Here's what I can do with tinsel and lights

Close up of my sons' nativity

This entry is more of a photo album rather than a typical blog.  I thought I would take pictures of my house decorated for Christmas and share them here.  I can give much better descriptions here than an album on social media.  First, let me say I am not an opulent decorator.  I have visions of thick garlands of fresh greenery draped in graceful swags down my banister and in my window sills.  I imagine the front of my house dripping in twinkle lights leading all the way up and back down our curved driveway.  The perfect décor would include wreaths with festive bows for each of the eight windows of the front of my house.  Well, the thing is decorations such as these require cash and this time of year I need that cash to flow into other more important things, like ingredients for fudge. So instead I just go with what I have.  I have a mish-mash of things collected over the years plus sentimental pieces that I want to see each year.  That being said, come on a short tour of my home and see my Christmas decorations the way they are, not the romantic way I imagine them to be.

Come on in.  First stop is the wreath on the front door; just one small wreath not eight with bows.  I wrapped the wreath with a strand of battery-operated lights that are still using the same batteries from last year.  They are dim, but I refuse to change them until they die completely. Battery money equals a bag of chocolate chips.

The past few years I've put out two small lighted trees on each side of the door but they always blow over in the wind.  This year I opted for something a little different.  An umbrella holder with twigs, red tinsel garland and pink lights take the places of the little trees.  I like it.  It reminds me of embers in a fireplace.

I put my main Christmas tree in my foyer.  I like the way it looks at night when I'm outside looking in.  I always judge Christmas decorations on how they look from the outside.  There is nothing sentimental about this tree.  I just like the colors so I load them on.

Too many glass ornaments?  Baskets can be good, especially one that looks like a golden reindeer.

I never have a consistent theme to my decorating.  My artist cousin would not be pleased.  The theme of inconsistency goes back again to cash flow.  Keep this in mind as you look at how I decorated the top of my piano.  All that really matters to me are the lights, even that lone pink one.  I made the ceramic nativity the center because my niece gave it to me because she knew I wanted it.  That's the best kind of present, having someone pay attention.  The forest is for my cat.  She likes to sleep in it.

Here's a view of the whole room from the other angle.

I've collected a lot of little things over the years.  This seemed to be the best place to display some of them.  This is also the home of my internet connection, so just pretend the blue and green blinking lights are there on purpose.

Looking into the dining room, my favorite room in my house.

It is in here I display my children's nativity set.  Their Aunt R started it for them when my oldest was born.  This is twenty years worth of pieces.  I was going to put it on the piano this year but my cat gave me an ugly look when she tried to snuggle in it.  She missed her trees.  So I moved it back to the top of my china cabinet; it's really the ideal place.  I know there wasn't gold star-studded garland and twinkle lights in Bethlehem two thousand years ago, but it does exist in 2013 and I have proof of it.  Lots of proof.

How about this glass bottle full of lights?  Good idea, yes?  It's plugged into the other lights on top of the cabinet so one switch is all I need to flip for glowing goodness.

My latest happy is color changing lights.  I love the way they turn from green to red to pink to gold to blue, and on and on.  The star in this frame is the star my parents had on their tree every year.  It was a wedding present, I think.  I remember when I was little I couldn't wait for Daddy to set it on top of the tree. He made it feel so important.

During the wintertime my dining room light fixture becomes a crystal chandelier.  I'll take them down before Easter.

Another relic from my childhood Christmas is this nativity set.  It always sat under our Christmas tree with a light bulb stuck through the back to light it.  It is getting so fragile now I am afraid to move it too many times. 

My mother gave me the snow-globe nativity many years ago.  I never pack it away, but during Christmas I bring it out front and center.  It's one of my favorite pieces.

Here are some angels because what is Christmas without angels?

Moving into the kitchen now, but first a quick stop in the butler's pantry.  We don't have a butler, but if we did we would keep him in here and he would keep all his butler stuff in the cabinetry.  But since we don't have a butler I change out the trinkets on the counter top to reflect the season.  It's also a good place to stuff junk when I'm trying to clean up.  I cleared it of junk in the spirit of the season and made it look like something a butler would enjoy.

Now for the kitchen.  A few years ago I decided to start a tree in here.  This year I got a white tree and wondered why I've never had a white tree before now.  It is truly glorious.  It is the sentimental tree of the house.  It is loaded with the ornaments I've given my children each year.  My oldest has 20 on it and my youngest has 16.  It also has some of the ones they made in elementary school and ones given to them by others.  I added extra things to make it look full and more colorful.  I am very happy with it.

My kitchen windowsill is another place to display those little things I've collected over the years and given to me as happys.  The Santa candleholders were in a box of miscellaneous junk I won at an auction.  They were the best treasure in the box.  Let's not talk about how much they ended up costing.  Auctions are dangerous places.  Fevers spread at them, or so I've heard.

I got the little guy on the end this year.  He said, "buy me."  I swear.  He guards the money my mother leaves me.  The same artist designed the box with the wise men.  No, they don't come out of the box (they got no legs, shhh).

This is one of my favorites, a gift from my father-in-law and his wife.  There are six of them and a golden egg.  Get it?

I found this chair in my Daddy's childhood home.  It's handmade and rickety.  I brought it home and put it in my son's nursery when he was a baby.  It sat under a limb covered with twinkle lights.  I told him it was Grandpa's chair and he could come and sit in it and watch over him.  He was just a baby, he wasn't scared.  Now Grandpa's chair is in my kitchen so he always has a special place to sit, that is if he can get the cat to move.  Santa, a gift from my oldest friend and traveling partner is sitting on it now.  Instead of twinkle lights on a limb I have twinkle lights in a glass bottle.  I'm telling you, put some lights in a bottle and you will be happy for days.

When my children were little my mother-in-law gave me this cookie jar with a book about this particular Santa.  It's great, and he comes out every year.  I don't know where the book is, but hopefully it is safe on my son's bookshelf.  I'm afraid to look, so I'm going to say, yes, it is.

Last but not nearly least are our stockings; one for each of us.  My sister, the middle child, made one for my husband and me for our wedding.  Then she made one for each child when they were born.  She's made them for all of the nieces and nephews and now her newborn grandson has one too.  She's just good like that.  I don't have a fireplace so I have to hang them off of the stairs.  Notice the garland on the banister?  Right, there is none.  Instead I put a cool stand of lights and shiny things in the corner.  Lights, lights, and more lights.  They make me happy.


Well, that's all there is this year.  I had dreams of wrapping trees out back with lights so I could see them from my kitchen, but that didn't happen.  Even though my decorations are a jumbled patchwork goulash (Thesaurus words) I like it.  My house feels homey and warm, a place to welcome friends and family.  I hope you've enjoyed it, too.  Merry Christmas!

A little flicker of light can heat like a bonfire

This morning was one of those days I just couldn’t get started.  My son had to use my shower because of a problem with his which put me behind in my own schedule.  Instead of doing something useful I used that time lying in bed for a few extra minutes which made me even groggier.  After that I had a hard time kicking it in gear.  Since I was running late anyway I decided I would stop by Hattiesburg Clinic on my way to work and get my quarterly blood test I have been putting off for two months (read: lost the order and finally found it last night).  

As I was getting out of my car at the clinic one of those ill feelings came over me.  The kind of feeling that convinces you that you are coming down with a dreaded illness.  My joints ached, my head hurt, and I felt generally exhausted.  Sitting in the waiting room I tried to convince myself to just go home and go back to bed; forget work.  I delved into a game crushing candy and didn’t pay attention to anyone around me until  I heard a lab tech call a name.  It wasn’t my name but I looked up anyway just in time to see a woman who had been sitting right next to me in an electric wheelchair whirl the chair around and follow the tech to the back.  A few seconds later another tech called my name.  When I walked into the lab the woman in the wheelchair looked up at me and smiled and waved.  I turned to look behind me to see who she was waving at because surely it was not me.  Well, I guess it was me.

I watched her interact with her tech and wondered why she was in a wheelchair.  She seemed around my age or a little younger and other than being in the chair she looked healthy.  It was when she spoke I guessed maybe she had had a stroke.  Her voice was clear and succinct, but she halted between each word as if she had to think about every syllable and inflection before she could speak the word.

She praised the tech for doing a good job taking her blood.  She joked about all the blood she has had to have drawn, and she caught my eye as she laughed it off.  I smiled and shook my head in agreement because I didn’t know anything to say.  What a contrast we were to each other.  There I sat having a routine procedure for wellness screening and feeling sorry for myself because I was sleepy and achy.  There she sat in a wheelchair with who knows what kind of serious health problems, spreading cheer and joy with every deliberate, thought-filled word she uttered.  There was something about her smile that was infectious.  A person could not help but feel special in her presence.

We left the lab at the same time and even in the hallway she continued to praise the techs’ good work.  I turned and said, “They really do (a good job)”.  She said, “Yes, they do.”   Again, I didn’t know of anything else to say.  She went one way and I went another and I was so overcome with emotion from the warmth of her inner light that I teared up at the thought of it.  By the time I reached my car I was almost sobbing.

We never know what the strangers around us are going through, nor do they know our fears and pains.  For that matter none of us really know what’s going on deep inside the ones sitting next to us all day or living under our same roof.  But if we could emanate just a fraction of the kindness and pleasure for life that debilitated woman showed then just think of how much better off we could make the world for each other.  If we could shift the focus off of our own aches and pains for just awhile each day and focus on something positive…ah, but there I go again, drinking lemonade.

I have bad days, I truly do.  This morning was the beginning of one of those days.  My mood was cut short and redirected by the kindness of a perfect stranger.  My day got better.  I went to work after all, and I felt just fine.

Not in my shoes do you want to be

 I watch her sleeping on the floor, choosing to stretch out on the area rug instead of the cold concrete.  She’s a smart one, my Lily.    She’s also a sad one.  Since her diabetes diagnosis in late August she has become so ragged, in appearance and health.  Her once thick, white fur my husband and I clipped for the summer did not grow back as it usually does this time of the year.  There are still bald patches here and there, and in some places it molts like a pilling winter sweater.  Her right eye has always been a little lazy, but now her once bright, almond shaped eyes are clouded with cataracts and weep viscous, milky tears. She keeps them closed most of the time, as if holding them open is too exhausting, or futile, or both.  Bless her pitiful heart.

She wasn’t always like this.  My husband and youngest son chose her from a litter at the animal shelter and brought her home to be a pet for my son and for our other dog.  Just a little ball of white fur she made herself at home right away.  Her only quirk was she did not like to be held.  The shelter folks said she was a cattle dog, but she didn’t have any markings like the pictures of other cattle dogs I researched. I thought maybe she had some golden retriever in her.  As she grew, and boy did she grow fast, I saw more characteristics of Akita in her, and her spotted tongue made me think Chow.   No matter the mix of breed, she has the sweetest nature of any dog I’ve ever had.  She’s just a dog, and that’s good enough.

She has always been obedient even without any training.  I can take her out anywhere without a leash and she will never go far and always come when I call.  When she was able she loved to go on walks with me on our property.  She quickly learned her way around and found the bridge to cross the creek.  Not that it mattered; she would usually wade in the water for a drink anyway.  She liked to run ahead and wait for me to catch up and then run ahead again, but never so far that I was out of her sight.  I’ve always wished I knew how to train her because she is one of the smartest dogs I’ve ever known.  She learns so fast.

Before her sight failed her see she could catch any morsel of food from as close or as far as it was thrown to her.  Food has always been her favorite thing, especially food that is meant for the cats.  She can upturn a cat dish and the garbage can faster than I can run ahead and put them out of her reach.  She can lick a cat food tin spotlessly clean despite my warnings of cutting her tongue.  She hasn't cut it yet.  I said she's smart.

I love my sweet Lily dog.  She may be a little skittish with strangers, but she lavishes affection on those she loves and who love her.  I will always stand by my belief that shelter dogs are the most loyal dogs because they know they have been rescued and they are grateful.  

I am grateful Lily has been a part of my family for the past ten years or so.  She gives unconditional love to each one of us, and all she wants in return is a little attention.  All she wants to do is lie on the rug and be a part of the household.  That’s not much for what she gives.

It pains me to see her stumble in her dark world, bumping into furniture and getting lost in corners of the house. I have to lead her head down towards her food and water bowls until her remaining sense of smell finds the food she so enjoys.  As much as she eats she is not gaining weight.  Her thirst for water is unquenchable.  What little of her the diabetes hasn’t taken, her allergies are consuming.   What do I do, let her live this inhumane miserable life, or humanely put her out of her misery? I love my Lily dog.  Bless my pitiful heart. 

Relics

I’ve been home for three days now and it was only this morning I unpacked.  I got home late on Wednesday and Thursday evening’s threat of storms kept me away from my washer.  There was no need to wash on Friday night because I knew there would be much laundry on Saturday.  So I unpacked and began the weekend’s laundry today.  It makes perfect sense to me.

Unpacking clothes is the easy part; open suitcase, dump in washing machine.  What I find annoying is unpacking all the other stuff that went into the bags at the beginning of the trip and then putting it all back to its rightful place.  Remember the Wet Ones?  Where do these go now?  What about the door prize I won, a wicker tray in the shape of the state of Georgia?  Maybe someday I will meet someone from Georgia who has one in the shape of Mississippi and we can trade.  Until then I stuck it in my pantry with all of the other wicker-type things I don’t use either.

I did enjoy Raleigh, at least what I saw of it.  Aside from the hotel and convention center most of my sightseeing was either from the rental car’s window at night while searching for a Walgreen’s, or from the inside of a restaurant.  And let me tell you, Raleigh has full authority to brag on their restaurants, especially the ones that sell fried chicken.  Those folks know how to cook a bird.

We ate lunch and dinner at a couple of great local places, but breakfast is my favorite meal when I’m travelling.  Whenever I visit a new city I like to find a good place to eat breakfast.  Monday morning I drank hotel room coffee and ate left-over pumpkin cornbread from my Sunday night meal.  What’s the saying, “waste not, want not?”  After a leisurely couple of hours in my room I ventured out into the downtown area around the hotel in search of my breakfast spot for the next day.

I convinced one of my coworkers to tag along and off we went on a blind walkabout to see all we could see in the three hours we had to kill before our first meeting of the day.  At each corner I scanned all directions for a tell-tale sign of a local diner.  I looked for words like "cafe" or "eats" written on small signs or outlined in neon.  I was getting discouraged until I saw one vintage neon sign that said Busy Bee Café.  I was fooled.  It might have once been a breakfast/lunch diner, but today it houses a trendy lunch/dinner place with its own brewery.  Down from it I did find a coffee house.  Its menu-written-in-chalk-on-the-wall promised a good breakfast, but it was not exactly what I had in mind.  It would have to do.  "I'm coming here tomorrow," I told my coworker, and we turned to make our way up another block and back towards our hotel.

That's when I saw Mecca, literally.  A long neon sign spelling out Mecca Restaurant rose high above a tiny store front with a laminated menu stuck awkwardly in the window.  I squinted to see through the hazy glass and I saw all I needed to seal the deal: booths and bar chairs upholstered in red vinyl.  “No, I’m coming HERE tomorrow,” I told her.

On Tuesday morning I set out for Mecca in the dark of the morning. I needed to be there early so I could make it back before the first conference session of the day.  I was early.  When the doors unlocked and the neon light flicked on I went inside.  Small booths with high back wooden benches for seating lined the left side of the shotgun building.   Each booth had its own arched mirror with art deco etchings and two shaded sconces for lighting, one on each side of the mirror.   On the right side was a bar with red and cream colored vinyl upholstered bar chairs.  The gray and white octagon-tiled floor led my eyes straight ahead to the kitchen and out through a screened door that opened to the street on the next block.  There were stairs beyond the row of booths that led up to what I can only assume is the dining room pictured on their website, a more modern room last updated in the late 1950s, if I had to guess.


I sat at the bar and ordered a plain breakfast.  The food was decent, but nothing great.  It would have been more convenient and cheaper for me to stop at the many fast food places I passed along the way, but I didn’t go for the food, I went for the atmosphere.  I sat alone eating and taking in all the details of a bygone time.  I thought of chatting up the waitress, but I’m not a chatter-upper for one, and for two I didn’t want to disturb the ambiance.  I just wanted to soak.  

I ate slowly and admired the woodwork behind the bar and all of the relics that had accumulated on the shelves and walls over the lifetime of the business, such as the art-deco clock from the Self Winding Clock Company permanently stopped at 2:00.  Was that 2:00 a.m. or p.m.? I might have learned the story if I had chatted-up that waitress.

Places like Mecca are relics in their own right.  They are leftovers from a time when downtown was the heart of a city and all daily business from shopping to paying your electric bill was done by foot and in person.  Somehow a few of these places manage to survive and keep on going even through the economic woes of downtowns.  I for one am thankful they do.

The rest of the trip was typical of any conference I’ve ever attended; sessions, exhibits, meetings, etc.   I learned new things, shared a few ideas and nodded off a couple of times, as per usual.  The best part, even better than the Mecca, was meeting up with friends I have made over the years at these same conferences and friends from work and spending a few hours laughing and just having a relaxing good time.   As the name of the restaurant implies, you might say my trip was a pilgrimage of sorts.  It wasn’t a religious experience, but it was a time of renewal of information, affiliations, and appreciation. And fried chicken; can’t forget the fried chicken.