2017.16 Say their names

So here it is the 22nd of December. I am on day what? 16.  So a week behind. But I am not not giving up yet.

Today is Jay Kopp’s Bday.  He would be 39 if he had not ended his life last December. I know many of his friends gathered a few weeks back on the anniversary of that day to honor and remember him.  I remember Jay all the time, but I could not bring myself to celebrate that day.

This brings us here.  Around Thanksgiving my friend Jennifer Owen Hill shared this saying on FB about three deaths, and the final death is when a person’s name is spoken for the last time.  I think about that. Often. 

When I decorated for the party last year, I put out ‘reserved’ cards for those that I had lost in the months leading up the party as a way to honor them and remember them and to say that even without their physical presence, I have not forgotten them. 

This year’s decorations included picture frames.  Initially I had planned to put pictures of the many guests and loved ones who once attended our party, (or intended to) and are no longer with us.  As I ran out of time I came up with this alternative.  I actually liked it better than I had planned. 

It hurts that there are so many people who we loved and who are gone.  It hurts that unfortunately the list can only get longer the longer we have the party.  It hurts, but I do not want to be the one who says these names for the last time, so I am saying them and I plan to continue saying them.

Jane Rogers Meeks

 Jay Kopp

Chris Young

Jan Kinkade

Mike Sutton

Stephanie Dunaway Forrest

Amanda Rohn

Ann Hankins

Geraldine Black

2017.8 Wassail to You!

Like many churches, our church has a traditional Christmas eve service, and we also a time before the service affectionately called a ‘Christmas sampler’ where church members bring cookies or candies from home to share and the church provides coffee and warm wassail (pay attention that is important).  

Now the very first time we visited the church it was Easter, but the second time we visited, with Kathleen’s parents, was Christmas eve. As is my habit I carefully selected festive attire for both boys.  If I remember correctly Matthew was 3 and Paul was 6 and Matthew wore navy blue pants with an oxford blue dress shirt and a blue and green sweater vest, (the pants and shirt were the ones Paul wore to my sister Jennifer’s wedding weekend, the sweater vest was a Christmas concession).  Paul wore black cargo pants, and an oxford blue dress shirt with an orange and navy blue sweater, (hand-me-down pre-loved from his cousin Baby Scott). 

Cute Picture but not of the years I mentioned.

Now all this fashion talk aside, we were there maybe 15 minute, Matthew had 2 cookies, and then spilled the hot wassail on his lap.  I quickly got him in the bathroom, out of the pants and got cool water on it to prevent a burn, and once we knew he was ok, I bundled him up, pants less in my coat and took him home and changed his clothes.  This time he wore navy corduroy pants and a red turtleneck.  We made it back just in time for the church service.

By the following year we were attending regularly, and looking forward to Christmas eve, and Matthew was looking forward to the Christmas cookies he felt he had missed out on because of the whole hot wassail accident. Christmas Eve came, and again, as is my nature I dressed the boys festively.  Matthew wore green slacks, a green shirt and a blue cardigan sweater vest (that he did not like, but that Paul had loved when it fit him).  There was some good natured joking that I should pack a change of clothes for Matthew, ha-ha. But surely he wouldn’t make the same blunder two years in a row?

Nope, 15 minutes in, one cookie eaten and then a lapful of hot wassail.

I asked my Matthew about this last night, and he had this to add—According to him, anyone who has ever been to our church on a Christmas eve knows, it is not Christmas if you do not have a blistered and burned mouth and throat from wassail that is way hotter that it has any right to be.  Who needs to drink something that hot?  Coffee is not that hot, Tea is not that hot.  Why does wassail have to be served at a temperature hotter than the surface of the sun? No one knows.  But it always is.

Matthew said the reason he spilled both years is the same.  He ate a cookie, took a sip of hot wassail and then, “OH NO! FIRE! FIRE IN MY MOUTH!!! AHHH!!! SO HOT! PANIC!” followed by the loss of control in his hands and feet, causing him to stumble and let go of his cup of lava. Then “Wait, What? NO NO NO! MY PANTS ARE ON FIRE! MY LEG! MY LEG! ITS BURNING! I HAVE HOT WASSAIL LAVA ON MY SKIN!!!!!”

His version of the memory had me crying, literal tears of laughter. You know what they say, from the mouth of babes…

***disclaimer, this post in no way is meant as a slight to David Swenson, the former church chef who is rightly adored, or a slight to his loyal volunteers, it is just some serious hot wassail is all. 

2017.6 Jolabokaflod

Apparently in Iceland there is a Christmas tradition of gifting loved ones with books on Christmas eve, then everyone goes to bed and reads and snacks on chocolate. I freaking love this!  Just imagine snuggling in and getting to read until you fall asleep, instead of late night gift wrapping and stocking stuffing and getting ready for tommorrowing?

So from what I have read the tradition goes back to post WW2 when paper was cheap so publishers would flood the market with books right before Christmas. Now, I am certain that giving books is not unique to Iceland, the part where you get to spend the rest of the evening reading them is priceless.  No wonder 1 in 10 Icelanders will publish a book in their lifetime. 

Now, I have never been to Iceland, and this certainly isn’t my tradition, although you never know… It does remind me of the first year Kat and I were married.  I was still in college, and Kat had just graduated.  I don’t remember everything she bought for me, but I do recall that she purchased me several books, and I gave her several in return.  One night, over Christmas break, we had gone to bed early, mostly because it was cold and we had an electric blanket and no central heating.  Around midnight I rolled over and discovered Kat was awake too.  I don’t know whose suggestion it was, but I do know we spent the next couple of hours reading our books and snacking on leftover lemon cake that Elizabeth Norman had made.  That may not be how it is supposed to work, but I certainly remember that evening and that experience and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

So if you are a reading type, and you should be, and I guess even if you are not a reading type, but you are looking for a good gift, I am going to put it out there that books are amazing gifts.  I was going to put a plug here for Fawkes Press books, aka my side hustle, but just figured out the website is undergoing some technical difficulties. So Yeah! Books!  Boo Hiss Technology

2017.3 Geraldine

Today marks a year since my sister-in-law's sister Geraldine Black died, completely unexpectedly.  If you don't know how awful that was or how it impacted me, and my family, feel free to read last years blog entries.  In honor of this sad anniversary, my sister-in-law Rebecca Kinkade-Black wrote today's blog entry.  It is perfect.

If I were to make a “Best of Christmas” reel almost all of those memories would include my sister. My sister loved Christmas. I think she loved it because it is a time of generosity and giving, which embodies the type of person she was every single day of her life. Also, my sister loved her some bling.  

I remember some of my earliest memories of my sister showing me how to decorate the tree. She was always patient, but very detail oriented. I wanted to speed through the process to see the final product, but not my sister. She showed me how to evenly distribute the lights and how to drape the tinsel in small quantities so the tree would sparkle. The tinseling process took a lot of time with her method, but she relished in the process and the final product was always magnificent.

My sister especially loved to play Santa at Christmas dinner. Every year all of my maternal grandparents’ children and their children would come together to eat and open gifts on Christmas day. My sister would don the requisite Santa hat and hand out the gifts from under the tree. Sometimes there would be hundreds, but she was jovial all the way to the last one.

After presents were opened, we would play bingo for prizes, and my sister kept everyone laughing with her jokes and razzing. Seriously, every time she entered a room the noise level jumped and she would make someone laugh within the first 30 seconds of her arrival. She also made everyone angry during the Bingo segment because she would go home with half the prizes because she was so lucky at the game.

Back to the topic of Santa, she wasn’t only Santa handing out gifts she was also my Santa. Unknown to me, until I was about 9, my sister was the one who stuffed my stocking with goodies and gifts to be found Christmas morning. I still remember finding out my sister was Santa. One night, when I was about 9, I heard my parents call my sister, after I had gone to bed, to ask if she was going to bring the items to stuff my stocking. I never revealed to her I knew her secret identity and she continued to fill my stockings every year unabated until I was about 23. In fact, when I met Juliet and she moved in with us, my sister filled her stocking too. All my best presents came from her and my most treasured is a stuffed animal I named Sprinkles. I got him when I was five and we have been inseparable since. I hug him now and think of my sister and the greatness of her love for me.

 As we close in on the one year mark of my sister’s passing I think of what a gift it was to have her as my big sister and I feel gratitude for having her in my life for 34 years more than most people got with her. Though she is physically gone from this earth her spirit of generosity, selflessness, kindness, humor and all around wonderfulness reverberates through all the people she touched from acquaintances, to friends and family. The sentiment I heard most in those first awful days last year was she never met a stranger and she treated everyone like her best friend. She was my best friend, my protector, my constant. The void left by her passing is huge, but that void is continually being filled little by little when people share the ways she touched their lives. As long as memories of her live so will my sister. 

Day Eighteen 2016

For a minute there I had a plan, 2 blog entries a day till Christmas and I was all caught up, but then we got home late last night and I fell asleep instead of blogging.  Oh well, what are you going to do?  I think I have said it before, I was better at this when I could blog at work.

So what makes  me merry?  What little joy am I holding on to today?  Yesterday was Jay’s birthday.  

Yes I know, two of my three Jay’s have December birthdays. It’s a little odd.  So yesterday people were posting on his facebook about his first birthday in heaven and having a party up there with the angels. 

I can’t, you know?  I mean, I am ok with people having their own beliefs, but the image of Jay tying one on up in heaven seems pretty incongruous.

Then I opened up instagram and there were pictures of Jay’s son and step daughter decorating the house with their mom.  Just trimming the tree in a normal way, together, as a family. That made me smile.  Not that they were ignoring their loss or anything like that, but just that, for a few minutes, or an hour, they had some joy.

*** 2 things.  First I wrote this last night, and thought I had posted it, but it appears I did not. And secondly, I am not cyber stalking Jay’s family, even though it seems like it.  

The Christmas Without Any Toys

My friend Candy from college, (not to be confused with my former co-worker with the same name, or Kami, who I also know from college who shares Candy’s face), posted on FB today that she had a moment while shopping for gifts when she realized that toys were no longer on her children’s wish list.  I am not exactly sure how this can be, since her kids are younger than mine.  Well, at least some of her kids are younger than mine.  I am pretty sure she has like 15 kids.  She says she has 5, or maybe 6.  I think she is unclear herself because with that many, who can keep up?

In any case, no more toys for her boys.  My first reaction was to comment that I still get legos for my Paul, and star wars action figures for my Matthew every year because that is what they want.  Then I got to thinking. . . I haven’t asked them in a while.  I assume that is what they want, but I guess I could be wrong. . . Crap!

So I asked tonight. My Matthew wanted to know why I was asking.  Was this a test?  Who was going to get this information and what were they planning on doing with it.  Then he admitted that he still likes to get those, but he doesn’t want it advertised.  Then at the store he showed me his new hobby which is model cars.  A new hobby much more expensive than action figures.

I asked my Paul and he also wanted to know why.  So I explained that my friend Candy’s boys no longer asked for toys for Christmas.  Paul said, “Well it happens.”  Then he wanted to know how many boys.  I told him 5, maybe 6.  Matthew interjected “it must suck to be her.”  My Paul thought that was offensive because Mama has to put up with 3 boys and it doesn’t suck for her.  Matthew said he was pretty sure that this Candy lady, whoever she was, didn’t have kids as great as he and Paul.

I interrupted and said I was sure that Candy thought her kids were the best and that was all that truly mattered, and that I am pretty sure her kids are much more humble than at least one of mine.  Then I repeated the question.  Paul never really said yes he wants legos.  He said they are good gifts, and that he still enjoys making things with legos.  He also said he likes books, and choosing his own books.  He mentioned that I owe him a video game, and that he has several in mind he would enjoy.  After a few minutes of reflection he suggested it might be best if he gave me a list.

While Candy is missing a time when her boys wanted toys for Christmas, I am missing a time when my boys didn’t speak.

Christmas in Eleven

Train sets

I know many people set up a train under their Christmas tree. I am not sure where this tradition started. I know that in my family I got my electric train set under the Christmas tree when I was in the first grade. It was the same year as the mutant Christmas tree.

I played with the train for several years and then when I was done; my mom put it away for me. In 1995 she sent it home with Kathleen and me. It no longer worked, and I thought someday I would figure out how to fix it. I did make a few attempts but was unsuccessfully.

In 2009 I was heading home from the office in Oklahoma City and drove past Whistle Stop Trains. Who knew OKC had a year round model train store and actually hosts a yearly model train convention? I stopped in and talked with the guys there, (sort of like talking with the guys in a comic book store). As it turns out, fixing toy trains sets is not that big a deal.

A week later I took the train set up there. I was a little embarrassed when the guys went on and on about how they had never seen a set that old that was in this great of shape. I choose to ignore the fact that it really seemed like they were calling me old. As it turns out I was just missing that you need to attach the worse to the track to get the train running. All in all it only set me back $7.50
That year when we set up the mini trees in the office I made a table from two trunks and big piece of plywood. It didn’t take very long to get the boys interested in getting up the train up and running. More than once that December I found Matthew curled up on the couch in the office watching the train go round and round with all the lights off except the Christmas tree lights.

Day 16

I asked for suggestions of things to write about. It seems many of you are very interested in reading about my leather pants. I am not sure what to think about that. I am not opposed to writing about the pants but I am not so sure it would be entertaining or interesting, or particularly festive. I will think on it. In the meantime let’s revisit the dream of a white Christmas.

When I was in Denver the first week after thanksgiving there was snow, on the ground and in the air. It was lovely, and as I may have mentioned, it certainly made the city look all Christmassy. Since I have been back in OKC it has been cold, but not cold enough for snow, and there hasn’t been any precipitation. The weather persons have said repeatedly that OKC’s chances of a white Christmas are slim.

Paul is disappointed by that news. He says it is supposed to snow on Christmas Eve. It certainly did last year. Plus he has his story about the snow ice cream he and Matthew made. He says they put out a bowl, waited 15 minutes then brought it in and added sugar then gobbled it up. He said that was the best Christmas Eve dessert ever. I suggested he not tell his mother that, as she is in the height of her fudge making and might not appreciate that assessment.

Matthew has been thoughtful on the whole white Christmas issue this year. Yesterday he said he only wants it to snow if he is with Mama. He says only someone slow to learn would want to have a white Christmas unless you were sure your Mama would be at home with you and not stuck up at work far away from your family. In case you are not aware, ‘slow to learn’ is Matthew’s latest euphemism for stupid. A euphemism according to Matthew is a word of phrase that you can say and not get in trouble for.

Rosemead Christmas

As I am sitting in the Denver Airport waiting to board my flight home to Oklahoma City I am reminded of the very first time I ever flew on a plane when I was in the third grade. We were living in Tucson Arizona with my mom. For Christmas Jenni and I flew to LAX, all by ourselves, to spend Christmas with my Dad, Rebecca and her whole family. I am sure that we must have spent time with the Kinkade family in CA, but I don’t remember that. What I remember, what stands out most about that year, was the Casares Christmas in the house on Guess Street in Rosemead.

I think that may have been one of Grampa Roy’s last Christmases, or maybe everyone always showed up for Christmas? All the cousins were there, Amber, Anna, Diana, little Mike, Laura and even Uncle Rick’s girlfriend (ex-wife?) was there with baby Jeremy. I think Uncle Roy was working for a radio station at that time, because all the kids got ball caps with the radio call sign on them. Rebecca had waited until we were there to do the Christmas shopping for the cousins, (what was she thinking?), so we went with her to the mall. Jenni and I paid careful attention as Dad and Rebecca made their purchases.

As soon as we got back to the Rosemead house the very first thing we did was blurt out what everyone was getting for Christmas. DOH! I can’t imagine that anyone was too pleased. When we opened presents Christmas day I was surprised as everyone else that ‘Santa’ had given what I thought was little Mike’s gift to Diana, Amber’s gift to Anna, Laura’s gift to little Mike, etc. Someone got a set of jacks, and Rebecca and Aunt Nancy showed us kids how it was done. I had never seen adults play jacks before, but they had some serious skills.

After presents there was an amazing Christmas meal. Gramma Lucy had made a ham and all the fixing, plus red chile, rice and beans. A first for me. I’d like to say I loved the red chile, but I did not have the taste for spicy foods as a child that my boys do now. Other things I remember, endless games of tag (man could Diana run FAST), and hide & seek (NOT IN THE HOUSE), and in general the kind of family fun Christmas you would want for a child to experience.

Day Twenty-one

I didn’t forget! Not really. Day 21 is a Monday, my first day back at work after a week off getting ready for our Christmas party. To say there was a pile of work waiting for me is somewhat of an understatement. I thought, “I will post something on the blog as soon as I get to work”, but 335 email and 286 elync (which are internal emails from employees) kind of sort of got in the way. I am telling myself that they were all wishing me a happy holiday, but that may be self delusion.

Tonight we went to dinner with another family that has children roughly the same ages as our boys. The conversation turned to the idea that gratitude is not always a trait that is inborn in our children. My friend disclosed, on the condition that I protect her identity, that she has practice sessions with her son. “What do we say when we already have the thing you get as a gift?” “Thank You!” “What do we say if you do not like the item you get as a gift?” “Thank you VERY much!” Her family might be reading this so that is why she needed the anonymity.

Which reminds me that when I was a child, maybe about 8 or 9 my Mom had given me a heads up that her boyfriend would be giving me a Christmas gift that year and that he did not have children of his own, and was not used to being around children, so the gift might not be something that I want, but nevertheless I was to say thank you. When I opened the gift I ecstatically proclaimed, “I LOVE IT! This is Just EXACTLY what I always wanted! What is it?”

For years after every Christmas my Mom loved to tell that story and would open a present from me and say “ohhh I love it, what is it?”

Party Day!

Today is the day of our big Christmas Party. I was going to tell the story about the one time a guest brought something to the party that well, but then Kat said I should save that story until AFTER the party otherwise someone might take it as a challenge, or worse. So I am refraining.

Last night at dinner I asked both the boys what their favorite Christmas memories were. Matthew said his was the year he went to sleep and everyone stayed up watching movies, and then woke up at 1am and watched Unaccompanied Minors. (SEE? I told you!)

Paul said his favorite Christmas memory is the year he got a remote control puppy. I think that was in 2001. Paul’s uncle Clyde and aunt Christie had purchased a remote control puppy for hi, This was an old school version where there was a cord connecting the puppy to the controller. Paul really enjoyed paying with it on the hardwood floors of the hose we were living in. HE must have played with it every day for a week.

Eventually the batteries ran out and it stopped working. I told him to put it up and I would get him new batteries. Instead he took it to his room and used scissors to cut the cord off from the puppy and off of the remove. Then he very carefully cut the cord into one inch pieces. He was pretty pleased with himself when he showed me what he had done. He figured when we got the battery the puppy would be a radio controlled puppy. He was quite disappointed when we finally made him understand that it was not going to work like that and that his puppy was never going to work again.

I asked Paul what that memory taught him. I was hoping for some childlike insight into consequences of his actions. Instead I got “remote control puppies with a wire are hard to find in a toy store when you messed up the one you were given and want to get a new one” Not what I was looking for, but insightful nonetheless.