Christmases Past

The voice urged me to step back. As I did, I felt a cool wind rush by and then a blinding light forced me to close my eyes. As I acclimate myself to the chilly air, I tentatively open my eyes. Looking down, I see a tight-knit carpet colored green, white and gold. Looking around, I see the old-style pine paneling of the living room walls. Behind me I hear my mom humming as she works away in the kitchen. The smell of cookies baking in the oven tickles the tip of my nose. I note a shadow at one of the windows and a moment later I make out the figure to be my dad standing on a ladder untangling Christmas lights. I look around again and spot the Christmas tree in the front picture window. Mix and match ornaments dangle on the limbs of a Christmas tree whose top just almost grazes the ceiling. Confetti-like strips of silver hang off the limbs simulating icicles. Underneath the tree are stacks and stacks of boxes wrapped in holiday paper.

Again, I hear a voice. This time the voice welcomes me to Christmases past.

Bewildered, I ask, “Why are you here?”

The voice answers, “Slow month. That, and it’s part of the stimulus package.”

“Just my luck, I get an apparition with more sarcasm than a roomful of fourteen year olds who just had their cell phones taken away. Really, why are you here?”

“You know, you should look back now and then. This time of season is a good time to do that.”

I looked in the direction of the voice and let the quiet edge in from the corners. Then I asked, “Do you know me? I like looking back. I try to trash the bad memories and cling to the good ones. I mean read my blog, man. It’s about ninety percent looking back at people, places and things.”

Quiet crept back in between me and the voice. As I grew uneasy at the silence I thought I heard a hushed laugh before the voice said, “Oh, yeah, your blog. You truly are a lone voice crying in the wilderness.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Come on, humor me, look back at past Christmases.”

“If I do this, what happens?”

“I can’t answer that,” said the voice.

Before the words could sink in I found myself drowning in a swirl of memories…an aluminum Christmas tree with a Western Auto color wheel sitting on the floor, Rock ‘Em-Sock ‘Em boxing robots, an electronic football game that shook the plastic players up and down the field. Being young and opening boxes to find socks or a sweater while trying to hide my disappointment that it wasn’t some gift I really wanted crossed my mind. I also remembered the snowy Christmas morning when our phone rang and we heard the news that my nephew had been born. Other things came to mind…fruitcakes so heavy that could be used for doorstops, shiny Hot Wheels, board games only broken out when family was in town, bowls of party mix, platters of cherry muffins and white chocolate-covered pretzels and even the few years when some of my relatives refused to participate in Christmas because they were convinced Jesus wasn’t born on December 25. All of these things made me smile and shake my head. The memories continued to flow in and as they did they grew more recent in time. Memories of receiving gifts were replaced by memories of giving gifts and watching loved ones as they really enjoyed Christmas.

The voice intervened, “You could stay here awhile couldn’t you?”

“Yes. I have had a good life so far. There are a lot of good memories this season brings.”

“You have pictures?”

“What?”

“Pictures? Do you have any pictures you can look at and remember those times?”

“Yeah. I have some on a CD, some on a hard drive, some on Kodak, some Polaroids, may even have some on video somewhere.”

“Hey, flash drive, Shutterfly, Flickr or YouTube, dude, I don’t care. You have them somewhere. You can look at them later. We have to be going. We have other places to go before this deal is done.”

“Other places?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mind if I look around one last time? I have a lot of memories here. I love it here”

“Don’t take long.”

I took one step back and looked around one more time. As I did, I could see my parents, my sister and her family, my brother and his family and my wife. Laughter filled the small room as we spilled out across every piece of furniture and as we filled every empty space on the floor.

The voice spoke, “It’s time to go.”

I turned toward the voice. Then I turned back and saw nothing more than a fog of white light. I squinted my eyes and through the mist I could see a little boy on a floor playing with a toy train.

Again the voice spoke, “Come on.”

I turned toward the voice and asked, “Is that me?”

“The time for looking back has passed. Please step forward.”

To be continued…

One Day It Rains...

One day it rains. It doesn’t even rain the entire day, just part of the day. Possibly the rain is cold and falls heavy in sheets making one long for a hot cup of soup and dry feet. Maybe the rain is a much needed welcome in the dog days of summer and provides a quenching few moments to the parched ground and from the roasting heat. But the rain falls just part of one day and still before that day is over I am lamenting how I think the rain won’t ever, and I mean, e-v-e-r, stop falling.

Meantime, I live in a time when I can turn on a box in any room in our house and choose from hundreds of entertainment and informational choices. I can walk into another room in our house and literally trip over all the books I possess. And I can hold a device in my hands practically anywhere I may roam anymore that can dial a number so I can talk to a friend half way around the world and then click a few things so I can hop on the world wide web and follow the latest news from my favorite sports team and then I can type out some crazy gibberish in text to send to a family member who will receive the message on a similar device hundreds of miles away in mere seconds. And yet, I often claim to be so bored that I do not know how I can survive another moment without going stark raving crazy.

Maybe I don’t know how to more fully express things other than to label time on my hands as boredom. Maybe I don’t appreciate the rain because getting wet means my hair might mat to my head.

In the quiet, still moments when reflection puts the ground underneath my feet again, I find it, ummm, what’s the right word here, ironic or maybe sad or maybe maddening or maybe any other number of a dozen or so words that race through my mind when I really think about how my own complaining is nothing short of ridiculous. After all, I live in a world warmed by a giant sun and lulled to sleep by a glassy moon. In between the time it takes for the sun to be make way for the moon I am provided opportunities my forefathers never imagined and enough possibilities that I could never fully pursue them all. Still, I find the time and the audacity to complain and feel unsatisfied.

Then on deeper reflection, I wonder if God looks at me, notes I am spinning my wheels again and wonders will he e-v-e-r get it?

November 2009: Chicken Fingers for the Soul or Random Thoughts That Pass Through My Mind And Stick There Like A Cheap Magnet Sticks To A Refrigerator Door

In the fall of the year, as a pale yellow sun fades slowly in the sky, there is nothing quite like a smoky haze on the horizon and the sweet smell of leaves burning in the distance.

After watching some recent awards shows and tuning in a bit on the radio, I have determined I liked today’s country music much better when we called it pop music back in the 1970s.

Yes, I know some folks really like Christmas. I do too. Must we though begin to celebrate it right after Halloween? Can’t we properly honor our veterans on Veterans’ Day and then celebrate Thanksgiving first? Halloween weekend a local radio station began airing Christmas music twenty-four-hours-a-day-seven-days-a-week. That weekend, we also noticed a house in our neighborhood which has a large Snoopy on the side of their house with an electronic countdown in large red numbers of the days, hours and minutes left until Christmas. I hope the kids in that house have a really super Christmas because if all they get is a small red ball tied to a paddle by a rubber band after almost two months of anticipation then the let down is going to be as great as another Garth Brooks comeback.

Laughter may be the best medicine but if you’ve got the crud some strong cough medicine works better than a ‘knock, knock’ joke.

I do not understand why Gomez Addams’s expression “capital idea” from the TV show “The Addams Family” never became a household catch phrase.

I recently spent four hours with a vice-like grip on a leaf blower but am glad I had my iPod along for the journey. At one point, while waist deep in leaves, I thought I would never finish the task before me. After shutting off the leaf blower my body pulsated for a few more hours like I was still clutching the leaf blower. Despite the constant trembling, it was not enough to shake “Living on Tulsa Time” out of my head.

I am glad we live in a community just remote enough where a train whistle can still be heard in the distance when things grow quiet enough. Even now when I hear such a whistle, it makes me realize what a lonesome sound it really is. And then the whistle fades away and total silence engulfs the moment. And in that moment, the sound of silence becomes even more lonesome sounding.

You know there are a lot of inventions I would like to see but maybe none more than something that could automagically transport a body from one place to another without waiting in traffic or having to go through an airport security line.

And on a related topic, it’s almost 2010; shouldn’t we be getting around in car-plane things like the Jetsons by now?

While I am no slave to fashion, I do admit I own some pretty ugly shoes. After looking around though at some of the shoes other people wear, I think I may be somewhat fashionable after all.

How in the world did a large wheel come off our garbage can at home and where did it go?

I am thankful to be surrounded by a wife and by family and friends who treat me better than I should ever hope to be treated. I wish the same for you.