stardate 12.19.2020

Today’s blog entry is from my Aunt Pat Myles.  She is the oldest of my Dad’s siblings.  She is the matriarch of a wonderful family of four children and so many grandchildren and great grandchildren.  She is a kind and lovely person.  I am very thankful she took the time to share this with me.  

A Christmas Memory 

During World War II , my Granddad Kinkade worked at the Malden (MO) Air Base.

There was a shortage of many things, including sugar, chocolate, and some other things which were rationed. Each family received a book of ration stamps that were used to allow purchases of those items.  Sometimes items were not available even though a family might have ration stamps for them.

Since my Granddad worked at the Air Base he had commissary privileges. Things were not rationed at the commissary.

I must have been 7 or 8 years old and it was Christmas Day.  At least three of the Kinkade brothers and their families had gathered at our Grandparents’ home.  I remember my Granddad getting everyone to come into the living room and he had a bag of gifts.  I think he must have felt like Santa that year.

I don’t know how much he was paid at the Air Base, I think he worked as a janitor and a repairman.  He must have spent most of at least two pay checks to buy Christmas gifts for everyone in the family.

The gifts were not wrapped but he started with the children and gave each of us a Hershey bar.  We were so excited!

Then he gave Grandmother and each of the daughters in law a pair of silk stockings.  Silk stockings were not available at all in clothing stores; but he could buy them at the commissary.

Then he had cigars for each of his sons.

I think I am probably the last one in the Kinkade family who remembers that Christmas.  I am 84 years old and I think all of the grandchildren who would have been old enough to remember that special Christmas will be celebrating in heaven this year.

Because of this special Christmas gift HERSHEY BARS are still the best chocolate ever.  Maybe because in my mind it represents 

stardate 12.18.2020

Today's entry comes courtesy of my Dad.   Of all the things 2020 has brought us, who would have predicted that my Dad would join facebook, let alone write for the blog? And yet, here we are.

Disclaimer Alert! I've  never written a blog before. I know Judson expected a Christmas blog featuring him as my no.1 son, which he is numerically. LOL However this blog also features his siblings; Jennifer, Juliet, and Ben.

I like blogs with themes like favorite Christmases, memorable Christmases,etc. The theme of this blog might be Jerry and kids Christmases.

The commonality of Christmases for my adult life has largely been enjoying Christmas with kids. Initially there was Judson and Jennifer to focus on at Christmas then Juliet and Ben came along. Later after Judson and Jennifer had moved, Juliet and Ben were my Christmas companions for a few more years. Now that they have moved on with their lives, I alternate between spending Christmas with one or more of them. Christmas means kids to me!

I have memories of stuffing stocking, wrapping gifts, trimming trees in different homes, in different states, in the city, on the ranch; sometimes with lots of gifts sometimes  not so much, but always filled with excitement, fun, food and loving family and friends. 

I grew up in a family that celebrated  Christmas with immediate  and extended family at  times, friends, food, fun, and gifts. It was always exciting no matter our circumstances; partially because we celebrated Christ's  birth and partially because our parents loved to celebrate  Christmas  as a family. I've  tried celebrating Christmas  in other ways over the years but nothing was as personally fulfilling. So, my model of Christmas is celebrating  with kids.

It hasn't  always been easy to celebrate with my kids at Christmas.  There were many years I would be swamped with work at the hospital during the holidays. I was on-call the week before 

Christmas  many years and sometimes  got home just before the kids woke up on Christmas  morning. There were years I was a single parent and coordinated Christmas with the kids moms. I remember one year coming home from being on call at 3:00 am determined to finish wrapping last minute presents and falling asleep under the tree.

I have a fond memory  of cutting a tree with an axe and pulling it over the snow horseback on our ranch, my all-time  favorite tree, kept it up a month. 

Most of all I remember happy kid's faces, Santa's little helpers wrapping and hiding presents from one another until Christmas  morning, kids helping make Christmas cookies and my favorite,  Christmas breakfast.

Like my dad, I've  always been a big believer  in Santa Claus; leaving cookies and milk, hearing reindeer on the roof, telling the kids Santa came while they were sleeping( which created sleeping problems  for Ben especially), etc.

Going to Christmas eve church services, singing carols, listening to Elvis have all been traditions we practiced.

I remember gift giving. I don't remember gifts. What I do remember and cherish is the love we shared, the love each one communicated in their unique ways, the love we felt and affirmed for each other, the love we now share as adult's 

Now that I'm  retired I look forward to spending Christmas  with my kids and grandkids. Each of the kids have developed  their own unique styles of celebrating  Christmas. Judson and Kathleen celebrate with an annual social event with half of OKC, Jennifer decorates her home and bakery with beautiful seasonal decorations, Juliet and Becca create a memorable  feast each year while Ben loves sharing Christmas  with Zaylan. 

So, for me this is what it's all about, whether we share it in person or by zoom this year, we will celebrate it. Merry Christmas everybody! 

stardate 12.17.2020

Today’s entry comes from my Aunt Joy Roberts.  For those of you not related to me, she is my Dad’s second oldest sister.  What can I say about my Aunt Joy? She was well named.  She smiles easily and often and has a lovely singing voice.  She has done many things in her life but most prominently she has led the music in hundreds of churches in her lifetime.  Perhaps most worth mentioning for my New Mexico friends is that for a season when I was a child her husband Dale Roberts was pastor of the tiny Glorieta Baptist church just outside the conference center there and Joy led the music.  I have so many memories of my Aunt Joy, but today we are focusing on the memory she shared.

 

The year we couldn't afford a Christmas tree.  

 

In 1962, Dale was In the Army stationed in Christmas tree town USA (Shelton, Washington). Shelton is the present day home of a 32’ Santa that was originally built for the 1962 world fair.  They are known for their rich timber heritage, and hosting annual christmas festivities.  

 

One morning one of the  Army wives and I went into Shelton to the laundromat.  There were 11 families living in the same Army housing community.  Dale had the highest rank so we made more money than the other families, but not much more. In this county if you were caught with a tree that was not tagged by the forest dept. you could be  fined or even jailed.  On our way to town at 6 am  we were blocked on the highway by a bundle of tagged, 11 Christmas trees.   Every family had a tree [free] for Christmas.

 

She and I struggled to lift those trees and tie them on the trunk lid of my MGA sports car, but we managed. It was fabulous. God provided.

Not my Aunt's actual car, but a 1960 MGA sports car. Can you imagine 11 trees tied to the hood?

stardate 12.16.2020

Who has seen the movie, Christmas with the Kranks? It’s a funny movie with Tim Allen and Jamie Lee Curtis play a married couple who decide to skip Christmas and go on a cruise.  Their plans go awry and hilarity ensues.  At a crucial point when their traditional christmas eve party that they had canceled gets called back on at the last minute, Jamie Lee Curtis’s character shouts, “Where is my vest?  Where is my holiday vest? I need my vest!”  

Today as I was preparing to go out and deliver the party cookie boxes people had ordered, in lieu of an actual party, I grabbed a scarf to wear and I thought, hey where is my holiday scarf?  I have 2 that are festive enough that I’ll wear them around the holidays. One I appropriated from Kathleen, it is a dark red, black and cream striped scarf.  The other festive scarf is christmas red.  I couldn’t find either one today.

As an alternative I thought I could wear my grey plaid wool scarf I got in 1984.  I saw it just a few days ago I think.  I looked but I couldn't find out.  How does one keep a scarf for 36 years and then misplace it?  Does anyone else even own anything they wore 36 years ago?  Does anyone else even remember what they wore 36 years ago?  Because I know that on the day I flew from Albuquerque bak to Tucson for Christmas break, (Saturday December 15) I wore navy corduroy pants, a light blue oxford cloth shirt with pink pinstripes and a grey knit sweater.  I also wore the grey plaid scarf and a charcoal jacket.  Why is any of this important?  It really isn’t.  The point that I somehow managed to completely lose is that I didn’t wear my festive scarf this year and I still managed to deliver boxes of christmas cheer hither and yon.   

*** I wrote this the other day and intended to post it on Saturday, the day of the party.  I didn’t love it, but I know I'm running behind, so I thought it was okay.  Then saturday rolled around, and 

I knew that I had missed the mark and I knew why.  The grey plaid scarf that was a christmas gift in 1984 was from my friend Laura Hendrikson. Laura was one of my best friends in high school.  Even through college we stayed close.  And it isn’t that we aren’t close now, but rather that we just don’t communicate as often.  

Friday I saw on facebook that Laura’s dad Taylor Hendrickson had gone into the hospital with covid.  Saturday morning I saw that he had passed away. So maybe my post wasn't really meant to be about a scarf, but instead about my friend and the lasting impression her parents have made on my life.  Like I said Laura and I were close in high school, doing church youth group activities together, watching movies, and other typical stupid teen age things.  Laura’s dad Taylor was the typical high school dad, showing up to pick us up, or drop us off.  Wandering into the family room at midnight to remind us that we all had church in the morning and maybe nightmare on elm street part 6 could wait until another day?  He was a deacon at church, a Sunday school teacher, and I am certain he had many other roles at church I am not aware of.

In summer 1991 before Kathleen and I got married, Kat joined me in Santa Fe and I introduced her to my church family.  One of the things I remember very vividly was that when we went to meet Laura at her parent’s house, both Taylor and his wife Paulann took Kathleen and me into their formal living room, a room I had never been in before, and sat us down and talked to us about marriage.  Paulann shared that their whole married lives Taylor never spoke a cross word to her and always treated her as if she were a fairy princess, and made her feel as though she were the most special woman in the world.  Taylor reminded me that the bible says husbands are to love their wives the way Jesus loves the church.  Taylor asked me to be a good husband, and told me he was sure  I could be.  Then he prayed for us.  

 

All told it was maybe 20 minutes of my life.  But I remember it. I remember it, because of course they did that, that is who they were. Kathleen and I have been married almost 30 years.  I can tell you that I have said some cross words to her, but mostly in private, and I do make every effort to make her feel like a fairy princess.  That is an example I have set for my boys as well.  

I don;t know what memorial plans the Hendrickson's have for Taylor, and I am sure in the coming days there will be meaningful and wonderful things said about him and his lasting impact on his daughters, their husbands and so many grandkids.  I am not trying to supersede that or detract in any way.  I just wanted to say that if the only thing that anyone could remember about Taylor was that he was a good father and husband, and that he encouraged me to be the same, that is enough.

stardate 12.15.2020

This is it! The year I have finally run out of things to say.  I didn’t even make it halfway through…

I am not much of a baker, but I do, on occasion, like to bake cookies.  I like to make cute or pretty looking cookies.  I had plans this year, I really did.  Then my famous cookies 3 ways were slightly underdone  If by underdone it can be understood they tasted like raw flour? 

Then I tried a new recipe, a gluten free cookie that was promised to be delicious.  I can attest that they were indeed delicious, but when I doubled the amount of butter called for, the uncontrolled spread of the cookies resulted in a giant chocolate puddle.

In the midst of my bitter disappointment I told Kathleen that those cookies were a metaphor for my life, when it looks good, I am raw on the inside, and when it’s good, I look like a total disaster.  She suggested I try and not be so dramatic.  She is probably right. 

I was starting to feel slightly better about my baking mishaps, and then Kathleen did this.  Do you see these amazingly perfect coconut macaroons?  See the ease with which she pipes the chocolate.  She is doing it to spite me, I just know it.

Then, to further add insult to injury, when I got home I received these pictures texted to me from my sister’s bakery.  Look what Matthew created.  They are calling it a Tucson holiday chocolate swirl.  It is a southwest version of a buche de noel, a classic chocolate and coffee flavored cake roll, decorated with tiny cactus bulbs.  I love how it looks.  But really? Really?  Is everyone in my family better at this than I am?

PS. These are the cookies Paul made.

Good Grief!

stardate 12.14.2020

Today we are going to hear from Sue Fox Akins.  Sue & Becky were my mom's best friends for years.  This is a special story about the beginning of that special friendship. 

How Sue and Becky met the Jan Kinkades and spent their first Christmas in Tucson

      July 1989:  Sue and Becky come to Tucson on a scouting trip to see if we'd like the heat and move from Washington DC.  It was HOT!!  We had heard of Jan through our friend Kansas who was living in Tucson.  We checked in at the hotel they had chosen and the clerk said "just a minute, I have something for you".  He bent down and came up with a sign that said "Welcome Home" and a jar full of little desert flowers.  Later, we drove by the 1st Street house just as Jan was coming over from school.  Complete with purple hair and chili earrings, she invited us in for a cocktail which consisted of Emergen-C and juice.  She said that if we were gonna live here we needed to learn about Emergen-C.  Then she said she new where there was a party with a band playing out in the desert at somebody's house ... and the rest is history.       

      OK, so it's September 1989 (yes,we bought a  house on that July scouting trip) and we're finally here to stay.  December rolls around and we are looking forward to our first Christmas in the warm climate of the Tucson desert, but we have the flu!  You all know it, that achey all over just want to sleep kinda flu.  We have missed the Christmas eve after church spinach enchilada and empanada fest at Jan's.  Christmas day we got up briefly and in our PJ's go out in the desert behind our house where we spread a tarp on the ground and open presents with the cactus patiently watching.  We smiled and went back to bed.  Sometimes the things that at the time seem uneventful make the greatest memories.

(Later that winter, we awoke to 4" of snow on the ground!  We freaked out!  We had moved here to escape snow.  It wasn't until we got to work and coworkers told us how unusual it was.  They were right.  30 years later and I've never seen that much snow here again.)

stardate 12.13.2020

Ho ho something something.

How is everyone today? Living? Breathing? I hope so. I really do.  

I have been noting on the social medias that people are talking about the busy holiday season.  Initially I accept that at face value, the holidays are always a busy time, presents to purchase, cookies to eat, church activities, holiday parties, in addition to your normal work and family life.  Except… this is 2020, so at least for many of us, there are only online church activities, many gift purchases are done online to avoid being around people, and holiday parties are a big no.  So I am left wondering what are we busy doing?

I know this week is the week before our usual party date.  Any other year we would be busy baking, and decorating and cleaning the house, but not this year.  Instead our to-do list involves making 5 more batches of fudge, making cookies, sending and delivering packages, tidying the house, and decorating at least the part of the house people will see on the zoom party… So, yeah, um, I get the busy part, but at least there are cookies!

I was thinking today about holiday parties, We aren’t having a Sunday school party, or work parties, or any of the other events where you gather with people and play white elephant and exchange gifts that you might not really want.  I have to admit, I do miss it.  I don’t miss it enough to actually go to one, or host one, but I do miss it.  

My thought process ended up with me wondering about being isolated at the holidays.  Kathleen and I have been parents for 20 plus years, and even before that we were part of big extended families, so we aren’t accustomed to not being with people at the holidays.  The first year Kathleen and I lived in Oklahoma City, so 1994 maybe? Kathleen’s office was having a big holiday party at her supervisors house.  We were looking forward to it, but then the day of, our car wouldn’t start.  I don’t remember what the actual issue was, but we weren’t going anywhere.  It was disappointing, because it had been something that we were looking forward to.  Instead of staying home, we decided to walk across the parking lot to have dinner at Pioneer Pies, which was right there by the apartments.  

I don’t remember who was supposed to be at the party, but I do remember eating dinner with Kathleen.  It was quiet and just the two of us at our table and it was pleasant.  I enjoy being with Kathleen.  She is funny and smart and she puts up with me, so essentially the perfect company.  I love being a father, and I love my boys, and at the same time, I am thankful to be reminded that I am so lucky to have Kathleen to keep me company.

So maybe if you aren’t going to have a houseful of loved ones this year, that is ok.  It might not be what you want, but that doesn’t mean it has to be a bad thing.  Please give yourself the freedom to enjoy what you do have this year.

stardate 12.12.2020

 

It’s a wonderful life.

Merry Christmas Webbers Falls! Merry Christmas Davey and Sloan!  

The Frank Kafka classic holiday movie tells the story of a man who contemplates the true meaning of christmas while slowly changing into a cockroach. Apparently he is from a small town in Oklahoma. 

And ZuZu’s petals!

Yeah I don’t even know what that means, maybe a nod to little shop of horrors?

As I am led to believe many people are fans of the genre bending holiday classic about Wonderful Living.  It is in black and white, so it is extra creepy at the holidays.  I think that movie is the first one where someone gives a lady in white a ride home and she disappears so they go knock on the front door and are told, “she’s been dead 20 years!”

No? Have I pulled a Javi and mashed up every movie I have ever seen? Quite possibly.  It happens.  I may have been sampling eggnog in preparation for the party we are not having next weekend.

I did want to talk about the real George Bailey in my life.  Someone who continually puts other people first, who is kind, considerate and thoughtful.  Someone whose love language is giving people gifts, and also helping people.  My son Paul is certainly the George Bailey in my circle.  2020 has been, well it has been 2020 for everyone.  Yet, somehow, in the midst of everything, my oldest son has been in the process of growing up. As is typical of Paul, he has done it quietly, without too much fuss or drama.  He works hard at his job.  I joke that when he started at Lowe’s they asked him what department he wanted to work in, and he said he had been working at ace hardware for 2 years and knew a great deal about hardware and tools.  They told him that was great, and they assigned him to electrical.  I joke, but it is true.  His first week in electrical someone told him if he makes a mistake, someone will probably get electrocuted and die.  So he has been learning about all things electrical, via youtube videos, and books, and asking questions.  I am really proud of him.

When he isn’t at work, he’s assumed a great deal of responsibility at home, after the recent ice storm took down the tree that hangs over our driveway, he and his buddy Chris used a chainsaw and a tree saw and took down all the branches and piled them up in the yard.  He did this voluntarily, without anyone asking or even saying anything about it.  He said, “I live here, I don’t mind helping out. Besides what would it look like if my Mama and Papa were out there with a chainsaw?”

In addition to being responsible at home, he looks out for his grandparents.  He replaces their air filters regularly, and changes light bulbs for them, and a few months ago he replaced their dishwasher, because the one they had was 15 years old.  He got a great deal on a display model and then he and a buddy installed it.  When they thanked him, he said it wasn’t that big of a deal.  He paid for a dishwasher out of his own money and then said “It was no big deal.”

A friend posted on facebook this weekend that there is nothing better than when someone brings you a warm blanket when you are drifting off to sleep.  It reminded me of the years that as a father I would check the boys and make sure they were covered up and resting peacefully before they went to bed.  I don’t get that chance much anymore because the boys are usually not asleep when I am ready for bed, if they are even home.  Paul is a restless sleeper, he always has been, when he was a little guy we would often find that he had moved to a different bed, or a different room in the night while others slept.  Paul still wakes up in the night and roams the house, and more than once I have caught him taking Matthew’s glasses off his sleeping face, adding a blanket to a sleeping Markese, refreshing the cat’s water bowl, generally quietly going through the house checking on the people he cares about.

I had asked him about this in the past, and he swears he learned it from my Dad.  He says whenever we go and visit, in the night grandpa Jerry walks through the house and checks on everyone before he goes to bed.  I have to admit it is true, and that it is not a bad example for him to follow. I mean you could do worse if you're looking for a role model. 

My other boys are growing up too.  Sometimes it is a loud, uncomfortable process, or one that generates lots of attention. Tonight I want to celebrate the boy who is growing up quietly, in the background, without lots of attention, and doing it in a way that makes me so very proud.

stardate 12.11.2020

Today's entry is from my youngest sister Juliet Kinkade Black. She is 10 years younger than I am and so much wiser than I am. I love her to pieces. She is also very good at picking wives. She chose Rebecca Kinkade Black and based on that she has a 100% success rate. She also opted not to write about why I am the best brother. Go figure. This is her take on 2020.

2020 has been a dark year. Because of the global pandemic that continues to howl outside the doors to our homes, we have been separated from our friends, our families, our loved ones. While this virus rages, we continue to fight other battles, as well, battles with family illness, death, poverty, wide-scale racism, and a general unrest. In my daily work as a marriage and family therapist and the director of a children’s advocacy center, I see the scars from these battles every day.

Because of all this darkness, the December holidays are more important to me than in years past. Christmas is a time to celebrate new birth, hope, joy, and love; and the star that led the wise men to a stable in Bethlehem to meet the Lamb of God is, for me, a symbol of hope in all the darkness.

Hanukkah, similarly, is a celebration of the miracle of the light in the darkness. After a clan of Jewish freedom fighters won a battle to recapture the Holy Temple, they found a lantern inside the temple with oil enough for only one night, yet it shone brightly for eight. That light shining in the darkness is, for me, a call for hope in miracles, for renewal and rededication to fight for what’s right, to choose joy.

This year I have found a new tool to help me look toward the light in the darkness: the Nurtured Heart Approach. It is a way of being that invites each of us to identify our own intensities as our greatest qualities and strengths. As I have held Zoom trainings with therapists, parents, teachers, and community members, I have talked with them about how normal and familiar it is for us to focus on the darkness, on the pandemic, the racism, the loss we have all experienced this year; and how much of a miracle it is to be able to see the light in the darkness, to hold out hope for miracles, and in fact, to see miracles occurring in the small molecules of what is going right in the moment.

So here is my list of miracles in the molecules. I hope you will add some of your own miracles to this list, so that we all shine our lights in the darkness this holiday season.

My wife loves me more than anyone has ever been loved before

my wife and I get to work together from home every day (because of the pandemic-related shut down)

There is an abundance of Christmas movies to watch

The local radio station has been playing Christmas music since July

It snowed in October, and we’ve had a few snows since then, and every time, the world is filled with magic

My sister sent us gluten-free flour so my gluten-intolerant wife can eat Christmas cookies this year

My dad continues to recover from heart surgery and is making great, steady progress

Authors continue to write amazing books, artists continue to create beautiful art, and creators all over the world are inspired to bring their own light into the darkness

stardate 12.10.2020

This year I asked all 3 of my siblings, my fake sis, and my sister in law to write blog entries for me.  You have already seen the contributions from Jen Owens Hill and Rebecca Kinkade Black.  Juliet Kinkade Black has a big conference coming up and once that is over she’ll be sending me something toot suite.  Ben hasn’t committed yet, but I am ever hopeful.  Which leaves Jennifer.  I gave them all the option of writing about why I am the best brother ever, but oddly no one seemed interested. Go figure.  I am sure it is because they don’t want to hurt Ben’s feelings, 

So, although Jenni passed on the opportunity to write about me, I do have these amazing pictures from her bakery.  Keep in mind, this is a gluten free bakery, there is no gluten in any of these things. None.  not even a tiny bit to make it act more like regular baked goods.  So you know, safe for people with issues, and super cute and festive.  Bonus pick is the penguin cookie, because maybe just maybe someone has a nephew who does love penguins. So, happy ho ho ho to you.

stardate 12.9.2020

I have mentioned my sister Jennifer often this year.  Today’s entry is not about her, or by her.  It was written by my fake sister Jennifer Owens Hill.  How does one acquire a fake sister?  The long version involves OBU in the early 90’s, a green velour dress, torrential rain, my infamous stage performance as a liar and a slave, an mistyped offer of couscous salad… but somethings should remain shrouded in mystery.  The short version is that both Ms. Owens Hill and my sister Jennifer were saved in my phone under their first names and for a long season I had the annoying habit of texting questions intended for Jennifer Kinkade to Ms. Owens Hill.  Hilarity ensued.  This is when we started referring to her as my fake sis Jen.  Those OBU connections run deep, y’all.  So here she is, my fake sis Jen Owens Hill

Last Christmas, With Apologies To George Michael or Eat Every Happy Meal Like It's Your Last

McDonald’s made waves a few weeks ago with this tweet

It put a lot of parents in their feelings, and I can’t help but wonder if their timing was intentional. With the Holidays come so many expectations of practices and traditions that many times we don’t even realize we needed. For example, I knew there’d be a year that my son no longer pronounced “Christmas” like “Grimace”. Like, if pressed I’d probably tell you that I didn’t want him to always say it that way. When my son serves as President of the United States, I don’t want him to wish our nation a “Merry Grimace”, it doesn’t inspire the trust we need in a leader. Nevertheless, the first year that he properly articulated the word, it stung a little. 

I have no idea when we experienced the last Christmas season when we could find plum baby food in the stores, and this doesn’t seem like a big thing until you put together that it’s the main ingredient in a beloved family recipe for red plum bread. Red plum bread is truly one of those “if you know, you know” treats. I’m actually salivating a little thinking of it now. It’s sweet but tangy, and probably a relative of a British Christmas Pudding. If you’re reading this, Gerber, I’ll forgive every cross word I’ve said about you for one case of plum baby food.

Someday, we’ll have our last year with our son believing in many of our magical experiences. I’ll miss the foothold this magic has on his day to day behavior, I’ll miss those joyous squeals on Christmas morning, but I most assuredly will NOT miss waking up at 3 am in a sweat realizing that I’d forgotten to move the Elf.

Maybe your “last Christmas” is something joyous, like the last Christmas we were a family of whatever number you were before you added a longed for baby to your family. Maybe it’s the last Christmas that your beloved decorates the outside of your house with the really old wreath whose lights are half gone and don’t match the rest of the house (This may or may not be an actual thing. We may or may not have a new wreath debuting outside our house at sundown tonight). For me, the last Christmas I felt bound to wrap every gift in a box with actual wrapping paper and intricate bows is joyful. I embraced a few gift bags into the mix and I’m pretty sure someday I’ll do something wonderful for all of society with the wrapping time I’ve saved.

The holidays point us to think of the BIG lasts; the last Christmas in a family home, the last Holiday season with a relative living. We’re conditioned to embrace those. But I’d encourage you to think this year on the little things you cherish and lean into those experiences. You never know when your last Happy Meal will happen.

Merry Grimace, y’all.

stardate 12.8.2020

 

Textiles are the story of my life.

This might not exactly be true, but it isn’t untrue either.  I saw this tag line on a linkedin post by Karin Hazelkorn a while back.  I knew Karin growing up in Tucson.  She was a friend of Sara Van Slyke and then a friend of my mom’s.  She was, and is, a beautiful, warm, witty, smart woman with gorgeous red hair.  If I am honest, she is probably my first red headed crush, right before Amy Irving in Yentl. In fact, I think I saw Yentl with my mom and Karin when I was 13.  That was the day my mom predicted that I would marry a red headed woman.  She wasn’t wrong.

I have fallen out of touch with Karin in recent years, well since the early 90’s really.  A few years back I came across her name on linkedin, and sent a friend request or whatever you call it.  She sent me a lovely email right away and I had full intentions of answering back… But I never did.  

Yet here we are.  Her post about textiles was about the 1997 NCAA basketball championship and the UofA Wildcats, and her specific memories of that series while she was in Istanbul, and a championship t-shirt that she keeps in her mom’s hope chest.  It is a great story and it is well told.

In this season of sharing I would like to tell my own textile tale.  In a better world I would say that the beloved sweater my Matthew is pictured wearing is kept in a special hope chest somewhere but the truth is that it is most likely in a large rubbermaid tub in my in-laws garage, along with sweatshirts and t-shirts from the 80s and 90’s.

What is special about this sweater? It is one of the Colors of Benetton sweaters. My sister Jeni bought this for me for christmas, prior to the Cosby-sweater craziness and amidst the initial “controversial advertising” scandals.  I loved it. I wore it often,  Not too often initially because this was when I owned 35 sweaters and would not duplicate them until I had worn all the others.  Even so it was a favorite.  Long after the other sweaters were gone I’d pull this out and wear it.  It reminds me of being 19 and having little in my life that was more important than the clothes I wore and that I was not dressed like everyone else.  It reminds me of Benetton cologne although I know I would never have worn the cologne and the sweater on the same days, because that was too matchy matchy.  It reminds me of the early years I was married, because that house wasn’t the warmest in winter.  It reminds me of my job at the call center.  I put it away not long after that.  Along with the kid that I was.  I was growing up, and out of the sweater.

When my Paul was 10 I pulled it out of storage and he wore it occasionally on Sundays with an orange polo shirt and khaki cargo pants. I wish I had thought to take a picture but I didn’t.  He didn’t wear it very long, preferring baggy sweatshirts and hoodies.  So it went back in storage until a 14 year old Matthew pulled it out of storage, looking for something else. He wore it several times at the house because it was comfortable and cozy.  I don’t know that he wore it out of the house, but I know he has acquired my Benetton cologne and wears that occasionally.

This year my Matthew is 19.  Like I did, he left home, but instead of heading off to college, he is in Tucson Arizona, where I grew up, living with my sister Jen and working at Dedicated, her gluten free bakery.  To say that I am proud of him falls short of expressing how very proud of him that I am.  He is 19 and working at a level that grown adults aspire to. The Blue Willow restaurant liked a picture on the bakery’s instagram account of the thankful sammy, a turkey, dressing, cranberry and gravy sandwich that my Matthew created for Dedicated.  If you are not from Tucson that might not mean anything to you, but Jenni and I about fell out.  

I’d like to say that my Matthew took my sweater with him, but I know he didn’t.  He did take 41 t-shirts and I encouraged him to rotate through them to figure out which ones were his favorites, if only so he can winnow out some of them in the future.  I would also like to say his biggest concern in life is this t-shirt issue and a dad that won't stop texting him, but 2020 is not 1989.  I know he is growing up and becoming who he is going to be.  I’m sad to see him putting away the boy, but I am also excited about the man he is becoming.