STAVE I: CHRISTMAS

 Finding things in wrong places - 2020  For months, my daughter’s choir mask* sat on our dining room counter where it was always handy.   That is, until an hour before the concert. That’s when I noticed it was missing.   After a fruitless, hour-long search, involving the whole household, we realized that the choir mask had simply vanished.   Three weeks later, it turned up in my husband’s dresser drawer. It likely fell into a laundry basket and was mistaken for shorts. In the drawer it was wildly out of place.   Another item wildly out of place was my son’s wallet. Nearly a year ago, he was on his way to an airport in New York to catch a plane for a job interview in San Francisco when he realized his wallet was missing.    Somehow, he boarded the plane (using his passport as ID) secured the job and returned home to Brooklyn, walletless.    Over time, he replaced most of what was important.   This week, an envelope came to our house....

  Usually, it’s so cold in the Northern Plains that freezing rain isn’t a problem. States to our south reel from ice storms, and we watch in relief as the north once again escapes.  Even windy, subzero weather is better than unscrapeable windshields, snapping power lines and deadly sidewalks.   If ice follows snow, you can shovel it away with a little effort. But if ice comes first, watch out!    This year, ice came first, starting with sneaky freezing drizzle. It melded with packed snow into one stubborn coating of ice, and though it was quickly followed by warm air, we didn’t take full advantage of that warmth.  Slick patches remain on walkways and surfaces.  I hadn’t realized that a slab of ice lurked under snow along the lift-gate of our minivan -- until I tried to place groceries in the back.    I brushed away the snow, but an ice ridge remained. I tried lifting the hatch to shove the ice away, but the ice was too much for the lift-gate....

 Making Santa’s naughty list   Why does Santa take the time to do all he does at Christmas? Most say it’s because he’s a saint and he does it from the goodness of his heart, and maybe so. But the cynics among us know that if we were Santa, we would do it for the power and pleasure of composing those naughty lists.   Admit it. There is a perverse enjoyment in writing off those people who irritate you, confound you, cause you to pull out your hair. Wouldn’t you love to scribble their name on the naughty list?   My naughty list would include the person who came up with blue toothpaste.    Toothpaste was clean and white, the way you’d like your teeth to be, and then some character came along and turned bathrooms into smeary, gloppy, blue messes.   Even adult toothpastes are not safe. Recently, trying to avoid the blue goo, I chose a toothpaste called Total that stressed mature themes: germ fighting, plaque-busting, gum-protecting benefits. You would e...

Christmas spirit all month long   If Gray Thursday and Black Friday set the pace for the Christmas season, it’s going to be a rough ride. Some years, especially when Thanksgiving and Christmas are close together, it seems like Christmas itself gets trampled in the rush to get things done.   The very heart of Christmas can become like a flattened Black Friday shopper out in the cold parking lot of life.   To prevent the scurry and hurry of the season from destroying what counts, it helps to focus on the charitable center, the Bob Cratchit cheer, the ho ho ho and the Holy, Holy, Holy. Will we end up in frustration, mummified in wrapping paper and wearing a scowl? Or will we shine with inner peace and candlelight glow?   Here is a list of 25 ways to keep Christmas in perspective and help go for the glow:   1. Hum carols throughout the day.   2. Bell-ringers you come across? Visit them twice: once when entering the store and again when exiting. ...

Too much information     A friend’s mom left her senior living facility and moved into an apartment because of “too much information.”   She said residents conversed only on two topics:   health problems and neglectful children.   After the third colonoscopy conversation, I can see that she might be ready to move out.    “Too much information” has become a popular catchphrase to use when conversations become too gross, too personal or too uncomfortable.   A friend describes ancient gallbladder surgery and goes into detail about the incision? Too much information!   A relative gives mushy particulars about intimacy with her boyfriend? Too much information!     Someone tweets on bodily functions? #TooMuchInformation.   We can now listen to Justin Bieber, while watching Dr. Who, while reading Jane Austen and playing Halo IV. Why we’d want to, I don’t know. But we can.   Recently, I tried to watch my son...

   Roy got up at 6:30 the day after Christmas so he could beat the crowds and get to the gift return counter as early as possible.   When he arrived at the store parking lot, he was surprised at the number of shoppers with the same idea. He parked, grabbed his unwanted gift and made for the return counter.    Quite a few shoppers had arrived ahead of him, but that was okay; standing in line would allow him to think about what to buy with his refund.    For Christmas, he’d really wanted the shiatsu massager with iPod dock and mug warmer, but no one thought to give it to him. Maybe he could have it after all.    Standing in line, he was cold. The return counter stood near the front door, and cold air rushed in. His neck ached from looking over and around heads to see the gift return clerks.    He heard the exchanges at the counter:    “Do you have a receipt?”    “No.”    Well, who did have a receipt for ...

    I spent 30 minutes helping my son search for a blue folder containing sheet music. After turning the house upside down, my son finally remembered that the music wasn't in a folder at all, but in a plain manila envelope.    I had passed it dozens of times because I didn't really know what I was looking for.    In another fruitless search, my daughter agreed to pick up some blue replacement bulbs for an outdoor strand of Christmas lights. I wasn't sure the size: C-7? C-9? The bulbs didn't say. The cord didn't say. I tried describing them. A little bigger than my thumb. My daughter searched thoroughly and returned with C-7s – too small. They were smaller than my thumb, but larger than hers.    Searching for an overdue book is similar. What are we looking for? A red hardback about the size of a thick novel, someone says. No luck. A week later we find it: a tall, thin, blue paperback. We really didn't know what we were looking for. ...

     I don’t decorate. I have enough trouble keeping up with essentials. Right now, in a feeble attempt to decorate for Christmas, half a red garland hangs on our house, in lopsided mockery of décor.    No tree this year. You can’t imagine the time saved by not putting up a tree!    Decoration, I figure, is for people of leisure or taste.    Once, when visiting a home goods store on vacation, I admired the dainty, orderly and splashy looking items and saw what I was missing: a whole array of things to dust. But among the vases, pots, table linens and candles stood something different: a bust of Caesar Augustus.    What, I wondered, was this doing here? But there it was and at a very reasonable price, too. Imagine owning an emperor for thirty bucks! Since my husband Art teaches Roman history, what could be a better accessory than the head of a Roman emperor?    I mailed it home, carefully wrapped, and it made it without b...

Everything about Christmas is fragile, especially at a 2-year-old's eye level. Shiny gold and red ornaments. Tapered candles. The special crystal and glassware and dishes. Candy canes. Colored lights. All the Christmas paraphernalia cries out to be inspected more closely, touched, handled and experienced fully. But they can break - so, no. They sparkle, shine, tempt, invite. But - no! Too fragile. Keep your hands away. No, no, no. Laurie, 2, stands on tiptoe, gazing in toddler adoration at ceramic Nativity figures. "Could I play with the breakable people?" she asks. Shepherd, angel and wise men are simply "the breakable people." It's sad, but that is her name for them. She has heard the Christmas story and knows "Away in a Manger." She wants more. She wants to move closer, to see firsthand the scene of the Nativity, to touch the jeweled turban of Wise Man No. 1, to feel the glazed wool of a sheep. She also wants to know more about that "Lord J...

Snow, or no snow, this time of year brings to kids those three words that mean so much. Not "I love you," "How r u?" or "Ho, ho, ho!" (Okay. "Ho, ho, ho" is not three words, it's one word three times; and "How r u only qualifies for online chat heads.) The words kids hear most often in winter are: "Shut that door!" In our house we have two doors that must be closed upon entry. The front door leads directly to polar air flow. An entryway between the front door and the door to the living room mixes that icy air with house air. The entryway serves as a buffer between Siberia and comfortable, living room heat.The kids rarely forget to close the front door. Somehow, frigid, arctic air jostles their brain cells enough to signal the door-closing response. But after removing coat, hat and boots, and basking in the warmth of living room heat as they enter the living room, the kids fall victim to drowsy, warm influences on those same br...

Early in December, when stars seem sharper and bluer than at other times, Christmas music seems to sharpen them even more. I unpack my age-old Christmas record collection.I'll put on “Goodyear's Great Songs of Christmas” with Mitch Miller and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. I'll brew some cinnamon tea, light a mulberry-scented candle and write Christmas cards. Usually, when stamps, return labels, address book and cards are arrayed before me, the carols swirl up together with the tea steam, and my toes turn warm. A deep, bone-radiating satisfaction takes over.Renewing contact with friends is one of the best parts of Christmas. But this year something went wrong.It started when I tried to write a Christmas greeting to my aunt. How can you wish holiday cheer to someone who just lost a husband to cancer?Her chance of merriment at Christmas is about nil. My pen froze in midair as I tried to think of something to write. How jolly will her Christmas be, as she tries to mix celebratio...

The woman was young enough that most people called her a girl, but since she was pregnant there was little doubt she was a woman in body. Young, pregnant women are often sponges for advice, and this woman's difficult circumstances made her doubly vulnerable. Morality expert Dr. Laura Schlessinger told her that her horizon looked bleak. Low income, newly married to a man much older than herself --- but not the father of her child --- she should seriously consider adoption. And it was Dr. Laura's opinion that women who married older men were setting themselves up for trouble. Ann Landers also expressed doubts about the woman's prospects. "A man who first thinks of divorcing you, then makes you take a long trip near term without motel reservations is someone to watch out for. Ask yourself this question: "Would I be better off with him or without him?" Radio doctor Dean Idell told her that since she was so young she ought to give serious thought before contin...

The first magic flakes fell during church. By the end of the service, large, white flakes were dancing down from above. Surprise. Snow. The adults leaving church were properly awed, marveling at the first snowfall. That adults --- who very well know that they could be exposed to this cold, bleak material for five or six months --- still find it wondrous on the first day, is inspiring. Adults, who will rock cars out of it, slip and fall into it, tramp over it, writhe in pain after shoveling it, clean up after it; brush it, scrape it, salt it, shake it off; spend hours blowing it away and digging out of it --- still marvel on the first day of it, even in October. But all adult amazement is nothing to the sheer delight snow gives to the smallest kids. I don't know how developed the memory of a 3-year-old is, but I know that some glint in Laurie's eyes, when she saw those first flakes, indicated a memory. The sharp intake of breath and the smile that bloomed on her face as she cons...

If I hear another person complain that stores put up Christmas displays too early, I’ll scream. It’s not the stores’ fault thatChristmas cards and wrapping paper make an appearance next to spiral notebooks and colored pencils at August back-to-school sales. A certain shopper mentality drives stores to rush Christmas through Halloween and Thanksgiving. It’s holiday haste syndrome that does it. This disorder causes shoppers to order gifts in summer, to buy ornaments a year ahead and array them neatly in specially manufactured ornament boxes. Victims of holiday haste syndrome have dinner menus planned months in advance. Their Christmas cards -- purchased at last year’s closeout sales in January -- are addressed and stamped by Halloween. They spend hours on Christmas Eve searching for all the wrapped and ready presents they bought in June and tucked away safely. They shop online with credit cards, never needing to touch, wrap or even see the gifts they send to loved ones. If holiday haste ...

Christmas time in Aberdeen. Store windows, street displays, mall music all proclaim it. It's Christmas time everywhere but in the public schools where Christmas has been censored. Christmas concerts will now be called " holiday concerts" purportedly out of sensitivity to those religions other than Christianity. Calling Christmas " holiday " may seem to encourage diversity, but it really ends up doing the opposite. When my family moved to Aberdeen eight years ago, we were delighted with the school Christmas concerts because they were full of everything our California schools had abandoned years earlier: traditional favorites, black spirituals, medieval canticles, all rich in color and meaning. There were harmonized carols, rapped-up carols, jazzy carols and carols done with motions. There were sometimes Hanukkah songs, songs we enjoyed because they helped our kids remember their Jewish name and heritage. In California, all that was left of Christmas were a couple...

Harold grumbled when the alarm clock rang late. If there was a God, he thought, the alarm would never malfunction. Stupid clock. New one, too. But not made in America. If the clock had rung on time, though, Harold would have missed a very important phone call --- the job interview appointment he had been hoping for. After he hung up, he rushed to his driveway. Harold glared at the driver of the blue car across the street. Each morning that rude driver blasted his horn for five long minutes. If there was a God, this driver would have ignition problems weekly, Harold thought. What he didn't know was that on this fall morning, the honking had frightened away a thief who was about to break into Harold's garage and steal his generator and mountain bike. At work, Harold grimaced as Marsha the Chatterer cornered him in the corridor. Marsha began to bore him to death with tales of her aunt's latest illness. If there was a God, Marsha would have been transf...

Holiday airline crowd crunch, faulty computers and difficult weather relieved terrorists of any need to disturb airline traffic this Christmas . One airline, Comair, canceled 1100 flights Christmas Day . For the flying public, and worried relatives of the flying public, such delays meant frustration and waiting. And more waiting. When my daughter's flight failed to arrive late Christmas night , I checked the online flight status page. The flight from Minneapolis to Aberdeen was supposed to arrive late, but after a half-hour still no plane appeared. If it ever did land in Aberdeen, the flight was to continue to Watertown . The delay in that leg of the flight was due to "runway congestion." Runway congestion in Aberdeen? Perhaps there was an air show. Late Christmas night. Suddenly, I suspected mechanical problems, icy wings, a sick pilot, a fiery mishap. If you have to wait, there must be a calamity. Nothing les...

Maybe it's because her best friend is a stuffed lamb that 3-year-old Laurie is drawn to the lamb in every book about the Christmas story . Maybe it's just because lambs are fluffy, cute and more interesting than mangers and shepherds. She would like " Away in a Manger " much better if the second verse were "The sheep they were baaing, the baby awakes" rather than the cows lowing. She doesn't know any cows that low. We know that shepherds were part of the first Christmas, but whether camels were present is an open question. And the angels scared the death out of those who saw them. I don't think any Precious Moments angels had a part. The heavenly host was an army, not a cheery, smiling grouping of collectible figurines. Just about every angel involved started conversations with "Fear not!" Seeing one must have been petrifying. We like to arrange the Christmas story in warm, comfor...

You can tell who the Henry F. Potters are because they are the ones scoffing at idealists and prattling on about common sense, while crushing the weak and poor. In Frank Capra's "It's a Wonderful Life," the Bailey family's Building and Loan business helps families to live in houses of their own, instead of languishing in Potter's high-rent slums. The Baileys help struggling families get a foothold on the American Dream. Henry Potter, "the richest and meanest" man in Bedford Falls, opposes the Baileys at every turn. The spirit of Mr. Potter doesn't reside only in the very rich or just in Bedford Falls. Potters everywhere hate people who stand for something. They don't like people who cannot be manipulated by money or threats. They deride those with "high ideals" and decent character. You've heard them jeering at the George Baileys of the world, wrinkling t...

Rarely does December strike you just two days after Thanksgiving . This year Christmas was even harder to restrain than usual through the Thanksgiving holiday. I've never been an early Christmas shopper. And I have secretly despised those who completed Christmas shopping before December. There is just something unseemly about rushing things, riding roughshod over Thanksgiving in the pursuit of some orderly, polite, organized Christmas. In fact, until this year I have considered an unorganized, spontaneous Christmas to be mandatory. Organizing Christmas is like trying to organize a thunderstorm. Shop early, plan well, address Christmas cards in October --- and there will still be nights when a recital suddenly appears on the calendar without warning, an unexpected friend drops by just when you are supposed to be baking bars for a program, or you suddenly remember that you are responsible for a relish tray and all you have on hand are ra...