nedful things

Labyrinthine conversation

(The answer unspoken hung in air so thick)

I reached over and plucked a bit out from just beside your chin.

(slightly to the right of your collar, just above the neckline)

I rubbed it between thumb and forefinger, feeling its texture, rolled it on the heels of my palms and spread it thinly between my fingers before running my hands gleefully through my hair and smoothing it down over the nape of my neck

(I wanted to experience this moment to the full you understand.)

And you never saw those words escape and hover over us.

(You realize, of course, that this is all imagery. No, perhaps you don't.)

No
I can see by the furrowed brow
The set of your chin

(I am trying to tell you something here.)

I wanted to scream but
I knew you wouldn't hear me
So I let you smugly pocket my smile

In our little family we now have a tradition. It is that we put the Christmas tree up the day after Thanksgiving. We do this mostly because I am home from work that day and then I have two days to clean up the mess afterwards.

The first step of course is maneuvering the tree box out of the closet. You can keep kids busy with this for hours. They can't do it so they won't have the tree out and set up upside down before you get there and because it appears to require teamwork, they do not fight but pull and push and groan in a unison of sibling harmony. Their purpose is clear, their goal in sight but unattainable. At the last moment I appear and deftly turn the box on one end and slide it out. There are cries of "whoa mom" and "wow" and finally, for at least one moment today, I am appreciated for my mysterious motherly skills.

Next comes the sorting of the tree branches. They are both color coded and letter coded. Even the five year old can master the sorting of the branches and thus, once set upon the task I can quietly slip away with my cup of coffee occasionally calling out words of encouragement and appreciation for their diligence. Again they work together and there are so few murderous screams directed at one another that my heart is full of the spirit of a family Christmas and I turn on Christmas carols to enhance the holiday atmosphere. I even find myself singing along.

The branches are sorted, it is time to begin, the spell is broken. I try to engage the five year old into spreading out the folded branches as we attach them to the tree, but he is not interested in that task and while my daughter and I attach the branches and then remove them and attach them again in the right holes, he sets about taking every decoration out of the box. Soon he has all of the lights and all of the tinsel garland in large piles on the floor. The balls are rolling about the floor as he intently searches for just one thing... the Star. He doesn't find it and sits morosely in his little rocking chair. I try again to encourage him to participate but he mumbles "No, I am going to watch". He asks how we will get a star at the top of that tree. Thinking it will help his mood I promise to allow him to set the star on top and I will hold him up there. This immediately causes strife as the 10 year old starts complaining about why she is not allowed to place the star on top. Yes, the Christmas spirit is banished for good by this time and finding the carols annoying I go and shut them off.

Finally, the construction is finished. I untangle strings of lights and while stringing one around the tree, helplessly watch as my son retangles another. Now the girl has lost interest in the tree and is beginning what will turn into an entire evening's whine about why she should get to put the star on top. Neither of them seem to take into consideration that we have not located such an ornament yet.

Lights done. Now for the garland. Again tangled strings needing to be wrapped symmetrically around a symmetrical tree by a very unbalanced woman. The perfection of the artificial tree notwithstanding, the garland is draped in a very haphazard fashion. I get to the bottom and discover a large strand hanging in the middle of the back of the tree. In years past I would have unwrapped until I reached it and done the task over. My need to be finished being stronger than my yearning for esthetic appeal, I simply take the excess and drape it over a few branches in back as no one will really see it there anyway.

The decoration of the tree with the ornaments now begins, the finishing touch. Again, I decide that drinking my coffee and sitting quietly is more important than the beauty of perfection. The children hang all the ornaments, or at least all the ornaments they can find hooks for. The branches nearest the bottom become heavily populated with ornaments while the top looks rather bare. I decide, I want them to think of this as "their" tree and that sounds so motherly and inkeeping with the traditional family Christmas that I go with it and continue to drink my coffee as I watch them decorate "their" tree.

(Later I will go and move some ornaments closer to the top of the tree and remove an ornament from any branch that has more than five on it, but for now, they are enjoying their
autonomy. )

Alas, the star is nowhere to be found. I am sure it is well packed away somewhere but I cannot discover where that is and I promise we will purchase a bigger and better star tomorrow. Thus the fight over the honor of placing it is put on hold for now. We light the tree and look at it in awe for nearly thirty seconds. Christmas joy is ours.

When my son was first born it was winter, the budget was tight, recreation was sparse. We didn't get out much when the snow came as I couldn't shovel due to the cesaerean section. I had, however, discovered two important things: the internet and delivery service. I shopped for my groceries online and had them delivered. Yes, it was more expensive that way and you had to have a tip, but I shopped as frugally as possible and always scheduled the delivery for Saturday morning, making sure I had included some bakery donuts for my daughter. The grocery delivery became an event to look forward to and alleviated some of the dullness of everyday life.

Money being scarce, we didn't order take out food often. However, we discovered one pizza place that delivered, and a large cheese pizza was $8.00. That meant if we had $10, we could have our pizza and $2.00 for a tip and we were golden.

The pizza was nearly always delivered by the same man, a pleasant man who had immigrated from somewhere, I don't remember now if I ever asked him. He was pleasant and uncomplaining whatever the weather, he spoke to my daughter and remembered her each time which made her feel very special. She would show him a new toy, or a drawing she had made or tell him about her cranky baby brother and as time went on, he would notice how my son had grown, comment about my daughter's increasing height. We saw him nearly once a week for the rest of the time we lived in that apartment.

A year or two went by, many things and our location had changed several times and we were now living at my mother's house. One night we ordered pizza from the same place and he delivered it. My daughter answered the door before I could get there with the money and she was chatting away with the man at the door. I hurried to the door concerned when I saw it was our old friend from Holten street. He remembered her and she remembered him and they were reminiscing about the times he had come to our house. She was explaining this was her grandmother's house and he was as always, attentive and interested in what she had to tell him, and we all chatted for a few minutes about the events of our lives since those years had passed. He proudly displayed his new set of teeth he had finally managed to earn and I found out this was just one of his many jobs. My son came to the door and he was amazed at the toddler who was only a baby when he last saw him. It was very much like finding a friend again one had lost touch with.

I saw him again once or twice during that time. Once when we went out to eat at a different reataurant we saw our old friend. He worked there also and so did his wife and daughter and he introduced them to us proudly. And there were one or two times more we ordered pizza from my mother's house and he delivered. He had stopped wearing his new teeth and I didn't comment, I assumed that like many people, after so long without them, he was unable to get used to the dentures in his mouth. But I secretly hoped he would be able to wear them again after all his hard work and because of what they symbolized.

I haven't seen him since. It is now a few years and we don't order from that restaurant due to some issues they had with the health department. I haven't seen his beat up car around town and I hope it is because he was able to get a newer and better vehicle.

People run in and out of our lives and they are real and important but somehow, we don't really know them. I think of our pizza delivery man and I wonder, why did I never ask his name? Why did I not find out where he had come from and when? Why is it we allow people to be so much a part of our lives in some ways and yet so little that we do not allow ourselves to really know them?

It is much the same on the internet. So many who call each other friend and yet for the most part know very little about each other, share so little except time, and if one disappeared suddenly, the other would have no knowledge of why or how. And yet, that has happened many times over the years, people that were a daily part of life, fading away and we forget them or relegate them to a place in memory. Perhaps it is a part of the way society is moving, our circle of acquaintances grows exponentially, through work and the internet, but our circle of true friends grows smaller. It takes time and diligence and interest in others to make a true friend of someone. I think of the pizza man, and realize that friendships are not made in thirty minutes or less. How many people we let out of our lives that might have truly added something to it.
I wish I could tell the pizza man what he added to our lives.

Today is the day we are supposed to reflect on our blessings and put aside our curses, bring out our familial feelings and put away our rivalries. At some point today, someone will ask me, what are you thankful for?

The tendency to be flippant and glib is overwhelming, well at least for me. I have something of a time putting down my natural urge to sublimate any real feelings in favor of a good one-liner. I am thankful that I am not cooking, I am thankful for the new Shrek movie that kept the children in front of the TV for a few hours instead of the usual murder attempts on each other. I am thankful the banks are closed and no checks will bounce today. Well, I am really thankful for those things but they are not what we are supposed to be reflecting on.

The straight truth is, that as bad as we think things are, they are not really as bad as they could be. Personally, I have always hated to be reminded of that, reminded that there are those much worse off, it cuts into my self-pity and is annoying to say the least. It is not always easy to get a good wallow going and just one 30 minute spot for starving children in Africa can put you right off it.

But there it is, I have to be thankful that I am where I am, that my children live indoors, that somehow we manage to have food, clothing, indoor plumbing, electricity, an education and the time to reflect on the good things in our lives instead of spending most of our day trying to find the means to stay alive.

Mostly, I am grateful for my future, for things I do not yet see but know God has in the works. The present leaves a lot to be desired, the past is worse. The road doesn't seem to be well marked and I often lose my way and I haven't even been told my destination. But there are crumbs left for me on the path, that tell me I am still going in the right direction. I can get into sight-seeing occasionally, I can find myself distracted by the wrecks of other travelers. I get tired and stop under some shade when it gets hot, and I am angry for the gourd when it dies and ceases to shade me. I kick and I grumble and I panic and I whine. But still, in it all is a feeling of excitement and anticipation I often try, but not often succeed, to suppress. Something is up ahead waiting for me and it is up to me to continue to walk on until I reach it. Life is not for the faint of heart, and being thankful is not always a function of our comfort level today, but if we can grab a promise of tomorrow, we can find a way to celebrate the day with joy regardless of the circumstances we presently reside in.

I am purposely making my children outcasts in their own generation. I am not doing this to scar their tender psyches or to keep them from enjoying healthy social relationships with their peers. I am doing it to keep them from living in the box each generation constructs for itself.

I didn't make a conscious decision to have no cable television, but months after its removal from our lives I am reaping the rewards of not being up to date on every missing woman in Utah or the opinion polls that attempt to shape opinion rather than reflecting it. The children do not have hours of Spongebob or Jimmy Neutron peppered with commercials for all of the expensive and useless toys whose images swirl in their brains and spin out of your budget. They do occasionally see these shows when they visit relatives, and the difference in attention span is appreciable.

Lest you think I am a a fanatical adherent to some strange religious sect that disallows television, I will say they do have DVDs at home to watch. A new movie will keep them entranced for at least a dozen viewings. A good thing too, considering the price of DVDs. I want value for money. But the most loved DVDs are the ones we get at the dollar store or the drug store.

A five year old boy in 2004 is just as fascinated with The Lone Ranger of 1949 as any child of the 50s ever was. A 10 year old girl in 2004 loves Lucy with the same fervor that we did. Make Room for Daddy still makes children laugh at the antics of Rusty and Dick Van Dyke trying to contend with pet ducks and trip over ottomans still brings a warm feeling. In a world where all children's shows are loud and obnoxiously so at times, these quieter families of yesteryear bring to their world something they won't find anywhere else but resides in all of us. A need for good and bad to be clearly defined, children who have the concerns of children and are not wisecracking one-liner machines.

A little boy loves the villians and superheroes of yesterday as much as those of today. They are not flashy, Clayton Moore on a horse cannot compare with the visual excitement of Spiderman. But the lines are clearly drawn between good and evil. The bad guys are defeated by the good guys and with a lot less violence that looks a lot less real and is a lot less frightening.

I haven't noticed that much frightens a boy, perhaps that is why I prefer these shows, I don't want a child who finds violence so every day an event.

We watched Cheaper by the Dozen with Steve Martin and they liked it well enough. But having seen the movie half a dozen times (it was only a rental, we couldn't get in more viewings) I realized that I only recognized or knew anything about perhaps one or two of the children's characters. We bought Yours Mine and Ours and it became an instant favorite. I noticed also that although we were fully aware of the parents' situation we got to know each child in a more familiar way, they were each drawn as individuals. There is a difference in the focus, the children were people, not one dimensional miniature comedians.

I grew up with a father who was much older than the father of my peers. My father was 36 before he decided to marry and had four children over 11 years of which I am the next to youngest. I grew up with an exposure to generations before mine and my own. I have roots in the past and in the present and now through my children, into the future.
Peers and school and everyday life will keep them grounded in the present, but only I can give them a sense of the past and an appreciation for things that have gone before. I have to smile as my children watch Lucy and George Burns tap dancing to Some of These Days or Carol Burnett as the shy librarian suddenly vamping out a rousing version of Hard Hearted Hannah. The days were innocent we think, perhaps not. But they have a charm that should not be forgotten.