by Cheryl Mathis on December 26th, 2008
After finally getting the snowblower to work again this morning, The Husband danced a jig. What a big pile of snow we got this week! Almost threatened to do in our holiday plans, but we persevered. I hope all of you enjoyed a bit of a holiday in honor of gift-getting day. Questions this week come to us from oldwoodchair. Thanks Terry!
1. I am lucky in that I have several Christmas tree ornaments from my childhood and also from my husband’s childhood…stuff that we have fond memories of hanging on the those big old trees of our youth, and we treasure them all and proudly display them every Christmas. Do you have any decorations from when you were young? If not, what’s your “style” for your tree?….What do you decorate it with?
2. This is the time for giving extra to those that are without. If you had $10,000 that you MUST give away to one charity, which would it be, and why that one out of so many?
3. When you were a kid, did you visit Santa and sit on his lap? And what did you ask him for? (And did you get what you asked for?)
4. This is not so much a question as an opinion on the character of Santa’s reindeer. You know how the Rudolph song goes – “all of the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names…” etc. They never let him play games, made fun of him, psychologically tortured him … all because he was “different.” But then when the big guy saw his value, all of a sudden the other reindeer loved him and they accepted him and thought he was great and shouted gleefully about him. Well, aren’t they just nasty little self-serving little reindeer? Sure, now that he got the big promotion and is Santa’s lead reindeer, they all of sudden think he’s great? And if you were Rudolph, wouldn’t you have just told them to go blow at that point? Is it just me that is bothered by those reindeer attitudes?
5. What is your all-time favorite Christmas cookie? Mine is the reliable old sugar cookie cut-outs with frosting and colored sugars. We make santas, angels, trees, diamonds, and candy canes. One Christmas we made them in the shape of dog bones…not everyone we gave them to understood our sense of humor, but we thought it was hysterical.
by Cheryl Mathis on December 26th, 2008
When I was a little girl living on top of the hill above the hospital, near the “tippy-top,” surrounded by fields and forests, I loved planting a half-acre garden with my mom every summer. It was delightful. I loved the flowers especially. We had ancient dahlia bulbs that stretched the length of the garden and bloomed with a dark red richness and a deeply satisfying scent. I was so sad that the flowers didn’t grow in the winter, so my mother and I built a little greenhouse on the side of the garage.
I loved that greenhouse. It was so much fun to tramp through the snow to go to the “flower sauna,” and the doorway of the glass house was littered with mittens and scarves and jackets discarded quickly in the artificial heat. Memories were made in that cheerful space, and one of those memories is the one I’ll share with you now.
Even in my early youth, I loved flowers. I loved experimenting with bulbs and seeds and bushes. One year, I was trying so hard to get a poinsettia to bloom in time for Christmas. It would be my Christmas surprise for my mom. Finally, one morning in early December, I was rewarded with a bud on the green stem.
As I sat there in wonder on my garden stool, the bud began to stir and open. My eyes grew large, and my breath caught in my throat as its bright red petals unfurled under the heat lamp’s warm glow. I closed my eyes in a silent prayer of thanks, but my lids flew open when I heard a jolly laugh. “Well! It’s about time! I was hoping I’d get to meet you!”
The poinsettia was talking. I was dumbfounded, but perhaps my youth helped me to accept what would seem ridiculous today. I started an easy friendship with the flower, running to greet it in the mornings and after the bus dropped me off from school.
I told that flower everything, and it eagerly shared in my joys and sorrows. We sang songs together and danced. It was lovely. That first Christmas with my special flower was magical in every way. Every new experience was sprinkled with fairy dust because I could share it with the flower.
Imagine my deep sadness when, after the Christmas decorations were stored away and the deep chill of January began to sink further into the ground, my flower began to wilt and dry out. I tried every trick I knew to keep the flower in bloom, but it was no use. In my last conversation with the flower, it told me not to be sad about its dying. Like all the best flowers, they always bloom again.
And it did. One year later, I watched in awe as the little green bud darkened and swelled in front of me. As the red petals started its dance to fullness, a single tear of happiness slid down my face as I heard the familiar voice sing out.
“Well! It’s about time! Merry Christmas!”
