Ah...retirement! That golden day when you get to say good-bye to the stresses of the workplace, hang up your uniform, turn in your keys (and your grade book, in my case), and focus your attention on the things you always said you would accomplish "when I retire". What a wonderful thought!
I retired at the end of the school year in 2009. A financial counselor had told me that I would do better for myself if I waited a couple of years before I did, but I was committed. My daughter and grandchildren lived with me then. Having a full-time person at home would take up some slack with the children. Then, too, there was my pension and eventual Social Security, plus my daughter's contribution to our family income that would make everything work just fine. I really, really thought so!
Shortly before I retired, my daughter asked me to be thinking about my grandest dreams about retirement. "What is the one thing that you have always wanted to do if you had the time to do it?" The question confused me. Like everyone else, I had desires. I've always loved to travel. Would love to see the ancient world in Europe: Rome, Egypt, the Holy Land...but there are so many things left to see in the US that I could scarcely think of it all. (I had traveled a lot as a child and younger adult. My wanderlust was mostly played out in favor of having roots--a home town and a home as a place to be that was all mine.) And I certainly would be unable to finance any of that. What was she suggesting? Did she think SHE would be able to provide it? I don't think so! But what puzzled me the most was that I couldn't actually come up with a single thing that I had always wanted that I could afford to do. It was like putting a child in a toy store and saying "Pick ONE thing you want, but you might not be able to get it". Why bother to think of it? I was quite happy to think of myself as a homemaker for my daughter and grandchildren. It worked for me!
Then the bottom fell out. Two months after I retired, I had a heart attack. Four months after I retired, my grandchildren's custody was given to their father and my daughter left (kicked out) to be with her new-found friend (with whom she moved to California and eventually married). Now what??
I guess I have always been a goal-oriented person. While I was still teaching, I often experienced what my mother called an emotion let-down over spring break or summer break. Without the rudder of deadlines, I floundered. When summer happened, it sometimes took weeks for me to get up the motivation to do things on my summer to-do list done. (I rarely ever accomplished half of the things on my list.) Now, in the absence of job, daughter, grandchildren, or any other reason to exist that used to matter, I was floored. And slowly, insidiously, my infirmities began to show up. Back problems have made me slow and unable to perform even the necessities. It ain't pretty!
Worse, I seem to lack the inspiration to do things. I have all the time in the world. You'd think my house would be spotless and my files would be organized beyond belief. Nope! The things that need to be done around my house have become a mountain that I seemingly can't climb. Why is that? I blame aloneness. I've always functioned better with someone to cheer me on. Thankfully, I have a helper, James, who shows up on a semi-regular basis and gives me a helping boost, but I still chide myself for not being strong enough or able enough to do what I think I need to do!!
I thank God that I retired when I did. Had I waited three more years, I would not have been able to function with all that happened in the aftermath. I have had some retirement adventures, not the least of which was a 19-day tour of the West at my daughter and son-in-law's expense as part of their return to the Midwest. Some of my bucket list things were accomplished on that trip...and others, since then. I wish I were rich. I wish I were well.
But you know what I am? Retired!
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Friday, January 16, 2015
Things We're Afraid to Ask
I have a radio friend who is blind and functions in the seeing world with the assistance of his family, friends, and a service dog. He hasn't always been blind; thus, he doesn't have the mannerisms of one who was born that way. In fact, in just sitting and talking with him, an uninformed person would be unable to tell that he can't see. Even those of us who know him well sometimes forget!
When I was still teaching, I would bring Bill to school with me one day per year to demonstrate his radio/communication skills. (That's how I tied it to English. It was a loose connection, I know, but the kids in my classes never forgot Bill Day!) At the end of each class, we would open things up to questions and answers from the students, with my previous admonition to be respectful and not ask embarrassing questions--but you know kids. Invariably, someone would ask one of the two most pressing questions on their minds: "How do you go to the bathroom?" and "When you go to the store, how do you know that cashiers aren't cheating you out of money?" Bill recognized that the questions were born of curiosity, not disrespect, and never took offense. He answered them honestly.
At the end of the day, the kids were in awe of the fact that there are very few things that Bill can't do. It was a good lesson for all of us!
Some things have been going on in the world that have raised some questions in my mind. I wish I had people I could talk to for answers without embarrassment because my questions--like those of my students--come from curiosity. If I asked them on a forum such as Facebook, I would likely be labeled as a racist or a homophobe. Nothing could be further from the truth; I just want to know the answers through the eyes of the insiders rather than guess due to my own limited knowledge of these things.
For instance: I have a FB friend who is a former student of mine. She has two perfectly adorable biracial children, one of whom is female. The mother always had an eccentric personality. In keeping with that, she lets her daughter's hair go au naturelle, resulting in a long, wild-and-woolly Afro. It turns out that Mom gets criticized all the time for this from well-meaning people who say that the child's hair "needs attention". But the criticism, it seems, almost always comes from African-American women! I was shocked when I heard that. How could black women criticize a mother for letting her child's hair be natural? I learned that there is a whole culture of hair among the female black community. Even the Oprah Show paid lip service to this once when Chris Rock (himself black) had made a comedian's comment about black women's hair...and got hate mail for it, as if women of color were trying to hide their trade secrets when it comes to nappy hair. Huh?? It is what it is. Why do there need to be secrets?
Then, too, I have recently become aware of something called colorism. That is the term given to bias based on the color of one's skin. It isn't racism but is a sort of prejudice that even pervades the African-American race: dark-skinned black folks have a lower place in hierarchy of status than lighter-skinned black folks. (This isn't a new term. I'm just now becoming aware of it.) Did Caucasians create this? Is it a sort of racism within one's own race that has always been there? I would LOVE to sit down with some people of color to ask their opinions about this, but I'm sad to say that there aren't many black people in my limited circle of friends. I wonder if would feel comfortable enough to ask without feeling like an idiot even if there were...
And on another point, now that free society is catching up with itself and gays are, more and more, being allowed to marry, I have questions about how to refer to folks in same-sex relationships. The English language is gender-specific. You are a he or a she. If you are married, the male is the husband and the female is the wife. Before same-sex marriage was legal, people in monogamous homosexual relationships were known as "partners". But now that those partnerships can become marriages, do we need to find gender-neutral terms to refer to spouses? (Actually, the word "spouse" is gender-neutral, but I don't see many homosexuals using it.) My observations are that most (but certainly not all) gay relationships--meaning male--have two participants that seem effeminate. Lesbian relationships appear different in that one partner seems more feminine and the other more masculine. So, when two homosexuals marry, is one the "wife" and the other the "husband"? If so, what determines which is which? Do THEY make a distinction? Or is that just a vestige of old society's terms? What is the politically correct distinction now??
I have a pot-full of former students who are gay/lesbian. Some are married. Some are not. And yes, I do consider political correctness an issue that needs to be addressed, especially since I was/am a teacher of English--and, hopefully, of respect. If you are of the Negro race and prefer to be called African-American rather than black or Negro, I'll call you African-American when it becomes necessary to refer to your race. If you are a gay person in a marriage or monogamous relationship and want your partner/spouse to be called something else, I'll call him/her whatever you wish. I just need to know what that is!!! And whom do I ask without feeling like a dinosaur??
I have probably led a sheltered life, but I pride myself on the ability to see every story from both sides. I'm not stupid enough to believe that prejudice will ever go away. I merely wish I could gather people around me who can answer my questions without judging my intentions. I just want to know!
When I was still teaching, I would bring Bill to school with me one day per year to demonstrate his radio/communication skills. (That's how I tied it to English. It was a loose connection, I know, but the kids in my classes never forgot Bill Day!) At the end of each class, we would open things up to questions and answers from the students, with my previous admonition to be respectful and not ask embarrassing questions--but you know kids. Invariably, someone would ask one of the two most pressing questions on their minds: "How do you go to the bathroom?" and "When you go to the store, how do you know that cashiers aren't cheating you out of money?" Bill recognized that the questions were born of curiosity, not disrespect, and never took offense. He answered them honestly.
At the end of the day, the kids were in awe of the fact that there are very few things that Bill can't do. It was a good lesson for all of us!
Some things have been going on in the world that have raised some questions in my mind. I wish I had people I could talk to for answers without embarrassment because my questions--like those of my students--come from curiosity. If I asked them on a forum such as Facebook, I would likely be labeled as a racist or a homophobe. Nothing could be further from the truth; I just want to know the answers through the eyes of the insiders rather than guess due to my own limited knowledge of these things.
For instance: I have a FB friend who is a former student of mine. She has two perfectly adorable biracial children, one of whom is female. The mother always had an eccentric personality. In keeping with that, she lets her daughter's hair go au naturelle, resulting in a long, wild-and-woolly Afro. It turns out that Mom gets criticized all the time for this from well-meaning people who say that the child's hair "needs attention". But the criticism, it seems, almost always comes from African-American women! I was shocked when I heard that. How could black women criticize a mother for letting her child's hair be natural? I learned that there is a whole culture of hair among the female black community. Even the Oprah Show paid lip service to this once when Chris Rock (himself black) had made a comedian's comment about black women's hair...and got hate mail for it, as if women of color were trying to hide their trade secrets when it comes to nappy hair. Huh?? It is what it is. Why do there need to be secrets?
Then, too, I have recently become aware of something called colorism. That is the term given to bias based on the color of one's skin. It isn't racism but is a sort of prejudice that even pervades the African-American race: dark-skinned black folks have a lower place in hierarchy of status than lighter-skinned black folks. (This isn't a new term. I'm just now becoming aware of it.) Did Caucasians create this? Is it a sort of racism within one's own race that has always been there? I would LOVE to sit down with some people of color to ask their opinions about this, but I'm sad to say that there aren't many black people in my limited circle of friends. I wonder if would feel comfortable enough to ask without feeling like an idiot even if there were...
And on another point, now that free society is catching up with itself and gays are, more and more, being allowed to marry, I have questions about how to refer to folks in same-sex relationships. The English language is gender-specific. You are a he or a she. If you are married, the male is the husband and the female is the wife. Before same-sex marriage was legal, people in monogamous homosexual relationships were known as "partners". But now that those partnerships can become marriages, do we need to find gender-neutral terms to refer to spouses? (Actually, the word "spouse" is gender-neutral, but I don't see many homosexuals using it.) My observations are that most (but certainly not all) gay relationships--meaning male--have two participants that seem effeminate. Lesbian relationships appear different in that one partner seems more feminine and the other more masculine. So, when two homosexuals marry, is one the "wife" and the other the "husband"? If so, what determines which is which? Do THEY make a distinction? Or is that just a vestige of old society's terms? What is the politically correct distinction now??
I have a pot-full of former students who are gay/lesbian. Some are married. Some are not. And yes, I do consider political correctness an issue that needs to be addressed, especially since I was/am a teacher of English--and, hopefully, of respect. If you are of the Negro race and prefer to be called African-American rather than black or Negro, I'll call you African-American when it becomes necessary to refer to your race. If you are a gay person in a marriage or monogamous relationship and want your partner/spouse to be called something else, I'll call him/her whatever you wish. I just need to know what that is!!! And whom do I ask without feeling like a dinosaur??
I have probably led a sheltered life, but I pride myself on the ability to see every story from both sides. I'm not stupid enough to believe that prejudice will ever go away. I merely wish I could gather people around me who can answer my questions without judging my intentions. I just want to know!
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
The Generation Gap
The title of this post was a phrase coined back in the 60s or 70s--gap between the feelings of generations--most notably (at the time) between parents and their young-adult children. In those days, there was a huge difference between the values of the parents (who had lived through the Great Depression and World War II) and the children (who had been raised by those parents who wanted their children to have better than they had). We Baby Boomers were a coddled and ungrateful group, but we couldn't be considered among those who have a sense of entitlement, such as the most recent kids. Early in life, we didn't have televisions or computers or cell phones...or video games...so we couldn't expect what didn't exist. I'm just not sure that we understood or appreciated how hard our parents worked to give us things they didn't have as children. I always thought we were poor...but we weren't. My parents knew that we didn't have to have all that we wanted in order to be happy; they had lived out the credo on that. We were happy with what we had. (Or mostly. When dishwashers came into existence, I begged my mother to get one. Her response was, "I already have a dishwasher; I have you and your sister!" I was not amused.)
For 85% of my teaching career, I prided myself with the knowledge that I was still keeping up with the students. I could still relate to what they were going through/thinking because, in my mind at least, I was still one of them. Then slowly, slowly, it began to sink in that my teenage students were in a world apart from what mine had been. Our experiences as children were growing farther and farther apart. I didn't see it coming. It just seeped into my consciousness one incident at a time.
I think the first indication that I had came in the mid-to-late 80s when I was Youth Director at my church in Pontiac, IL. One night, the kids and I were having a discussion about our lives as Children of God, and one of the kids sat there and told me: "It was easier for you, Ms. McNary. You didn't have this and that to worry about." (I'm pretty sure she said sex and peer pressure and drugs, but I'm only certain that she mentioned drugs.) Another youngster said, "Oh, come on, Susie! She was raised in the 60s...the drug generation!" I went on to explain that, although yes, indeedy, I did grow up in the "drug generation", I had never, ever used an illegal drug. Had never even tried smoking pot. (All of which is still true, today.) I'm not sure the kids believed me. But in that moment, my mind flashed back to a teenage conversation I had with my mother one time...about how things were easier for her when she was a kid...that temptations were harder on MY generation. God bless my mother. In her wisdom, she thought about it and agreed with me! There would be no argument about her growing up in the Depression and not knowing if they would be able to save the family farm, etc. There would be no need for me to defend my generation's failings. I had won one! (Or did I?? I've thought about that conversation so many times all these many years later, knowing that my mother comprehended my immaturity at the time and didn't hold it against me that I was challenging the strength of her generation. Maybe she DID agree with me. Who knows? All I know is that she disarmed me with her understanding. And that, as they say, was that.)
At the very end of my career, I was teaching 8th grade. By this time, I was far removed from the junior high mentality. I still related to them, but it became harder and harder for them to relate to me. They simply could not imagine life without color televisions with remote controls, cell phones, video games, computers, and social media. One day, I made a reference to a Beatles song and got blank faces in return. I loved my students and I think they liked me because they knew I cared about them, but we were no longer connecting on a level that was comfortable for me. In short, I was a dinosaur in a world of electronics. And there were situations at home that I could help by being retired. I still could make literature come alive for my students, and I still could illustrate some life lessons for them, but it began to seem more like Grandma talking than someone they would actually listen to. Financially, retiring wasn't the best option for me at the time, but I did it. I'm not sorry that I did. Time for the younger folk to take up the baton and run with it.
Now, I keep track of my former students on Facebook. Many of them are parents in their own right, and the last ones are finishing up college. As they mature, I am beginning to see cracks in their own armor that sound more like me than they! The generation gap will always happen, in time. It is my hope, however, that each generation learns from the last. We all have something to teach. The question becomes: is anyone listening??
For 85% of my teaching career, I prided myself with the knowledge that I was still keeping up with the students. I could still relate to what they were going through/thinking because, in my mind at least, I was still one of them. Then slowly, slowly, it began to sink in that my teenage students were in a world apart from what mine had been. Our experiences as children were growing farther and farther apart. I didn't see it coming. It just seeped into my consciousness one incident at a time.
I think the first indication that I had came in the mid-to-late 80s when I was Youth Director at my church in Pontiac, IL. One night, the kids and I were having a discussion about our lives as Children of God, and one of the kids sat there and told me: "It was easier for you, Ms. McNary. You didn't have this and that to worry about." (I'm pretty sure she said sex and peer pressure and drugs, but I'm only certain that she mentioned drugs.) Another youngster said, "Oh, come on, Susie! She was raised in the 60s...the drug generation!" I went on to explain that, although yes, indeedy, I did grow up in the "drug generation", I had never, ever used an illegal drug. Had never even tried smoking pot. (All of which is still true, today.) I'm not sure the kids believed me. But in that moment, my mind flashed back to a teenage conversation I had with my mother one time...about how things were easier for her when she was a kid...that temptations were harder on MY generation. God bless my mother. In her wisdom, she thought about it and agreed with me! There would be no argument about her growing up in the Depression and not knowing if they would be able to save the family farm, etc. There would be no need for me to defend my generation's failings. I had won one! (Or did I?? I've thought about that conversation so many times all these many years later, knowing that my mother comprehended my immaturity at the time and didn't hold it against me that I was challenging the strength of her generation. Maybe she DID agree with me. Who knows? All I know is that she disarmed me with her understanding. And that, as they say, was that.)
At the very end of my career, I was teaching 8th grade. By this time, I was far removed from the junior high mentality. I still related to them, but it became harder and harder for them to relate to me. They simply could not imagine life without color televisions with remote controls, cell phones, video games, computers, and social media. One day, I made a reference to a Beatles song and got blank faces in return. I loved my students and I think they liked me because they knew I cared about them, but we were no longer connecting on a level that was comfortable for me. In short, I was a dinosaur in a world of electronics. And there were situations at home that I could help by being retired. I still could make literature come alive for my students, and I still could illustrate some life lessons for them, but it began to seem more like Grandma talking than someone they would actually listen to. Financially, retiring wasn't the best option for me at the time, but I did it. I'm not sorry that I did. Time for the younger folk to take up the baton and run with it.
Now, I keep track of my former students on Facebook. Many of them are parents in their own right, and the last ones are finishing up college. As they mature, I am beginning to see cracks in their own armor that sound more like me than they! The generation gap will always happen, in time. It is my hope, however, that each generation learns from the last. We all have something to teach. The question becomes: is anyone listening??
Monday, January 12, 2015
Gun Education
I started this on Facebook a number of days ago:
I'm sure I'll probably start a fight here, but will just report the facts. All of my "gun" friends claim that children just need to be taught respect for guns to get it right. My grandson has toy guns which we (the adults) treat as real...and teach him to do the same. "Treat every gun as if it were loaded." That's lesson #1, Number 2 is "Never point any gun at a person unless you intend to shoot/hurt him/her." Even a toy. (And especially don't pull a toy gun on a police officer!) We've even used real-life situtations to illustrate our points, over and over again. In spite of all of that, my grandson pointed a Nerf gun that he didn't think was loaded in my direction and accidentally pulled the trigger. The only reason you can't call me Cyclops now is that the Nerf bullet was deflected by my glasses. He was immediately contrite, but had it been a real gun, I would be half-blind and/or dead right now. He is 11 and as smart as they come. What say you now, oh proponents of guns? Is it really only education that stands between fun and murder?
I'm sure I'll probably start a fight here, but will just report the facts. All of my "gun" friends claim that children just need to be taught respect for guns to get it right. My grandson has toy guns which we (the adults) treat as real...and teach him to do the same. "Treat every gun as if it were loaded." That's lesson #1, Number 2 is "Never point any gun at a person unless you intend to shoot/hurt him/her." Even a toy. (And especially don't pull a toy gun on a police officer!) We've even used real-life situtations to illustrate our points, over and over again. In spite of all of that, my grandson pointed a Nerf gun that he didn't think was loaded in my direction and accidentally pulled the trigger. The only reason you can't call me Cyclops now is that the Nerf bullet was deflected by my glasses. He was immediately contrite, but had it been a real gun, I would be half-blind and/or dead right now. He is 11 and as smart as they come. What say you now, oh proponents of guns? Is it really only education that stands between fun and murder?
Sunday, January 11, 2015
The Holiday Season That Almost Wasn't
You know how it is...or am I just alone in this? Most Christmas/New Year's seasons, I have a celebratory feeling, along with some fairly good ideas about what gifts to get my loved ones. We usually decorate my Christmas tree on the day after Thanksgiving, and presents begin to show up under it--a few at a time--thereafter. We make candies and cookies, fix our favorite traditional foods, and drink egg nog spiked with brandy or rum. This year? Not so much.
In the first place, my daughter and her husband would be going to Florida to visit her father for Christmas again. I would be cat-sitting for their feline in my home. Then, too, this year was my grandchildren's father's turn to have them with him for the holiday, through December 28th. They would all be here visiting family and staying at my house for a couple of days, but they would depart for Muncie, IN, on the 24th. Thus, no one would be around for Christmas. This is not a big deal for someone who lives alone, as I do, but it does tend to dampen the spirit of festivity.
But let's back up to what started it all. On the day after Thanksgiving, we normally put up and decorate my Christmas tree, as I mentioned. My family--my mother, really--always made a family project out of decorating the tree. In those days, we had real trees--the kind that make the whole house smell of pine and balsam. Dad would select a tree, bring it home, set it in the stand, and put the lights on. It was up to the rest of us to decorate it. (There were times when Dad brought home the ugliest trees, but after we decorated each one each year, it became our custom to say it was the prettiest tree we'd ever had!) Because it was such a happy tradition in my childhood home, I made it a tradition in my own. And my daughter followed in those footsteps, too...but there were a couple of times when her children fought or didn't cooperate the way she thought they should, and she'd end up in tears. I think decorating the tree became risky business to them, then...so they have steadfastly resisted the process altogether ever since. In spite of the fact that my helper, James, had brought all of the fixin's out of my minibarn, when the family departed to go back home, the tree hadn't been put up yet. We didn't even hang our stockings on the fireplace mantel! Since no one would be here for Christmas, I considered not putting up the tree at all but reconsidered since the grandchildren and paternal parents would be here for a couple of days before the holiday. James came over a day or two later. He put up the tree and put on the lights. I put up the "popcorn" garlands (actually crocheted by me many years ago to look like popcorn), and installed a few minor ornaments. And so it was. There wasn't even a skirt at the bottom of the tree! I was going to get at that but just didn't...
Over the past couple of years, I've had a present to open for each family member plus cash. Since this year, I would see the grandchildren once just before Christmas with their father and stepmother, and again after Christmas when we would exchange gifts again, I decided to divide things up. The children would get their present to open when here before, and their cash after. My daughter and son-in-law would get their cash before Christmas, and their present to open after. (Following me, so far??) This year, we never did stockings. I didn't even have all of my shopping done by Christmas!
Megan and Denis came through on their way to Florida to drop off their cat, eat a bite, and hit the road for points south. I gave them their cash then because I felt they could use it on their trip--along with a gift card for Starbucks. (Why people like that stuff, I will never understand...but they do!) They would be making the last leg of their trip back northward on Dec. 28th--the same day that they were supposed to make the kid trade from Daddy to Mommy, but Meg wasn't sure if they could be in the Chicago area in time for the appointed trade, since they were coming such a long distance and wouldn't know what they could run into on the road. I was asked (and agreed) to go up to their home by the 28th so that there would be "coverage" for the children in case they couldn't. (Meanwhile, the children's stepmother had said that they would happily keep the kids until Meg could get there, but I had already committed, so that was a backup plan.)
December 23rd is Grandma Judy's birthday. (Judy is the children's father's mother--my friend and co-grandmother.) Since everyone would be leaving by noon of the 24th, it was decided that we would gather at Judy and Phil's house for a Christmas meal and gift exchange on the 23rd. It was a double-duty celebration: Grandma Judy's birthday and Christmas. (Normally, Judy and Phil and I don't exchange gifts. If we do, it's just little remembrances. This year, however, I actually had something to give Judy that I thought she would like: a DVD from the Smithsonian Channel of The Day Kennedy Died. The significance of that is that I watched the show months before and noted that Judy's uncle, James Tague, was in it. I HAD to order it for her for her family archives. When she complained that I had purchased something for her, I reminded her that it was not expensive, and that she would have gotten it from me, no matter the occasion!) I came home after the gift exchange. The rest of the crew came later...after playing a game or two and watching the DVD, Before bedtime, Kendra (the children's stepmother) got bored and proceeded to clean the kitchen, including sweeping the floor. And I sat there like a boob and let her do it, grateful all the time that she was really, really helping me out.
I almost begged for the family to stay for Christmas Eve services at church before departing for Muncie, to no avail. I understood, but I longed to have them with me in the pew. My church is so blessed with a music director with connections who puts on a program to die for. Two of the five services that night would have a 40-piece choir and a 30-piece orchestra. I went to the second one of those, all by myself (as usual). If ANYTHING saved the spirit of the day for me, it was that service. It was full of beautiful music and symbolism; reverent; all a reminder that all of the clap-trap activities of the previous four weeks came down to this: the birth of Jesus whose life changed the world. I came home a happier, more joyful person. Refocused. Thank God I went! It would have been so much easier just to stay home. (There is a lesson in that.)
I had decided that Meg and Den would have to stop by my house on their way northward--it's pretty much on the way--to pick up their cat. She hates to travel and hides the instant she thinks something's up. I didn't want to mess with that. Christmas Day passed without company or incident. Along about the 26th, I got a call from the grandchildren's father. Their plans were changing, so he was willing to bring the children to Indy on the 27th to trade them with me before they headed home to Zion, IL. I met them up on 38th Street and brought the kids back home. We would trek to Meg's house the next day.
The kids and I had lunch at McD's on 38th Street. When we got back to my house, I was BEGGED to take them to Sky Zone, a huge trampoline/dodge ball place in a local warehouse. (They had been there earlier in the week with Dad and Stepmom.) I was happily surprised to find that the place was affordable. I originally signed them up for 30 minutes, but added another 30 when all was going so well. We came home and had a Schwan bag meal (good stuff), and hit the sack for travel to northern IL the next day.
The trip went well and quickly, largely because I had two people in the car to talk to. When we arrived at Meg's we found her instructions on how to turn up the heat, and found $100 on the fridge to stock up on some foods that they would need. I made a dash to the local grocery to get bread and milk and eggs, etc.--the usual. Got frozen pizzas for food that night. Meg texted Ryan when they left my house with cat, so I knew about when to expect them. They showed up right on time!
When it came time for New Year's preparations, Meg and I went shopping. We got ingredients for traditional Russian foods, since NY is traditionally bigger than Christmas in Russia. We had shrimp and cocktail sauce, cucumber slices on party bread (with cream cheese and rosemary), California Onion Dip and chips, cheeses/salamis and crackers, a homemade cheese ball, Salade Olivier (glorified potato salad traditional in Russia), deviled eggs and garlic deviled eggs, champagne, and I know I'm forgetting things. Long story short, we had enough full-fat foods that our arteries should have slammed shut that night! At 3:00 PM, we joined Denis's parents on Skype for their midnight. Then they got up to join us at our midnight for another toast and Happy New Year! Thirty minutes later, we were all in bed.
In spite of all traditions being trashed and the Christmas spirit being non-existent in a few of us, the holiday happened anyway. Kinda reminds me of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, that no matter how hard the Grinch tried to take Christmas away by stealing the trappings...Christmas trees and presents and all...the day occurred in spite of his efforts. And that's what it's all about!
In the first place, my daughter and her husband would be going to Florida to visit her father for Christmas again. I would be cat-sitting for their feline in my home. Then, too, this year was my grandchildren's father's turn to have them with him for the holiday, through December 28th. They would all be here visiting family and staying at my house for a couple of days, but they would depart for Muncie, IN, on the 24th. Thus, no one would be around for Christmas. This is not a big deal for someone who lives alone, as I do, but it does tend to dampen the spirit of festivity.
But let's back up to what started it all. On the day after Thanksgiving, we normally put up and decorate my Christmas tree, as I mentioned. My family--my mother, really--always made a family project out of decorating the tree. In those days, we had real trees--the kind that make the whole house smell of pine and balsam. Dad would select a tree, bring it home, set it in the stand, and put the lights on. It was up to the rest of us to decorate it. (There were times when Dad brought home the ugliest trees, but after we decorated each one each year, it became our custom to say it was the prettiest tree we'd ever had!) Because it was such a happy tradition in my childhood home, I made it a tradition in my own. And my daughter followed in those footsteps, too...but there were a couple of times when her children fought or didn't cooperate the way she thought they should, and she'd end up in tears. I think decorating the tree became risky business to them, then...so they have steadfastly resisted the process altogether ever since. In spite of the fact that my helper, James, had brought all of the fixin's out of my minibarn, when the family departed to go back home, the tree hadn't been put up yet. We didn't even hang our stockings on the fireplace mantel! Since no one would be here for Christmas, I considered not putting up the tree at all but reconsidered since the grandchildren and paternal parents would be here for a couple of days before the holiday. James came over a day or two later. He put up the tree and put on the lights. I put up the "popcorn" garlands (actually crocheted by me many years ago to look like popcorn), and installed a few minor ornaments. And so it was. There wasn't even a skirt at the bottom of the tree! I was going to get at that but just didn't...
Over the past couple of years, I've had a present to open for each family member plus cash. Since this year, I would see the grandchildren once just before Christmas with their father and stepmother, and again after Christmas when we would exchange gifts again, I decided to divide things up. The children would get their present to open when here before, and their cash after. My daughter and son-in-law would get their cash before Christmas, and their present to open after. (Following me, so far??) This year, we never did stockings. I didn't even have all of my shopping done by Christmas!
Megan and Denis came through on their way to Florida to drop off their cat, eat a bite, and hit the road for points south. I gave them their cash then because I felt they could use it on their trip--along with a gift card for Starbucks. (Why people like that stuff, I will never understand...but they do!) They would be making the last leg of their trip back northward on Dec. 28th--the same day that they were supposed to make the kid trade from Daddy to Mommy, but Meg wasn't sure if they could be in the Chicago area in time for the appointed trade, since they were coming such a long distance and wouldn't know what they could run into on the road. I was asked (and agreed) to go up to their home by the 28th so that there would be "coverage" for the children in case they couldn't. (Meanwhile, the children's stepmother had said that they would happily keep the kids until Meg could get there, but I had already committed, so that was a backup plan.)
December 23rd is Grandma Judy's birthday. (Judy is the children's father's mother--my friend and co-grandmother.) Since everyone would be leaving by noon of the 24th, it was decided that we would gather at Judy and Phil's house for a Christmas meal and gift exchange on the 23rd. It was a double-duty celebration: Grandma Judy's birthday and Christmas. (Normally, Judy and Phil and I don't exchange gifts. If we do, it's just little remembrances. This year, however, I actually had something to give Judy that I thought she would like: a DVD from the Smithsonian Channel of The Day Kennedy Died. The significance of that is that I watched the show months before and noted that Judy's uncle, James Tague, was in it. I HAD to order it for her for her family archives. When she complained that I had purchased something for her, I reminded her that it was not expensive, and that she would have gotten it from me, no matter the occasion!) I came home after the gift exchange. The rest of the crew came later...after playing a game or two and watching the DVD, Before bedtime, Kendra (the children's stepmother) got bored and proceeded to clean the kitchen, including sweeping the floor. And I sat there like a boob and let her do it, grateful all the time that she was really, really helping me out.
I almost begged for the family to stay for Christmas Eve services at church before departing for Muncie, to no avail. I understood, but I longed to have them with me in the pew. My church is so blessed with a music director with connections who puts on a program to die for. Two of the five services that night would have a 40-piece choir and a 30-piece orchestra. I went to the second one of those, all by myself (as usual). If ANYTHING saved the spirit of the day for me, it was that service. It was full of beautiful music and symbolism; reverent; all a reminder that all of the clap-trap activities of the previous four weeks came down to this: the birth of Jesus whose life changed the world. I came home a happier, more joyful person. Refocused. Thank God I went! It would have been so much easier just to stay home. (There is a lesson in that.)
I had decided that Meg and Den would have to stop by my house on their way northward--it's pretty much on the way--to pick up their cat. She hates to travel and hides the instant she thinks something's up. I didn't want to mess with that. Christmas Day passed without company or incident. Along about the 26th, I got a call from the grandchildren's father. Their plans were changing, so he was willing to bring the children to Indy on the 27th to trade them with me before they headed home to Zion, IL. I met them up on 38th Street and brought the kids back home. We would trek to Meg's house the next day.
The kids and I had lunch at McD's on 38th Street. When we got back to my house, I was BEGGED to take them to Sky Zone, a huge trampoline/dodge ball place in a local warehouse. (They had been there earlier in the week with Dad and Stepmom.) I was happily surprised to find that the place was affordable. I originally signed them up for 30 minutes, but added another 30 when all was going so well. We came home and had a Schwan bag meal (good stuff), and hit the sack for travel to northern IL the next day.
The trip went well and quickly, largely because I had two people in the car to talk to. When we arrived at Meg's we found her instructions on how to turn up the heat, and found $100 on the fridge to stock up on some foods that they would need. I made a dash to the local grocery to get bread and milk and eggs, etc.--the usual. Got frozen pizzas for food that night. Meg texted Ryan when they left my house with cat, so I knew about when to expect them. They showed up right on time!
When it came time for New Year's preparations, Meg and I went shopping. We got ingredients for traditional Russian foods, since NY is traditionally bigger than Christmas in Russia. We had shrimp and cocktail sauce, cucumber slices on party bread (with cream cheese and rosemary), California Onion Dip and chips, cheeses/salamis and crackers, a homemade cheese ball, Salade Olivier (glorified potato salad traditional in Russia), deviled eggs and garlic deviled eggs, champagne, and I know I'm forgetting things. Long story short, we had enough full-fat foods that our arteries should have slammed shut that night! At 3:00 PM, we joined Denis's parents on Skype for their midnight. Then they got up to join us at our midnight for another toast and Happy New Year! Thirty minutes later, we were all in bed.
In spite of all traditions being trashed and the Christmas spirit being non-existent in a few of us, the holiday happened anyway. Kinda reminds me of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, that no matter how hard the Grinch tried to take Christmas away by stealing the trappings...Christmas trees and presents and all...the day occurred in spite of his efforts. And that's what it's all about!
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