WordSisters

Tag: family

  • Holiday Traditions

    I could have talked with Santa longer. Maybe left the photography backdrop, grabbed us both a few cookies, and hashed through life experiences. Could he have been the same Santa who visited our house in Luxemburg, WI sixty years ago? Was it possible this was the real guy (at least to schmooze an introvert) with gentle dark eyes, weathered skin and a medium deep voice that wrapped around those sitting nearby

    The Gibraltar Fire and Rescue of Fish Creek, WI held the annual visit and photo with Santa event as a fundraiser. Being a volunteer firefighter in a small community makes every neighbor’s life safer. A firetruck parked outside the small former town hall to answer any major fire call and the Santa team needed to leave. 

    Stuff some money in a firefighter’s boot, fill out limited personal information, and help yourself to cookies or candy while waiting in line. We were not the only people with a dog instead of a child. Thankfully the dogs seemed to accept the event as just another outing while the children struggled to keep their excitement, and hungering for more cookies, under control. 

    Adults drinking eggnog and eating more cookies than the kids, grandparents helping with a third or fourth child while the parents made each one presentable, and a warm feeling of enjoying holiday traditions started December on the right foot. We were there because our two-year-old granddaughter thought meeting Santa frightful but might smile seeing that Rocky liked the old guy. Two of her age group needed everyone’s encouragement in the town hall, including two dogs, to turn off tears and sit near the guy in red. 

    Most of us were strangers, but for forty minutes we shared happiness and hope while playing the roles most appropriate for the time—child, parent, grandparent, community protector, human or canine. Shoulders were nudged and compliments shared about sweaters or bows or big smiles while posing with Santa. “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays” flew out of mouths naturally.

    May these last weeks of 2023 bring you calm, peace, health and smiles.  I hope that each of you have someone share a Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays greeting. 

    The comfort of traditions brings the warmth of friendship among strangers.

  • Tools of Other Times

    Five dozen white salad plates, four dozen dessert plates, dozens of cheap forks, candle holders, three tubs for ice and canned drinks, red wine glasses, white wine glasses. Grandma’s embroidered tablecloth, a bride’s dark green tablecloth, crocheted dresser scarves made by a great uncle while tending bar in his lakeside tavern. Tools appropriate for other times

    Ornaments from the children’s tree, red plastic sleds, N-gauge train cars, a doll house made by great-grandpa, a toy china cabinet made for great-grandma, filling up shelves needing to be cleared. Prom dresses, a toddlers navy wool coat, a child’s silk Japanese jacket brought home from WWII, all worn by young girls and boys long grown or passed. The stuff of others’ memories kept in a basement closet alongside the extra vacuum and ironing board. 

    I claim ownership of the party tableware gathered for piano recitals, kids’ open houses, book launch parties and gatherings of all sorts. The shelves were a lending library for other’s bridal showers, small weddings, anniversary gatherings. We joked about saving trees and landfill space while piling clothes baskets full of glassware to travel a few miles. Sad to say farewell to the thought of a future soiree, but there’s enough in the upstairs cupboards to host small parties. 

    Thinking about what tools might be necessary or fun for the next decade makes the clearing less emotionally painful even if shoulders and back ache. It’s all about matching what you need with you carry forward. I don’t remember shedding tears when two briefcases went to a thrift shop or tailored suits headed to consignment. Still use one of the tote bags bought to replace the corporate stuff. To be honest I might still be wearing a few sweaters bought for the writing years. 

    Back to work.

  • 80. Feels like 90.

    We were planning to have dinner outside and listen to a musical group. Should be an ideal evening with temps in the very low 80s. Even the mosquitos have called a partial truce. One bad apple in the perfect plan is humidity which is making 80 feel like 90. The second bad apple is a gradual lowering of Canadian wildfire smoke into Wisconsin’s Northern zones.  Iced tea will melt quickly, clothes will stick, and someone will begin coughing or wheezing. 

    The morning was excellent after a rough bunch of storms and rain cleaned out the atmosphere last night. Walking on a nearly empty beach at ten this morning with bright blue sky and sparkling water felt like a summer dream. The toddler with us, spending her first days of walking into very shallow Lake Michigan waters, celebrated with digging in the sand, pouring water on anything, jumping tiny waves with help from adults. Two hours for summer 2023 memories.

    That’s how the whole season has played out—like slurping a slug of pickle brine from your glass of lemonade. Do you dump the drink, try to add something in hopes of a more enjoyable beverage, or accept the situation?

    Or is the pickle brine just an emotional reminder of the true state of the bigger world—global warming and the U.S. state of unrest? Keeping to a summer theme is challenging and heading to dinner out with music in the background, even in sauna-like conditions could provide relief from week’s tensions.

    Then the heavens opened. Rain lashed against windows. Wind whipped flowers and trees. Thunder rumbled over the bay waters. Power went out at the restaurant. So, we ate leftovers at our kitchen table, talking and laughing at what the toddler was trying to say. Temperatures dropped to low 70s as storms disappeared. The gift of a typical summer experience. No pickle brine in the last of the lemonade.