Christmas time is here

Woke up this morning knowing that it was time for my annual Christmas post where I talk about my dad and mourn his passing. Today is the 10th anniversary of that very difficult day; the day when my dad died of a heart attack a couple of hours before midnight on Christmas Eve.

I rarely talk about the moments of exactly 10 years ago, the right now of 10 years ago -- a few minutes before 10 AM. That morning I woke up full of anticipation. My brothers were all to be here, my older brother David and his wife Janice were arriving that very day. Norman was going to be bringing them to the island. My mom and brother Dwight had arrived the night before. I was just so full of joy.

Dad had been with us a couple of weeks already so when he got up, he remembered to move the Magi a little closer to baby Jesus. The three wise men always wander around the living room making their way to baby Jesus on Epiphany -- the 12th day of Christmas. I usually wait for the kids to go to bed and then move them for the next day to be found but that plan very often goes wrong. I'm far from perfect and even back then, my mind was soft and forgetful. So when I got up and the kids were milling about, Dad started humming the song "We Three Kings," and I panicked. But then I saw that he had moved them for me.

For a few hours that day, everything was exactly perfect. The whole family was there. We were all in one space, one house, under one roof. It was loud and noisy -- we were happy.

I didn't know that it would be the last time.

I think that's why it is hard to come up to this day. It doesn't mean that the days I have now are not good or not happy. But I don't get to have them with my dad, that's all. And that Christmas Eve 10 years ago was the last time I could have them with him.

Somedays I scour my faulty memory for more of that day. And I remember checking out, being distracted, just not paying attention. Of times when I was lost in my own tasks and didn't revel in those last moments with him. But I think even in that, it was a time for him to see that I was grown, involved in my own stuff, handling things like a grown up. My dad had done his job, even with the youngest of his children.

I miss you, Daddy. Always will.

Nine

I know I don't corner the market on mixed feelings about Christmas. People the world over lost their loved ones near the holidays. I mean, millions of people die every day. You would hope that you'd get a break from death around Christmas, but that doesn't happen.

Nine years ago on Christmas Eve, my father died. And if you look back on my blog, you'll have read the story. You might have even heard me tell it. So I don't need to rehash it here. My two older kids were 5 and 1 years old at the time. They don't remember a Christmas time that there wasn't a sad Mommy in the mix. This was 9 years ago. Isn't time supposed to heal all wounds?

For me, it manifests in me dragging my feet in getting ready for Christmas. Those traditions that we are so careful to cobble together for our families, to make our own stories for the kids to reminisce about when they're adults, I push off to the last possible second. I avoid the smell of a real tree as much as possible, because sometimes the scent brings back the grief strong and present instead of suppressed and in the background. I get that scent and it hits me hard in the chest.

Three years ago, my uncle took his departure front he stage. Just days before he died, I told him that I was finally feeling like I could do Christmas again. That maybe the grief had become a quieter note in the song of the season. Only to have my uncle bring grief right back to the foreground.

Thanks.

So it was with dark humor we coped with my last uncle in the family of the originals entering the hospital at Thanksgiving. No, Uncle John didn't ruin Christmas this year. However, all of us got nervous about it. His daughter Sham thought that maybe her dad went into the hospital to maintain his Star Rewards status at Pali Momi. He almost made it through 2011 without a single hospitalization.

Next year is the tenth anniversary. I'll be in Hawaii for that Christmastime. Not sure how I'll deal with that. I've got no insights today. No great revelations. Just that I'm glad that it is almost over.

Linus & Lucy

Did you ever notice that the song that opens the Charlie Brown Christmas Special is in a minor key? Charlie Brown starts off with the line, "I think there must be something wrong with me Linus. Christmas is coming but I'm not happy. I don't feel the way I'm supposed to feel...I always end up feeling depressed." I never understood it as a kid. WTF was wrong with Charlie Brown?

But having started this Christmas season with my own anxiety attack, with a sense of impending dread, I get it Charlie Brown. I totally get it.

In recent history, very bad things happen at Christmastime for me. I've jokingly considered becoming a Jehovah's witness or maybe Buddhist. Anything that will get me out of Christmas. But I suspect, the only way to avoid the season all together is to move out of the country to maybe Turkey. Eh, Hubby likes Turkey. I'll think about it. Supposed to be pretty out there.

Yesterday was the one year anniversary of Uncle Nofre's death. In keeping with the whole keep-busy-to-avoid-grief thing, I took Princess on a shopping trip for Girl Scout meeting supplies. On the drive over, I guess it was too quiet and I got to thinking about the day I got the news. How the phone call came at 2am and I knew it was disaster. How I went to sleep sobbing even though he hadn't died yet. How I woke up with a vague sense of unease only to have everything rush back in crystal clarity. How every time the phone rang, I braced myself for the worst. I remembered the exact spot I stood when I got the news. And when my eyes started to well up with tears, I realized that crying while driving was absolute folly and I must move on to other topics and fast. Thank goodness my girl was in the back seat with all kinds of plans and schemes for Christmas surprises. She is a font of joy.

After we were done with our shopping trip, I turned the car radio on to the Christmas station. One of the radio stations here plays non-stop Christmas music, even during its super saccharine Delilah show. If you're not familiar with her, she's a nationally syndicated radio host. Her program has people call in to request a song for somebody special. Delilah has a knack for picking the *perfect* song for the situation. But during the holidays, her hands are a little tied because it needs to be Holiday music. And I suspect, my uncle's hands were too. But still, he was able to communicate with me through this most unlikely radio station. When I turned the music on, it was Linus & Lucy, from Charlie Brown. You know, that Vince Guaraldi piano piece that appeared in a lot of the Peanuts animated specials. I was surprised because it is one of my favorite songs. My first reaction was a happy one -- that kind you get when you have a moment of serendipity. And then I remembered.

In October of last year, I had visited Uncle's house and saw the jewel case on the coffee table. It was a Vince Guaraldi collection. On it was a picture of the composer fashioned into a Peanuts character. I picked it up and told Uncle Nofre that I loved that one song, Linus & Lucy. He told me to go ahead and take the CD if I wanted it but when I opened the jewel case, it was empty. Plus, the jewel case itself was broken. So I left it there. After Uncle died, my brother Dwight asked me if there was anything that I wanted of Uncle's things before the garage sale. I told Dwight that there was a CD that I had bought for Uncle the previous Christmas and also that Vince Guaraldi one if it was there.

By the time Dwight got to the garage sale, the box of Uncle's CD's had sold. Dwight was totally freaked out that I'd be upset that they were gone, but I told him it really was no big deal.

When Dwight came to visit us this past spring, he had four CDs of Uncle's that hadn't gotten sold, and surprisingly, the Vince Guaraldi one was in the collection. He gave them to me and I was thrilled to see that the CD had been restored to its broken jewel case. I wonder if that was why it didn't get sold.

So take that story however you wish. Coincidence, yeah. But I haven't gotten rid of my sense of wonder and magic just yet. And if there is a chance that Uncle has more to tell me, that I'll be sure to listen. Maybe that song was just to remind me that my first reaction, whenever I think of Uncle, should always be joy and happiness.

Ding dong, ding dong

I remember when I was a little kid, I couldn't wait for Christmas. God, there was just so much anticipation and excitement. I used to be able to sing "Silver Bells," to myself and find tingly warmth in my heart all of a sudden -- all those Christmas warm goodness came rushing in all at once.

Now, I feel like Christmas is a major term paper or school project that I just haven't finished. It is all in stages. There's the requirement of bringing the kids to the Christmas in the Country horse rides. Extra credit for bringing apples or carrots for the horses. If you miss the deadline, there is no make-up because there is only one day for that. Then there is the Santa Pictures that is a required component of the assignment. There are only 2 weekends that allow you to get that done. For extra credit you can order pictures and send to the family. I've missed the extra credit for the past couple of years. Then there is the optional project of sending out Christmas cards for which you must write a newsletter. The newsletter can be done in November but the actual mailing tends to fall by the wayside. I've got cards addressed and stamped from 2 years ago. I have to add stamps to them to send them because the postage has gone up twice since I didn't send those cards out. Of course there is the compounded guilt when I get Christmas cards from family and friends. There have been less of those because I've missed sending out cards for the past 2 years. The advent wreath assignment is particularly tricky because I've been foiled in the past by the general unpopularity of pink and purple taper candles. Either everybody else has cleared them out or I'm not looking in the right place. There is also the looming deadline of getting presents and shopping done. Because all family live far from us, we've got to consider shipping times. There are no easy wish lists for our relatives and I hate the guileless present of money (although it is my fall back position) so there is much agonizing over what to get. Plus there is the added bonus of my husband's birthday coming on the 9th of December. This means that I've got to plan some kind of birthday celebration in the middle of all this holiday stuff. There is also the assignment of putting up the trees and decorating. This part of the project must be done the day after Thanksgiving and no sooner. There is the daily task of making sure that the Wise Men are making their way to the Baby Jesus. This goes on for ages because they don't make it to Him until Epiphany. Thankfully we're not terribly popular people so there aren't a plethora of Christmas parties to go to. That would mean I'd have to shop for a Christmas outfit on top of everything else. Who knew this Christmas magic assignment was so hard?

I think I may get a failing grade.

Then there is the part of Christmas that hurts my heart every year. Unpacking the Christmas books and seeing the one that Dad read to Riker right before he went to take his shower. There is the unexpected listening to "O Little Town of Bethlehem" on the radio -- the song Dad was singing when he was walking behind me as we went to receive the Eucharist. There is the memory of my teasing him that there was no way I wanted to leave home for Christmas the following year. He made the plea to the whole family that we all go to his house for the next Christmas. We did, but not the way he wanted. There is unpacking the snowball candle that was a gift from my friend Sharon. When Dad died, we lit that candle every evening while we prayed the rosary for him. He was even in on moving the Wise Men around the living room. That last morning, he was singing "We Three Kings." I flew into a panic because I had forgotten to aid them on their journey. I remember trying to shush Dad, but I didn't know that he had already moved them for me. I remember him getting out his uke and playing every morning. Before, I used to sit with him and learn while he played, but that year, with the busy Christmas season, I missed my opportunity for a good jam session with him. It is funny, I can't remember what I had for breakfast yesterday but I have absolute clarity of the weeks before Dad died. I know that it would make my father incredibly sad to know that Christmas is forever altered for my family and me. He loved this time of year.

Right now I have just finished reading what I wrote. The part of me that likes each of my essays to have a clear direction and theme can't stand what I've written. It is disjointed -- light in the beginning and sad towards the end. Heck, what do you call this part? But I think this is what Christmas has become for me. I'm still disjointed. I find the joy of the season through my kids -- getting glimpses of their magical anticipation of the day. And then I feel the mourning that Christmas has come to represent for me. I spend the whole season in this emotional ping pong game -- with the abundant busyness of the season to distract me.

And so I'm off to shop today -- get Princess the Magic Bullet blender she saw on TV and just must have. I need to plan the next couple of days -- packing our schedule with horses, pictures and even a birthday party. At least this is better than the assignment from Jan. 1.

Taxes.

Haddon Elves

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Christmas 2007

The Gospel according to Luke

"(T)he stingy uninspired script consists not of springy dialogue, but rather of a deadening series of pronouncements. Mary to Joseph, "I am tired." Joseph to Mary, "We will rest here for the night." There's no fire, no give and take. And the audience soon grows weary of this passionless relationship." David Sedaris from Front Row Center with Thaddeus Bristol.

My kids participated in the Christmas pageant at our church. Their reenactment of the first Christmas was performed instead of the usual gospel reading. My daughters both dressed up as angels for the production but Lil' T didn't go up on stage. She contented herself with wearing the halo and wings. My son had the starring male role in the play -- you might be thinking Joseph or Gabriel -- sure, they had important parts too, mostly supporting though. My son was the Innkeeper. Really, the whole story arc and the dramatic heft of the play rests on that role's shoulders. Through his scant 6 lines of dialogue, he had us on pins and needles, wondering if his icy heart would melt and give the poor travelers a place to stay. His acting was stellar. I totally believed him as a money grubbing, heartless suck up who ultimately has a small shred of compassion, allowing a pregnant woman to give birth in a cave with his ox and ass sleeping nearby.

I am worried though. My son is being type cast. When he was in the third grade, he played an angry sea urchin. It was a break out role for him. He was the only child that truly acted his part. Sure, most of them were simply making statements about who they were like, "I am a star fish. I like to live in tide pools." But my son really acted like a prickly sea urchin. He shouted, "Hey, what are you doing here? There's no room in this tide pool for you. It is crowded enough as it is." Again, totally believable. But can you see how that is essentially the same part as the innkeeper in the Christmas pageant? The only difference was the costume. Instead of an outfit made of duct tape (a.k.a. duck tape -- for those who are hardware store impaired), paper cones and purple spray paint, he wore a middle eastern robe and pill box hat. I just hope that this typecasting doesn't crimp his ability to take on different roles. I mean, really, what's next down this track? Mr. Roper from Three's Company? Mr. Cunningham from Happy Days? The man from Chico & the Man? The troll from Billy Goats Gruff? I know it is still early in his career, but a mother does worry.


All I want for Christmas


A local radio station here gives out Christmas wishes in the days leading up to Christmas. I decided to try to get something for my mom this year through them -- something that I certainly couldn't afford, especially not this year. This is the entry I wrote, and yeah, it may seem a little over the top, but I wanted to win this for my mom. Oh well, I guess I'll have to fulfill this wish the old fashioned way -- earn it.

When my father retired 17 years ago, my mother treated him to an Omega watch. It was a lavish present for a man who was the son of immigrants, a veteran of 2 wars, worked most of his life as a civil servant doing pest control, sent the 4 of us kids to private school, and at one point took 2 jobs to keep us in our school uniforms. He told my mother that he would get her the matching Omega watch when she retired from her work as a clinic nurse. He promised her that he would. This past year, that retirement finally came. She did not retire on her own schedule but instead, as my parents always have done, put her kids' needs before her own and retired because of me.

In June 2007, my husband, the sole wage earner for our household, was laid off. I was an RN before I left work to raise my kids, ages 10, 6 & 2 years old. To get my license back, I needed to take an RN refresher course -- a 5 month class from a community college. Concerned about me and her grandkids, she said she would retire and come up here from Hawaii to care for my family. Also worried about how I was going to travel to and from the hospital for my clinical assignments, she shipped her only car up here for me to drive.

I always intended to give my mom her Omega watch at her retirement because my dad is unable to keep that promise.

Five years ago, our family gathered in Washington for a Christmas reunion. It was to have been the first one we had shared in over 10 years. At Christmas Eve dinner, my father announced that he expected us all to be in Hawaii for Christmas the following year. He ultimately got his wish, but not the way he had intended. That very evening, Dad died unexpectedly of a massive heart attack. We never had that Christmas all together like we planned. My brothers and I (two in WA, one in HI, and one in CA) went to Hawaii the following year to be with Mom for the 1 year anniversary of Dad's death. Every Christmas season since has been bittersweet -- a shame because Dad truly loved Christmas.

Because I don't have work yet and sadly, my husband has not found a new job, we're struggling this year. My Christmas wish is to give my mom the present my Dad had wanted to give her, the matching Omega watch. I just think that if I could give that to her, she could have Dad here with us for Christmas, even in this small way.

I know, it reads like that overly saccharin Christmas song, Christmas Shoes. My husband will turn off the radio if he hears it playing. It is such an obvious tear jerker. Last night I think he was going to throw up when I started singing it. "Sir, I wanna buy these shoes/ for my Mama, please./ It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size./ Can you hurry, sir?/ Daddy says there's not much time,/ see, she's been sick for quite a while,/ and I know these shoes will make her smile,/ and I want her to be beautiful/ when Mama meets Jesus tonight..."

My hubby and I changed the final lyric a little though, "So I laid the money down. /I just had to help him out. /Then he grabbed the money and he ran,/ and I think it might be part of his plan,/ and I think I heard him stop and say/ 'another one born every day...'"

But I think the difference between my entry and that song is that my story is truthful -- real -- I mean, we lived it. And are still living it. I still get teary eyed sometimes when I go to church, remembering that on my dad's last day, we attended Christmas Eve mass. We watched the last Christmas pageant performed there for years before this year's production. I heard my dad sing, O Little Town of Bethlehem and he boasted a little, like he often did when he sang, about how good his voice sounded and how well he knew the lyrics. And then he was gone. And Christmas has really never been the same since. I kind of get a little grumpy in the days leading up to it. I hope that will change eventually, but I doubt it.

My mistake though. The radio station had a cap for their prizes -- $600 per person. Had I known that, I would have asked for a new camera or something like that. And some of the stories they shared were shockingly more tragic than ours. And I thought ours was pretty bad. All in all, our Christmas was great just having Mom here. And even though money was tight, the kids had a great one.

Eat and get gas

What Christmas blog would be complete without a full recapping of what we ate for the Christmas feast? There was no figgy pudding or Christmas goose. I have not yet tried the scary Turducken phenomenon. My brother the chef has done it, and says it is fabulous. I think I'll wait for him to prepare it for me.

In previous years we've had the traditional Thanksgiving redux and we've also gone totally the other way with steak fajitas. But in our defense, the fajitas had red and green bell peppers in them.

This year, our decision on what to make was made by the upper management at Safeway. Prime rib roast went on sale for $4.99/pound. For those of you who have no frame of reference on that, it usually goes for at least $9.99/lb, often more.

I decided to make potatoes au gratin with leeks, oyster mushrooms & guyere cheese. It is a recipe I got way back in the day from Bon Apetit Magazine. I liked it but the kids didn't. They've got some kind of mental block against mushrooms. I blame their father.

The problem with choosing to make the roast and the potatoes was that there is only one oven in this house. The roast prepared in the oven takes about 3 hours at 200 degrees F. The potatoes cook at 400 for 1 hour 20 minutes. You see the conflict. So I decided to grill the roast using the indirect heat method. It was the perfect solution.

After a quick call to my brother the chef, I asked my husband to prepare the briquets. And like the Jews at the first Hanukkah, we were left with too little fuel to keep the fire lit. We only had 1/2 a chimney starter of charcoal. And in our own Christmas miracle, my husband found another 1/2 a chimney full of charcoal still in the grill. Thank goodness for poor housekeeping. Cleaning out the grill after the season was a chore that fell by the wayside. Amazingly, that one chimney full of charcoal was able to cook the roast for over an hour and imparted the most wonderful smoky flavor to the meat. Does that count as a miracle?

Since it was a special occasion, I decided to use our wedding china.

I do question my sanity looking back at it. Why add the stress of using the wedding china for dinner on Christmas day? As if Christmas isn't stressful enough. The meal is cooked by loving hands that will turn decidedly unloving, should you chip the wedding china. I actually have planned for that eventuality and got 13 place settings. I know that seems unlucky, but I think of it this way. I have 12 place settings and 1 replacement for each piece. My anxiety was sensed by my husband who while clearing the table and bringing the china to the kitchen sink mimicked the sound of a large truck backing up and in a loud voice said, "Beep! Beep! China in transit. Beep! Beep!" Then when he almost dropped a Tupperware container on the plates, looking at my barely contained freak out, he changed his mantra to, "Beep! Beep! China in danger. Beep! Beep!"

Oh, I suppose you all would like to know what we had for dessert. Mom and I made binbingka cassava and jello mochi. Both desserts almost didn't make it to the end of the meal. We had prepared them early and by the time we set the table for dinner, most of it had disappeared down the gullets of my family.

The meal was fabulous and festive. My son really had a fun time with his Christmas present from Uncle Dwight. It is a remote control fart machine. So yes, my table was set with my finest china. I had a brand new gold table cloth and deep red table runner both imported from Italy. The kids were drinking out of stemware instead of plastic tumblers. We even used cloth napkins instead of paper. And all the while, we had the sound of farting coming from under the table with giggle filled accusations flying. That's classy.

Ah, memories. Mele Kalikimaka!

Christmas spirit all year long

Everyday I have to go to class, I need to take a bus from downtown to the college. There are always tons of people walking busily here and there. And much of the time, they try to avoid eye contact or contact of any kind with the homeless. They populate the streets. When the weather gets colder, their plight gets more dire. There is one man who lives out of a shopping cart under the overpass. I walk by there on my way to the bus stop. I've never seen him approach people but instead he puts a coffee can out in front of his lawn chair in silent appeal for spare change. Every now and then I've noticed fresh fruits or vegetables on his shopping cart. I remember thinking about how he must use his meager means to try to buy good food for himself. But today, I got to see a the real deal (Christmas spirit I mean)in action.

While all of us raced to get to our various jobs, bus stops, offices, we each keep our heads down and walk/jog as quickly as possible. I walked behind this one guy, probably middle aged. He wore blue pants, a blue windbreaker with no discernible brand name emblazoned on the back, carried a lunch pail and thermos in one hand with a messenger bag slung across his other shoulder. Without breaking stride, without even saying hello to the sleeping figure sitting in the lawn chair, this man placed a banana on top of the shopping cart which was piled with all the worldly possessions of that sleeping man. I noticed that he didn't break stride. He didn't slow down and fiddle in his bag looking for something to hand the homeless person. He knew what he was doing. He did it in a practiced quiet way. And he thought no one was looking.

But this time somebody was. Me.

And now I'm thinking about what I can do to help lessen the hardships of the homeless. I've thought about putting together some care packages. Or maybe I can convince my Brownie troop to do so.

But I suppose this is how it starts. Just one random act of kindness. Unheralded. Uncelebrated. But not uninspiring.