The Best Christmas Card -- Ever!

I am not a fan of Christmas cards, generally.  They mostly seem like a waste of time and money.  Up until now, I'd have told you that my favorite Christmas card of all time was one that looked kind of like this --

But then...  Today, I got my very first ever Christmas card signed by Xander, himself.

And I am pretty sure my point of view on the subject of wasteful Christmas card exchanges has been forever changed...  <3 p="">

The Grandma Who Sends Boxes Full of Books

Ever since my young grandson was born, I have struggled with how I can be a presence in his life.  At the age of 4-1/2 years, he lives across the continent with his parents; a 1200 mile (2 long days) drive.  For the past year and a half, he has lived in the home of his "other" grandmother, and while she finds spending time with him annoying and unnerving, she has plenty of money and is able to regularly shower him with things.  There is no way that I can compete with that.  In fact, there is no way that I WANT to compete with that.  I am not interested in being the person who buys him stuff.  So... what to do?

Christmas is one of those times when I am challenged to find an appropriate gift that I think he will like, and that I like sending to him.  When he was very young, it wasn't hard.  There were lots of cute, fun, educational toys -- and I enjoyed finding something unique and interesting to give as a gift.  This year, it seems harder.

All of the toys that I find for boys his age seem dull and unimaginative; or they simply offend my sensibilities for one reason or another.  And yes, I am prone to not supply toys that I find "offensive" on whatever level.  Ask my own children.  They will be happy to tell you how they suffered through childhoods without toy weapons of Barbie dolls or video games that included violence.  Poor things.

Anyway, somewhere last summer, I began to gather a collection of interesting, fun, and beautiful children's
books -- until I came up with a significant pile of very nice books:

And then I finally figured it out...  I will become the Grandma that sends boxes of books!  I will hunt down neat and interesting and beautiful children's books, and I will send them off to my sweet young grandson.  They will be presents, but they will also give the two of us something to talk about.  As he grows, I'll find books to send that match his interests (like pirates) and others that might expand his interests.  All those fancy toys will have their day, but they will eventually fade away or fall apart.  I am hoping that the books will become good friends and treasures to be visited over and over and over; enjoyed and cherished well past his childhood; perhaps tucked away to be given someday to another generation of young ones...  my great grandchildren.  

It all makes me happy.

Sue

The Season

The little tree is up, lights twinkling.  Every year, as I put it up, I have mixed feelings...

It is such a homely little thing; all scraggly branches that are squashed and pitiful when I first pull it out of the box.  The little old tree looks just about as bedraggled as I feel as I stumble along toward the holiday season.

The transition from pathetic little fake evergreen to sparkly, quirky display of well remembered bits and pieces happens slowly -- so slowly that I hardly notice it at first.  I got new lights this year.  The old motley collection of various kinds of twinkly lights had really seen better days, and it was time.  I actually decided that last year when I took it down and put it all away.  I tossed out the old lights, promising myself that I'd get new ones for this season.  Of course, by the time I was ready to go this year, I had totally forgotten that.  I got the tree out and all the branches on it and sort of fluffed up.  Then I pulled out my boxes, and started hunting for the lights...  Hunting and hunting and hunting...  What the heck????

Yeah. Slow on the pick up.  I have CRS (Can't Remember Shit).

So.  The naked, pitiful tree sat there, on its little table for a couple of days until I could get out and buy some lights (because I REFUSE to enter into the Thanksgiving Day / Black Friday Shopping craziness).  With its bright new lights, that sort of look like the old-fashioned lights I remember from my childhood, the little tree was ready for decorations.

My ornament collection is "eclectic," to put it kindly.  There are ornaments that I painted by hand as a child.  There are cookie-dough ornaments that I made and painted with my own small children one year long ago when we had no money at all, and nearly everything was made by hand.  They are all dated and signed on the back; humble, sweet, silly little lumps of memory.  There are bright yellow and orange yarn pom poms that I made with my college roommate when we were both freshmen.  Living in a dismal old dormatory that had been converted from and old, old, old fraternity house, we were determined to have a Christmas tree that year.  We pooled our money and bought a long, skinny, very tall, but very sparse pine tree.  We hauled it back and propped it up in a bucket full of rocks.  We decorated it with those silly little, handmade yellow and orange yarn fluffs, and then strung popcorn and cranberries to make garlands to string on it.  It was a sight, but we loved it anyway.  Years later, long after I was married and working to raise my little ones; long after she'd gone on to become a wealthy engineer married to another wealthy engineer, A small package came to my door.  Inside were those same old silly decorations with a note:  "How many memories come tied with orange and yellow yarn?"  There are the shiny, gold, abstract angels; each with some sort of unidentifiable musical instruments.  They are tiny; only an inch and a half tall.  I have half a dozen of them; all different.  They were given to me by my brother, Gregg, who somehow thought that they were "queer."  "Just like me," he told me with a mischievous wink.  Gregg's angels fly proudly around my tree each year, and every year I keep the promise I made him as he lay dying -- "I will never forget you..."  And so many little oddities that have come, over the years from students.  I hang them all and remember Katie and Jacob and Samuel and Tim and Barby and Shelly and ...  So many young lives that have touched me along the way.

So the season has begun and, even better, today was a snow day.  No school.  We are home, tucked in warm and safe, with the cats and the trees -- watching the snow fall outside our windows.

Wishing you all the best of the season, Friends.

The Monster

Here it is -- "The Monster!"  Tom worked for two full days this week to unpack and dispose of packaging materials, and then assemble this beast.  It looks so charming and friendly, sitting there with its infrared heater and cheerful fireplace thingy.  Who would ever guess that this Monster nearly killed us both?

It really is nice to have, and we are enjoying it, but oh my ... what an ordeal!  I guess the truth is we need to keep in mind that we've arrived at "a certain age," and need to be more realistic about what we can and cannot do.  At least, we got this done before we reached totally decrepit old age :-)

Gravity Works!

Tom and I went out after the football game on Friday evening, and purchased a new media center with an infrared heater/fireplace insert.  The thing came in two GIANT boxes.  The bigger one of the two measured about 6-1/2 feet long, 2 feet wide, and 1-1/2 feet deep.  It barely fit in the back of our vehicle, even though we had the passenger seat pulled all the way forward as far as it would go.  The second box was smaller by comparison:  probably 3 feet by 2-1/2 feet by 2 feet.

The loading guys helped us get it into the car at the store, and I scrunched into the itty bitty space in the passenger seat so that Tom could drive us home.  We put the car in the garage and figured we would wrestle it all into the house on Saturday.

The biggest of the MONSTER boxes felt like it weighed about 500 pounds.  We rolled our sturdy little handcart out to the driveway and began trying to pull / drag / tug the monster box out of the back end of the car.  Luckily, there was a handy-dandy handle place right in the end of the box.  We grunted and pushed and pulled, but just couldn't budge the thing.  Finally, I grabbed hold of the handle in the end of the box with both hands, and gave it a determined tug.

The Monster box?  It hardly moved.  The little cardboard handgrip place tore completely apart, and I went tumbling backwards, swan wings flailing, and landed with an impressive thump on the concrete driveway.  I smacked my hip and my elbow pretty soundly, but fortunately, I managed not to hit my head.  I sprawled there for a few minutes, trying to catch my breath and gather my wits.  I think I scared Tom half to death.

No serious damage.  I spent the afternoon awash in the alluring aroma of Icy Hot, and completely whacked out of my mind on muscle relaxants.  When we woke up on Sunday morning, I was surprised to find that I really didn't feel too bad.  No ugly bruises, and only some minimal stiffness.

He wondered if it was maybe not a good idea to spank me under the circumstances -- maybe it would cause my muscles to spasm (ya think?).  So...   We got up.  We had breakfast.  We watched football.  It was a pleasant day, and a nice end to the long holiday weekend.  I felt disappointed about the not spanking, but also felt loved and cared for.  Funny how that works...

Sue

Word From The Philippines

I've kept a candle up here since shortly after Typhoon Haiyan struck the Philippines.  Today, I heard from Malcolm that he is safe along with his family.  

At his suggestion, I've put the candle at the top of my sidebar, and will keep it burning for the 11 million that the United Nations estimates have been impacted by this storm.  Many remain homeless, and desperate for the basics that I take for granted:  food, clean water, shelter.  I cannot imagine the suffering and struggle.  But I am willing to be reminded.  And so the candle will stay...

Sue

Tacloban and Calbayog City

From my earliest days of blogging, when I was just beginning to write at The Swan's Heart, I have had a steadfast friend and commenter -- Malcolm.  Beginning with my very first blog post on December 21, 2004, Malcolm has been there with me.  We haven't always seen eye to eye, but we have shared a unique friendship that I have valued.

Malcolm and his wife, Rose, live in Calbayog City, Philippines.  As I look at the map of that archipelago, I can see that they are only just a tiny little bit of distance north of Tacloban, the city that bore the brunt of Typhoon Haiyan.  The news that I have been able to get about the storm's impacts is very unclear about the areas outside of Tacloban, so I really cannot tell what might have happened to Malcolm's home city.  I am worried for him and his family.

Probably, there is damage to the infrastructure that would allow the sort of communication we all take for granted.  Electricity?  Who knows?  I just hope that they are safe.  I hope that they have food and water and decent shelter.  I am selfish, but I want the best for my friend.

So, tonight, I am putting a candle up on this blog.  I will leave the candle burning for my friend, Malcolm, for Rose, and for all of those who are suffering tonight in the Phillipines.  I invite you all to join me.

swan