necessary to
every evil slay
Jesus’ own protector to aid him
on the journey far
Just follow God like angel did bring
Christmas star
So special-blessed the winged-one
given to announce His birth
Great day! Indeed! Truly
challenge perfect holy humble worth
Angel-guardian pray, too, that he
will someday be---
Assigned some holy task that is
not guarding…”me”!
And, when time comes to make a
sacred spiritual choice
Pure heart prevail Truth speak
with non-pernicious voice
Within each gift-event enjoy
adventure daily foray
Refuse be serious in awesome
childlike fun and play
Sands of time seem slow through
narrow neck of glass
Surely flow to distant shore
white-crest time does pass
Expectant wide-eyed innocent
wonder seeking just to find
Each sunshine-rise promise
“Christmas”-again sublime
Amen!
Merry Christmas!
Plus:
His eyes were on me in the pale moonlight.
I felt as though he were asking these questions of himself and merely directing
them toward me, searching for some relevance in his own existence; I admired
that self-examination; a rare, intrepid trait.
“Yes. I am,” I replied, frankly. “I
would hope that it shows in my demeanor.”
Continuing, “With time, and experience,
you will find a certain peace within yourself, a comfort, a place where you
belong in the scheme of things in life. What I’m talking about is a solitude, a
self-security within your very private spirit.
“And, somewhere in that space of time
between the now and the forever, you will come to know the secret truths, which
are constants. Important among them is: what other people think of me is---
none of my business!
“You already have much of what is needed
to succeed, to endure, to thrive, to do good for your fellow man.” I
added, “Even at the little girls’ tender
age, so do they.”
He looked thoughtful, his eyes revealing
some degree of earned self-satisfaction.
I allowed a secret thought to come to
light. “My mantra, if I was willing to confess to actually having one, would
be: Faith, Family! And, Freedom!” I paused. Then added, “For me, happiness in
life really is that simple. Pursuit of those high ideals is a perfection
pleasure.”
“Santa Claus! Indeed!” Z. Tyler thought
as he silently stared into the night panoramic vista.
“Yeah, he sure is to each of us. He and Nanny, always
giving everything to everybody. You had to be careful about what you said
around them; just mention something you think you want and they would get it
for you. And, not only the family, either.
“Stories were told of someone
anonymously providing needed generosity to anyone in dire straits. People had
received Easter hams, Thanksgiving turkeys, Christmas presents, money, bills
were satisfied, clothes, bicycles, cakes, every kind of item required, was
given. No one ever confessed to being
the donor. But Bapa had always teased that he was “Santa Claus”. Of course, he
made a joke of everything. He taught us that was one of three necessary life
ingredients: Honesty, Humility and Humor! He and Nanny practiced all of them.
He abased his own accomplishments, never took credit, always refocused
attention on someone else when the limelight threatened its illumination upon
himself or Nanny. The saints among us!
“Yes! Santa Claus! Indeed!” the young
man concluded his private thought of approval.
Apparently reflecting on what I had said
about faith, family and freedom, Z. Tyler nodded knowingly, a deep satisfaction
glowing in his eyes.
No more needed to be spoken; a
comforting quietness enveloped us; kindred spirits. Indeed!
We stood, enjoying the night, each man
alone in his feelings, in his own deep understanding. We silently shared an
abiding respect, an enduring truth, a mutual love. This “Peace on earth”
reality was more meaningful than a Christmas salutation adorning myriad holiday
cards. Truly!
After a while, we trekked back to the
house where Z. Tyler retired to pleasant dreams and I sipped hot tea as Ella
warmed my feet and I scratched Goldie’s ears. Zoe, our calico house cat, lay on
the sofa end nearest the fireplace, pretending un-interest in the dogs’
trespass into her domain, truly aloof as only a feline aristo-“cat” can be in
the presence of interlopers. Nanny came and sat in the recliner next to my
rocker; we fell asleep there, each in the other’s thoughts, holding hands.
Trapped droplets of moisture in the cedar logs exploded in miniature fireworks’
pops and crackles, sending showers of sparks up the chimney; the comforting cedar
fragrance as pleasant to the senses as was the warmth of the cozy fire to the
body.
The girls were up a six. Giggling and
laughing with the exuberance of youth hyper-extended in the anticipation of
Christmas Eve; surreptitiously, they plotted their clandestine attack. Each
armed with a feather pillow, they burst into Z. Tyler’s room, caught him still
asleep and pummeled him in a loving assault. Moaning and groaning with faux yelps
of “stop”, he playfully captured each girl, holding them as best he could while
tickling and whacking each with his own soft-stuffed case; there would be no
declared winner in this mock contest, yet each would take away memories of a
loving battle shared victory. Real combatants didn’t hug and kiss like this.
Nanny danced around the kitchen putting
together a delectable breakfast for the marauding horde, showing little effort
in her pleasing endeavor. I heard her impish laughter filter forth several
times as her youthful desire to join the melee belied her stern admonition, shouted
to the ceiling and through the floor to the bedroom battleground above her.
“You all calm down, now! I mean right
now this minute! Santa Claus is watching!”
That added rejoinder was wasted on the troop,
and, she knew it even as she spoke the words. There was no containing their
youthful spontaneity, today, nor any other; truth be told.
As she giggled her vacant admonishment,
I laughed. No one took her infrequent attempted sternness, seriously; not even
Nanny, herself. I seemed surrounded by saints and angels.
When Nanny had completed preparing the
meal, we all managed to get seated and somewhat curtailed the cacophonous party
to a near-acceptable college roar, I announced, to a somewhat attentive audience,
that Z. Tyler and I had to run an errand for some last minute shopping.
Immediately came the torrent: “Can I
go?” “Me, too?” “Me, three?” Followed by an excited laughter from the
threesome.
“Now, girls,” Nanny intervened. “I need
you to help me decorate the parlor.”
“But, the tree is already up,” protested
Lexi.
“Yeah!” Lamented the “Little Professor”,
Lauren, pushing her academia-looking glasses back in place on her button nose.
“And, it’s been up for two weeks because Bapa can’t wait.”
Teasing giggles escaped the throng as
three pair of not-so-innocent eyes surveyed Bapa.
“Yeah!” parroted Lexli Lu.
“Yeah!” echoed Annie Rie.
“If I had my way, children,” the old man
interposed, defensively, “every day would be Christmas! Every single, blessed
day!”
“I think that you already believe it is,”
intoned Z. Tyler, quietly. Playful smiles broadened at the attestation;
everyone knew that it was true.
Nanny attempted to save her husband
further embarrassment.
“Girls,” she quickly interjected,
employing the plural while assuredly speaking to each individually, “ I need
help with the cooking, too.”
This, she knew, would appease them. Each
had inherited her “femininity” as Bapa
referred to her loving nature. Helping was natural to the three
neophytes as were the virtues women exhibit in cleaning, child rearing, keeping
a family together with boundless love and motherly ability. Bapa had married a
saint; he acknowledged her virtue by treating her like royalty.
“Okay!” came the decision from the
peacemaker. Anna Marie continued, “We’ll go to town the day after Christmas.
Today we can all help Nanny.”
The other two acquiesced, nodding in
agreement; to dispute Annie Rie was futile, anyway.
“Yeah!” said Lexi, impishly, a twinkle
in her eye. “The day after Christmas!” She paused, then squealed, “To go---shopping!
“Oh! Yes!” exclaimed Lauren. “Shopping!”
Eyes flashed as Annie Rie added, tilting
her chin down slightly while easing the blue crystals demurely toward her
grandfather. “But, today Bapa, could you bring us a surprise?” She queried,
long lashes fluttering coquettishly.
Laughter exploded.
“What?” bellowed Bapa in animated
theatrical amusement. “Bring you a surprise?” He laughed, “Annie, today is
Christmas Eve! Santa Claus comes tonight! And, I do believe you all will truly
be surprised! Especially, this year.
“In fact,” he added, reveling in his own
turn to be surreptitious, “Santa might just surprise you before tonight!” A
knowing glance passed between himself and Nanny, the “secret” safely guarded,
thus far. Nanny gave him a warning glance not to give too many hints; he
nodded.
“Yea!” came the uproarious reply,
followed by curious looks of wonder. Bapa and Nanny had a way of making good
things---better. Even…great!
After breakfast, the threesome dutifully
helped their Nanny clear the table. They voluntarily washed dishes and put the
kitchen into a tidy order. As Bapa and Z. Tyler went out the living room door
to the front porch, the boy stuck his head back and announced excitedly, “Girls!
Come look at your first surprise. It’s starting to snow!”
The girls crowded onto the porch
followed by Nanny. All were wide-eyed, Nanny smiling as the uncontrolled
threesome giggled and laughed and danced, attempting to catch elusive, swirling
snowflakes on their tongues.
“Back inside with you, now,” Bapa
admonished after several moments. “We don’t need a pack of sick little girls on
Christmas Eve.
“We’ll be back by noon,” he promised.
Three little girls stood at the window
along with their Nanny as Bapa and Z.
Tyler left the barn in the old pickup with a red stock trailer in tow. The two
men exchanged waves with the ghostly silhouettes encased behind the living
room’s frosted glass.
Time slows to a crawl when anticipation runs rampant and
expectation is high; always the way on Christmas Eve. However, Nanny and the
girls had plenty to do and the hours flew. Several times Lauren glanced
outside, hoping to see the boys return; even Anna and Lexi peeked once or
twice. Nanny had to force herself to concentrate on the decorating, so excited
was she. Christmas was not just for kids, she thought, and most certainly not
to be celebrated only one day a year. Christmas was, for her and the family, a
daily experience and a lifetime experience.
Snow was falling with a vengeance when
the truck and trailer pulled into the drive just prior to noon; the little girls
failed to notice Bapa’s and Z. Tyler’s arrival home.
The young man opened the barn door and
Bapa entered, parking the trailer in the alleyway between the cattle feed room
adjacent to several horse stalls; granaries lined the other side, used to store
corn, wheat and beans at harvest time.
The men unloaded their cargo; Bapa sent Z. Tyler to the house to gather the
clan while he made final preparations for the surprise.
The house glowed. Z. Tyler’s mouth
watered when he entered the kitchen through the back door to save the parlor
from snow falling off his boots. Roast turkey, potatoes, gravy, corn, fresh
bread, cranberries, pumpkin pie and his favorite, cherry custard pie, blended
in the smells of Christmas that warmed his cold nose…and, his pure heart. He
detected the unmistakable aroma of Nanny’s special recipe honey-cherry ham
baking. The wide sideboard in the dining room held a festive holiday runner on
which sat three cakes decorated in bright holiday colors; homemade cookies,
chocolate and hard candy, soft fudge and fresh fruit were evident in ample
supply with a variety of nuts, all appetizingly displayed in
holiday-motif-decorated serving bowls and vessels.
His mom and dad had arrived, along with
his aunt and uncle. The ten foot tree was brightly lit with myriad colored bulbs,
shiny ornaments and old-fashioned silver tinsel on which Bapa had insisted.
Over the years Nanny and her girls had fashioned various homemade ornaments of
fabric, wood, even baked-dough, all painstakingly hand-painted in Christmas red
and green.
The scent of fresh cut spruce decorating
the stair rail wafted to Z. Tyler’s senses, blending with smells of the table
fare under preparation. A pine garland draped the wood banister separating the
dining area from the living room; bright red holly berries from the bush in the
front yard were interspersed among the green needles; golden bows embellished
the decoration at strategic intervals. A mountain of packages adorned in a
vibrant array of colors and ribbon lay under and around the tree. Nanny’s
childhood manger scene held center stage, the crib empty until midnight Christmas
Eve when the baby, Jesus, would be adoringly placed in its proper position of
honor in celebration of His birth among Mary, Joseph, the shepherd boy and
animals.
Loudly closing the door while stomping
snow from his feet onto the woven throw rug on the kitchen floor signaled the
girls that he was home. Three angels came flying in a blur, all hugging him and
talking at the same time, totally excited. His mother and aunt came in
assaulting him with heavy hugs and holiday kisses. If Bapa had witnessed that scene,
he would surely have teased the boy about his “way with women”, and, secretly,
harbored more than a bit of jealousy.
“Merry Christmas!” was exchanged among
one and all; smiles radiated. Nanny watched from sentry duty at the cook stove,
smiling. Her house had always been “home”, even in lean times when things were
rough for a young family. But, her attitude stood on an unshakable foundation
of faith. Love had been the nectar of her life; it overflowed in everything she
did. This family was testament to her nature. They reflected whom she was and
how she lived. The farmhouse was alive and her life was complete. Whenever Bapa
found occasion to speak of Nanny, he quipped that for twenty years he had
called her a saint, then, humbly confessed that he had been mistaken---she
was…an angel! Amen! To that. It was true.
“Where’s Bapa?” the three girls
inquired, looking behind the boy in search of the patriarch, furtively
searching for whatever gift he and Z. Tyler had gone to get; their
failed-attempt at clandestine peeking as evident as was their curiosity and
rampant Christmas spirit.
Everyone laughed at the girls’ clumsy, unsuccessful
surreptitious effort to overcome obfuscated observation; their “secret” trial
was obvious.
“Oh!” answered Z. Tyler in yawning boredom,
“I think he’s in the barn.”
The girls looked at one another in
wonderment, eyes widening.
“Everybody get coats, hats, gloves and
boots and come with me. Everyone, including adults,” Z. Tyler commanded,
shooing his wards toward the closed-in rear porch where coats were kept.
Cheers and yelps mixed with laughter as
anticipation grew. Dressed in record time, they trooped through the house and
out the front door. Quickly the cavalcade marched across the yard and parking
area from the front porch to the barn. Three inches of fresh-fallen snow did
not impede their progress nor did the obscuring heavy flakes of white fluff
dampen their high spirits.
Bapa heard the infantry marchers approach
and moved to stand in the hallway so as to shield their view of the first stall
after the tack room on the left. They quieted their boisterous advance as they
entered the livestock area, always cognizant to be calm around the farm animals.
“I promised you all a white Christmas,”
the old man began, noticing the girls inquiring eyes trying to see around him.
“And, so, here it is. Just the most beautiful sight, isn’t it?”
Plus:
Day 356
Shopping at St.
Claire Square and walking out with
Trash bags full
of mums---Beth was totally humiliated
There
have been a few occasions (not many,
as I recall) in my long life when I actually had two quarters to rub together;
mostly I managed to survive on “guts”, a bit of “wit”---and…credit!
I
have never been “tight” where money is concerned, probably why I seldom have
any; but, I will eagerly confess to being “frugal” (and, a bit of a vagabond
when “necessity” calls.
When
I was a kid, I decided to raise pigeons; they were $3.00/pair from an old guy
in town.
I
enlisted one of my buddies to co-venture with me on the project; he had a big
back yard with a garden shed on the corner of the property and we conscripted part
of that structure as a cage. With the hard
part of the endeavor accomplished (we’d have never found enough cash for any
construction), we set out to scrounge soda bottle for return to the grocery
store where we bargained 2¢ for each 12 oz. bottle and 5¢ for each quart bottle
returned for the deposit. I recall my buddy sold his brother an old baseball
glove which the elder had coveted and I sold some marbles and a few baseball
cards to raise the needed funds. Soon enough, we bought a pair of pigeons. No
matter the issue, there is always
some “ingenius” way to conjure up the “success”.
When
owning pets with another person who has them under his control by virtue of
having the cage on his property becomes more of an aggravation than a pleasure,
Well! It’s time to go.
So,
after a few confrontations over the birds we shared, I set out to build my own
cage. No money and no lumber was my first two challenges. So, I took my little
wagon and set out to the local ball diamond where I spent most of my “free”
time as a kid; there, I had spied a partial roll of nice fencing which had been
used for a backstop; perfect for a pigeon cage. I took it home.
The
subdivision where we lived was fairly new (we rented) and the carpenters were
always friendly to the kids; I scrounged some plywood and scrap 2 X 4’s,
dragged the treasure home and set to build a bird cage; Even installed a door
big enough for me to enter. The screen was perfect.
How
did I get the $3.00 for a pair of pigeons? More soda bottles returned and a
buck and a half from my ex-“business-partner” for my share of our pair of
pigeons. Voila!
Well!
Old habits die hard (like always being broke)---and…learning to “make-do!
Well!
When we had children, my chronology had extended---but…my “gypsy”-ways remained
ingrained into my method-of-operation, much to the chagrin of eldest daughter,
Beth.
On
an outing to the mall, St. Clair Square was changing the decorations on the
interior flower beds trashing myriad colorful (and, healthy) mums to make way
for Christmas displays to soothe the spending shoppers so they might more
easily open up their pocketbooks.
I
walked right up to the guy who seemed to be in charge of the gardening-detail
and asked what they were going to do with the flowers. He said, “Throw them in
the dumpster.”
Well!
What a waste! And, I sure could use some “free” plantings for our new house. Okay!
I
then went to a near-by store and conned the manager out of about twenty huge
bags telling him my so try. We hauled all the bags filled with mums to the car.
They grew just beautifully---and…had the very best aroma; kind of smelled like Free!
Beth
got over the embarrassment---Ha! Ha!...She
and Becky sure enough learned the old man’s “make-do” and never squander an
opportunity! Good-job! Papa! Taught
their kids, too!
Ah! Cookie Jar Sweet “Can I have those?”
Memories!
No comments:
Post a Comment