"It's that time of year... -- ...painted candy canes, candles gleaming..."

Like many people, I get a little weepy and nostalgic at this time of year.  This morning was one of those times.  I found the neatest thing in the grocery store, a "Kit" for making cookies in the shape of candy canes!  I was all over that  -- easy, right? Not so much, as you can see from the results -- my candy cane cookies look like they've been on steroids...I got a little carried away with the amount of dough.  I now have an even greater appreciation for my Aunt Madeline's perfectly shaped candy cane cookies -- made from scratch.  Aunt Madeline, the thought of her got me a little weepy, you see she has been gone for a long time.  For that matter, so have my Grandmother, my Mom and Dad, and my best Pal Stan -- all people who played a big role in Christmas celebrations of my past...  Here's to them and especially to Good Old Aunt Madeline's perfect candy cane cookies.  After all, they triggered this reverie -- here's a little remembrance that I wrote a number of years ago.  (Maybe it will cause my nieces and nephews (grand nieces and grand nephews too!)  to retain a warm memory or two of our many Christmas celebrations together...

I Remember Aunt Madeline

I have to say she was my favorite Aunt (the only Aunt I had who took an interest in me and treated me like I was a person, not a child.).  I always thought she was special, from the very early days when she gave me her old costume jewelry (big pink clip-on plastic earrings shaped like feathers with rhinestones) to the more recent times when she would fix my husband and me a tasty lunch when we’d visit her on our way home from the beach. 

She had a little telephone desk in the hall of her Cheverly, MD house.  She let me sit there when I visited and make phone calls to the Lady that told you the time.  She didn’t mind when I lifted the lids of her dusting powder and sniffed all her Avon perfume.  At Christmas she made these wonderful cookies shaped like candy canes; she kept them in a huge tin in the hallway closet.   I can still taste the peppermint flavoring.

Birds -- yellow and blue parakeets --  were her pets and she loved them.  They sat on her finger and she sweet-talked to them.  Once we brought our cat to her house, which wasn’t such a good idea.  She had an elegant dining room set; it was some kind of dark, highly polished wood with a matching china closet.  I didn’t like her chocolate pudding because she made it with nuts.  (Although I ate it anyway...).  Her house always smelled good and she had lots of flowers and plants and bright colors.  Our house was dull, by comparison. 

She had a wonderful laugh, similar to my Dad’s.  They enjoyed laughing together.  I laughed too, when I heard them, even though I didn’t always get the joke.  She was a big one for jokes.  She had a glass that looked like it was filled with wine. The red liquid moved when you tipped it, but was encased inside the glass.  She once pretended to serve this glass of wine to my Mom.  As she approached Mom she faked a trip and made my Mom think the wine was about to splash all over her.  I thought that was very funny.   I got that joke.  Sometimes she’d make this terrible scowl; she’d narrow her eyes and purse her lips when Uncle Bertie or Grandma said something she didn’t like.  (But, she wasn’t really mad, she just did that to be funny and she was.)

I can see her in front of her house in “Radiant Valley”.  I open the gate and run down the steps to where she stood in the front yard.  She wore a gold lapel pin (it was the year Lyndon Johnson was running for President), it said “LBJ”.  When my Dad asked her if she was for Johnson, she laughed that wicked laugh and said, “LBJ -- Little Bertie Johnson.”  For a long time, when I was a kid, I thought my cousin’s name was “Little Birdie” and my Uncle was “Big Birdie”.  I thought it had something to do with my Aunt’s love of parakeets.  (I figured it out…)  Once I sent her the words to a song called “Paddling Madeline Home” and suggested she get Uncle Bertie to sing it to her. 

She sent me $10 (big money in 1970...) when I graduated from high school and I can still remember the outfit I bought.  She always had the best Christmas cards, purchased from "Miles Kimball" with her name printed inside.  When she moved to the Eastern Shore she gave me my Grandma’s old Singer sewing machine.  I refinished it and it sits in my kitchen to this day.  Later in life, she had little dogs.  She loved her dogs, although she was always interested in seeing pictures of my cats. She sent me a black and white stuffed animal that looked just like one of my cats – I still have it. 

The last time I saw her, she served one of her wonderful lunches -- fried chicken, potato salad, coleslaw, fresh tomatoes and a pie.  She made the best pies.  Sometimes she made lemon meringue pies, my favorite.  I remember that day, we all laughed, took pictures, talked about old times.  On the way home, riding in the back seat of my sister's  car, I got stung by a bee.  But that’s not the reason I remember that day.  It was a good day and now it will always be the last day -- the last day I saw her.  We talked sometimes, after that visit.  I sent her cards and she always sent me one of her fancy Christmas cards, but I did not see her again before she died.  I wish I had, I wish I could have said goodbye. 

I'm just saying...

Riding The Rails

I don’t know when she spotted me, but I jumped when she said, “Excuse me, Ma’am.”  How had someone slipped up on me without my knowing?  She apologized and asked if the train marked “Glenmont” went to Metro Center. 

I immediately assumed my helpful lady role, “Why yes,” I said, “It goes all the way downtown.”  As we addressed each other, I took in the details of her appearance.  Neatly dressed in gray sweats with a backpack hanging loosely on her shoulder, she was dark-skinned, very heavy and missing quite a few teeth. She sat down on the bench, close enough for me to notice a light floral scent.  We smiled at each other and she launched into her story.  “Oh Boy,” I thought, “Here comes the scam.” 

A seasoned subway rider, I worked in the city for some 25 years.   I have a hard shell when it comes to being hit up for money.  While I willingly give to street musicians, the Salvation Army and jugglers on unicycles, I usually ignore or walk away from the seasoned panhandler. 

Except, for last night…

Her story was typical, “I lost my job two days ago, I have two children, I’m working on getting help from a church, and my boyfriend is in jail…” A sad tale and it tugged at my heart.   Maybe that’s why she picked me out of the crowd on the subway platform.  Maybe I looked like I might listen.  Or maybe it was because I was seated on the bench in the shelter, with my head down, looking for something in my purse.  Yes, a lone woman in Christmas earrings and a Talbots’ sweater headed to see the National Symphony.  Hell, even I would have picked myself to scam.

When she finished her story, I held her gaze steadily and she never looked away.  “Okay, I’m going to help you.”  She immediately started thanking and blessing me and then gently grasped my hand.  As we sat holding hands, I repeated, “I am going to help you, and I hope you are not lying to me.”  She assured me she wasn’t.   I gave her $20 and she offered to give me a hug.   I declined the hug, but wished her well.   My train arrived and I quickly walked away and boarded a few cars down.  I did not look back to see if she boarded.  I did not want to know if she remained at the station.   

You see it makes no difference to me where she was going or what she planned to do.  I am pretty sure she wasn’t going to a performance at the Kennedy Center...  Maybe the money made a difference, maybe she did buy milk and Pampers for her kids, it doesn’t matter. I made the decision and if she scammed me, well, that’s on her.  It felt like the right thing to do and I am glad I did it.

I’m just saying…

The Ghost of Christmas Cards Past

A good many years ago I was in the throes of divorce and smack in the middle of the Christmas season.  As a result, I did not send any Christmas cards that year.  Perhaps I need to back up and explain the significance of this a bit.  You see I started sending Christmas cards when I was about 9 years old.

I got bitten by the “pen pal” bug at an early age and fell completely in love with written correspondence.  The sending of Christmas cards was custom made for a pen pal-type like me.  As meager as my income was throughout my adolescence, teens and early adult years, there was always enough for cards and stamps.  Even as a busy adult with a house to run and a full time job, I never complained about doing cards, because I enjoyed it! 

Writing little notes in each card, which eventually grew into the “Dread Christmas Letter” never seemed like a burden to me.  It was an opportunity to touch base with far-away friends and alert new friends that I had fully embraced them.  There was something so satisfying about the work involved in writing, sealing, stamping and mailing cards.  The gratification I felt as the pile of crisp white envelopes, addressed in my neat hand, grew.  It was a source of great personal joy. 

Eventually I cut out the Christmas letter (although I still write little notes in many of the cards) and I succumbed a few years ago to pre-printing address labels for everyone on my list (in festive GREEN ink…). I love sending cards and do not send in order to receive.  For me, it’s all about the process, the accomplishment, the satisfaction and the connection. 

Now, back to my initial thought regarding the year I didn’t send cards.  To this day I chuckle at the reaction I got.  I heard from a good sixty percent of the people I normally sent to.   Most of them said something like: “What’s wrong?  Are you okay? Has something happened?”   Telling, that you’d get more of a reaction from NOT doing something…   I explained (especially to those who didn’t know what was eminent in my life) that I was indeed fine, just taking a break that year. 

In a lot of ways, I found that response very satisfying.   Many who contacted me, never sent cards themselves and hardly ever mentioned getting my cards over the years.  It was funny how the absence of a card, or perhaps just the contact, elicited very similar responses -- “I always look forward to hearing from you!”  It was nice to know that, even though when I resumed sending cards the next year, I didn’t get near the response I got from NOT sending cards.  I was and still am okay with that.  After all, I do this because I enjoy it and I do not expect anything in return. 

It’s good for me to revisit this memory from time to time, to remind myself that when I do something in this life I should do it because I want to, regardless of the return.  I am sure there will come a time when I can no longer do the things that are expected of me.   It doesn’t matter what the reason, I’ll just be in a place that prevents me from doing what I’ve always done.  Maybe I will find it no longer relevant, maybe I will be physically unable, or maybe I’ll just be changing things up for my own benefit. 

I hope my Christmas card story will always remind me to  -- do what I love, do what gives me and others joy, and continue to do so for as long as I can.

I’m just saying…

Friends and Neighbors

Just in case you're wondering why I don't post more often (and I am sure you are), I have many other writing assignments!  One of the many hats I wear is that of "Roving Reporter" for my neighborhood newsletter.  This job requires extensive research skills and often results in "hard hitting" news and thoughtful commentary.  Given that, here's my latest contribution -- hot off the press and ready for the November issue.  You heard it (well, read it) here first.

Friends and Neighbors

“Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet.”

                                        -Colette

L to R:  Lexie, Bebe, Oreo (Lexie’s Bro) & Mollie

In our continuing effort to introduce you to ALL residents of Strathmore Park, this month we interviewed some of our 4-legged neighbors. 

Original resident and dark-haired beauty Lexie resides in her comfy abode with her Mom, Marsha.  Lexie is a Shih tau and eleven years old, even though she doesn’t look a day over eight.  She is especially partial to roasted chicken and in her spare time is fond of herding our pesky local deer back to their natural habitat.  Lexie doesn’t like to venture into the forest, but she’s a big believer in keeping deer away from our delectable shrubs and plants.  A real “people person”, Lexie is not particularly fond of dogs, but she makes an exception for her furry neighbors Mollie and Bebe. 

Lexie’s BFF, Bebe, lives with her Mom, Elaine.  She’s 14 years old and a lovely Bichon Frise.   Bebe, unlike most of the four- and two-legged residents in our neighborhood, is not retired.  She spends two days a week working as a therapy dog at Suburban Hospital.  Her warm nature and sweet disposition make her an ideal visitor and a ray of sunshine in the lives of many patients.    

The third member of this trio of fast friends, Mollie, can often be found strolling the neighborhood with her Dad, Shelly.  Some ten and a half years ago, on the second day of Passover, two proud parents brought this little puppy home and named her Mollie Matzo in commemoration. Mollie’s Mom Carol describes her as “A true mutt!”  She’s half poodle and the other half is a mix of Shih tau, Bichon and Maltese.

Mollie, a sweet and steadfast companion, enjoys napping, flying to Florida for the winter and endlessly sniffing the grass that grows along Tuckerman Lane.  A “delicate eater” she dines on a special blend of venison and pumpkin puree, which is difficult to find at times.  Perhaps if Lexie is willing to be a little less vigilant in her herding, we may be able to solve this culinary dilemma.

So the next time you are out and about and see one, or all, of these canine cuties, I hope you’ll say hello and wish them well. 

 I'm just saying...