Christmas Memories

It was the day before Christmas and all through the land

Having insomnia was not part of my plans

So I with my laptop, think back to when

To remember Christmas, way back then

The wish-book was thrown on every front porch

With ideas inside to light up the torch

We would look through and dog-ear the pages

There were toys for all and for all ages

My father would clip lights onto the eaves

In hope that the light bulbs would work, please

But every year it was no surprise

Off to hardware store for more supplies

Inside the house my mother reigned supreme

Hanging garland on every expose beam

She sang Christmas songs and it was smooth sailing

She even had garland wrapped around the stairway railing

The tree was trimmed and nailed to the floor

Because my dad didn't want to fight with it anymore

My mother joyfully filled every open space

With tinsel and bows and frilly lace

My dad sat back drinking coffee with cream

Pretending not to notice that the tree had a lean

He had just reclined to take a nap

Mumble the words, would you look at all this crap

The smell of Christmas filled the air

Bake goods and candy everywhere

There was only one rule and the one thing you couldn't choose

Keep your hands off your Dad's can of cashews

But once in a while when he was in his chair asleep

Slowly I'd slitter to take a little peek

Surely he couldn't hear me pry open the lid

Inside that can my little hand slid

I know now but I wished I knew then

Having a cashew allergy would eventually bite me in the end

But that salty buttery goodness was such a delight

If I just had one that would be alright

The house was filled Christmas music

My mother would help them sing

We had the Carpenters, Andy

Perry and of course Bing

We kids would sit at the kitchen table

Crafting things that we were able

With paint, paper, glitter and glee

The floor was littered with paper snow flake debris

Seeing my father waking up from his nap

My mother would put the tube on in a snap

My dad would watch a three channel TV

There was nothing but snow and the guide was a tree

When the Christmas eve was upon us we'd go to bed

But we'd hide on the stairway and listen for hear Santa instead

My mother always wise to our schemes

Would peak around the corner, oh how we screamed

Now you kids get back to bed , I don't want to hear a peep

Santa will know if you don't sleep

We would lay in our wool blanket cocoon

In hope that morning would come real soon

The sun peaked through a frosted window

The sounds of rustling from the living room below

Woke us from our slumber

and down the stairs we'd lumber

It was Christmas morning.

The tree was a glittering beacon of hope

Hope was a wrapped gift under a needleless tree

It was a picture of joy, of love, of glee

Within five minutes the room was a big paper ball

Ribbons and bows thrown from wall to wall

Mom and Dad in a Christmas camouflage on the couch

Drinking coffee trying not to pass out

The room was filled with kid in pj's

Each on the the floor with new games and toys to play

The smell of breakfast filled the air

A home filled with love and so many memories to share

Merry Christmas everyone. Take a moment today to remember and share.

Hide and Seek

Meme's house

Christmas at my Grandparents house was always a fun time. Pepe' had Santa suit that he wore every year.  Why Santa came to our grandparent house in the middle of the afternoon on Christmas day, was never questioned. We were kids. It was more stuff and we liked more stuff. Speaking of stuff. We like sweet stuff too. My Meme' (aka elastic grandma) had candy everywhere. Every room had a candy dish. Every room had a kid with dirty fingers picking through a candy dish. The assortment of candy was endless. Chocolate macaroons. Yum. Hard pillow candy. White sugary mint pillow candy. Soft creamy candy. Candy canes and  life savers. Double yum. A cornucopia of cavity causing confectionery delight. We would lay on the living room rug wearing our new Pajamas. Pajamas were a given, given the fact that we grew out of last Christmas's  PJ's. We would color in our new coloring books and wait for the sugar to kick in. After the meal the old folks hung out in the dinning room. To smoke, drink, play cards and curse. We kids had better games to play.  Building playing card houses wasn't going to do it. Besides, it didn't matter how tall you could make a structure an inevitable wind storm was approaching. Not a real wind storm but a real windbag, one of brothers.  They were bored or maybe, just jealous of my architectural ability. I was the little pig and they were the wolves. There was no way to stop my masterpiece from becoming a dismantled straw house.  There were new games to play and a house filled with sugar stoners kids to play them. The best game was hide and seek.

Hide and seek or hang go seek. Hey! I was a kid that's what I heard.

There are three rules when it comes to hide and seek; the location of home free, the ability to count and no peeking. Home free at Meme's was the couch in the backroom. It was a den. For some reason they never called the den, the den. If it's got a couch, a rocker with broken springs and a TV, it's a den. Come to think of it, my Meme' never called me Denis. She'd say in a very tick (Tick is thick in French) accent Dur Knee.  They called the room in the back the house the backroom. A tradition my mother carried with her to Buckingham. Even the word, backroom sounded funny. Her French/English sounded more like bat room. I was happy to call it the bat room. I was a big Batman fan. It was confusing sometimes because  the bat room could also mean the bathroom. I don't now when the name got change to TV room but it think it was a good thing. 

I can't remember when we started playing hide and seek but I'm sure it was before we even knew how to count. I remember kneeling down with my face planted into a quilt. The couch had to have quilt covering the cushions because the material was so ruff it could scratch an eye out. Now, I'm no aficionado on couches but this green kitchen scrubby couch was all about function and had nothing to do with style.  I would wait, my face sweating, listening for confirmation from the hiders. While I waited, kids would scurry passed the adults. One place we'd never hide was in the dinning room. The cloud of smoke could be a good camouflage but the inevitable tongue lashing would give your location away. kids should be seen and not heard didn't apply to hide and seek but it did apply to old folks playing euchre. Not one of us kids every hid there. The table was littered with cigarette butts, playing cards, Fat bottles of bear and profanity. The fog did nothing to soften the sound of fists pounding the table and one word being yelled repeatedly : TRUMP!  

My meme's (aka elastic band grandma) house had the best hiding spots. Across the smoke filled dining room there was a closet. It was a huge closet. It had more hangers than a clothing store. Fur coats, overcoats and moth balls everywhere. Boxes and more boxes. Shoe boxes, hat boxes. Boxes with Christmas decorations inside and other haphazard things you could pile up and hide behind.  If you could hold your breath and your nose, you could stay in there a long time. Apparently we couldn't get to the treasure trove in the attic upstairs. My sisters got to enjoy that. Besides, we didn't like to play dress up, especially if it's old lady clothes. We did discovered another great hiding place. The upstairs bat room or bathroom if you're English. I can't remember if the room was all mint tile or baby blue. I seem to recall that the bathtub had a matching hue. I don't know if it was retro or just dated. There was a closet that went all the way around the back of the tub surround. You could hide there for hours and the only thing that would find you would be a mouse. There were a couple rooms that were off limits. My Pepe's office and workshop in the basement.  

Let the games begin. A thousand kids would muffle their voice (to hide there location) and yell I'm ready! I'd be on the hunt. It was a great fun. Eventually, we would play ourselves out and fall asleep on the floor. Until we got scooped up for the car ride home. I remember when I was older, I played hide and seek with my Meme' only she wasn't playing. I hid in the Bat room (the TV room) while she frantically tried to find me. She kept calling my name. Dur Knee, Dur Knee. I didn't say a peep. I finally gave in but boy was she mad. It was a mean trick and I did feel bad playing that prank on her. I don't think I ever played hide and seek there again.

My House

At my home the game was played a little different. We played inside when it was raining but outside is where we wanted to be. I think our parents want it that way too. I can't help but wonder how many children were conceived during the hours we played outside. It was hours. It was really the only alone time they had. They never had to bug us to go outside and play. Some things are better not to think about. We didn't. I am older and thinking back, I still don't want to think about it. 

One house over stood our home free pole. The bottom of the pole was painted white and was etched with all our names. I wasn't allowed a knife when I was a kid. My friend Mike had Swiss army knife. For obvious reasons, pop tops and to carve names into a streetlight pole. If it was the weekend we could play even when it was dark. During the school nights we could play but our play was timed. We couldn't ignore it because the home free pole was street light. When it came on, we had to go home. Sometimes we'd ignore the street light and hope that dad would forget about us but we couldn't ignore the high pitched whistle. Game over. 

 It was a different time then. Everyone in our neighborhood, knew everyone in our neighborhood. We wouldn't use the phone to see if the kids wanted to play. We would press our noses to their screen doors and call out their name. It was almost musical. Every name had two syllables. Stewart became Stu-wart. The first part of the name was at a higher pitch and the ending kind of tailed off. Hearing your name called in such a way was more than a celebration of friendship, it was an invitation to fun. 

My youngest brother was always it first. And even if he found us we could outrun him to the home free pole. I felt sorry for him and ran slow on purpose. I knew everyone's hiding place anyway. My sister would be in a tree somewhere.  Mike would be peeking over the top of a roof. The playhouse across the street was off limits but you could hide behind it. Our block had two hedges that were great for hiding in. They were off limits but we disregarded the rules. They belonged to old man Trudell and old man St. Louis. But kids will be kids. Old Man Trudell knew my oldest brother because my older brother used to go into Charlie's. Charlie's is a bar near Buckingham. I don't know if he had fake ID or that he looked old enough but I think he and the old man titled a few beers at once upon a time. One day old man Trudell lost it. There was knock on our front door. He was pissed up and started to yell at my dad. Those kids are ruining my hedges! My dad flexed his Popeye arms and the old man changed his tone. Dad talked to us boys and we agreed not to hide in his hedges again. My sister's didn't think it applied to them and did it anyway. We were little stinkers with a bunch of energy. Every kid on the block played. That is, when we weren't playing street hockey. Time would fly by and then we would heard that whistle. We knew it was game over.

A night at the movies

A new cinema opened up in town. Yeah! We decided to try it out. Yippy! We already had our passes prepaid. It should have been easy, peazy, show me my seatie. Nope. We were instructed to go to the concession counter.  Okay, a little different. Obviously a sales tactic. The clerk asked for our passes. We handed them to her and told her that they included a soda and popcorn. She immediately look puzzled. Was it her first day? I think it was. Someone who looked just as confused started finger punching the POS.  We stood in line and waited and waited and waited. They were having a hard time processing our orders. I paced around trying not to get frustrated, while my brother in-law and his wife (my sister) took care of business.

I gave the staff a few eye rolls and OMG's, then I looked around to distract myself. That's when I noticed I was overdressed. I didn't have slippers on. I wasn't wearing Hello Kitty Pajamas. And I didn't have a blankie. There's nothing like a good blankie. My blankie was at home and he's very upset that he missed the show. What shall I do? I don't get it. It's freezing cold outside. What tells these kids to wear a blankie instead of a coat? Maybe I should check Tic Toc. Oh, the price they pay to be part of a fashion statement. Here's a statement. I hope you freeze your ass off. I'm sorry but you do have options. Just saying. You know what,  just saying, just saying get's my dander up. Yes, I am that old. But I do have a nice winter coat. I guess I'd rather be warm and unfashionable.  Luckily, the parents didn't follow their kids flair for fashion. Nobody wants to see that. In fact, the reason why they went to show in the first place was because Grandpa was watching wheel of fortune in his boxers and talking to himself again. Why does everyone want to buy a bowel ? Hey! It could be a reason. 

I want to clarify, when I say kids, I mean teenagers. Teenagers, slippers and Pajamas, oh my. Don't forget the blankie. Now, back to our story. 

I Smiled and tried to disguise my criticism . Then I thought. The only time I was allowed to wear pajamas outside the house when I was a kid was when our family went to the drive in theater. For an obvious reason; I fell asleep during the second feature. Thank God I had my Blankie!

Clearly, these parents didn't care what their kids looked like. The kids must have thought. If it's good enough for school, the mall or Starbucks, it's good enough for the movies? My attention was swayed from my discuss to a discussion. The girl behind the counter was being trained. What we didn't realize was that she was getting trained in ripping people off. It seemed like a simple question. She asked. Would you like butter on your popcorn? Thinking that there would be just a small charge for real butter, we all said yes. Then she told us the price. We laughed out loud and said in unison, No! Fourteen dollars for butter. Are you kidding me? Apparently not. Ten minutes later we finally settled up. No extra butter, no extra charge and no time to spare. Now we waited in another line. Right behind, the blanket brigade. We waited and waited; you get my drift. A long time.  Speaking of time. It was show time. I was losing my patience. Then again, previews usually lasted for about half an hour, so I didn't sweat it too much. We finally got our cups for our sodas and hugged our popcorn bags. We poured our drinks of choice from the self serve. I poured Coke zero. I didn't want Coke Zero but I didn't have time to fight with the machine. Around the counter I saw a surprise. A fake butter dispenser. And it was free. So would be the chest pains later.  I splashed a good dose of artery clogging butter substitute on my popcorn and we were on our way. 

We eventually found our seats just in time. It took a little bit to work the recliner. I figured it out. I sat down, elevated my feet and de-elevated my blood pressure. I had just taken my first nibble of popcorn and sipped my pop, when then screen came to life. The title was nothing special but the words that followed change my mood.  Again.  To think that two words had the power to piss people off. Alright, just me.  Not the PJ party. No.  What were the two words you might ask? I'll assume you did. Part one.  As I f bombed the filmmakers in my mind, I wondered just how many more. How many more? Who knew? I knew one thing,  I was never going to see Part Two in the cinema.  No, the next time I'll be at home on the couch watching with nothing but Hanes on. Just like grandpa. Who am I kidding, I'll have my Batman Pj's on with a towel around my neck. Hey! if you got a cape, you wear it. I did learn one thing though.  The reason why the butter was so expensive; to pay for the Recliners.

I wrote this story at my favorite cafe. I did a make shift standup routine for the owner. He laughed. I went back to my table finished the rough copy saved it and proceeded out.  I began to back out of the parking lot and saw two kids walking in, wearing you guess it, Pajamas.

 

High BP

Today I had an appointment with my doctor. I recently had a blood test and he wanted to go over the results. Nothing serious. He just wanted a little chat. Still, I was a little nervous.  

While waiting in the office it occurred to me that there is never a good time to test your blood pressure. I started to write the whole scenario on a note pad one my cell. I was chuckling inside when his assistant told me it was my turn. I could feel the pressure rise. In the examination room I worked on breathing and said om over and over again trying to calm my beating heart down. I checked my pulse and I can feel it working. Slower, slower. I was ready. You may enter.  I am very competitive. I want to get the best score I can. I can fool him. I enter the altered state known as the Zen of Den.

My doctor doesn't take my BP often because it's generally pretty good. I was looking for to a quick how ya doing and see ya later experience. Then I opened my mouth. 

Sometimes I can talk too much about funny little things. I am socially awkward especially when I'm nervous. I told my doctor about my, there's never a good time to test your BP, bit. He laughed and said it was a good bit. That I should use it. However, he did get the last laugh when he told me to get on the table. My blood pressure was good and so was the visit. 

The results didn't seem too serious but there were couple things I needed to work on. The usual fix; diet, exercise and five gallons of water a day. 

Thank you Doctor D for inspiration. 

Here's the links for your viewing enjoyment. 👉👉https://youtube.com/shorts/oBZpONM-Yvg?si=JaVHn29kmU1HI34Y

Uncoupled Coffee

I was sitting having a coffee at my favorite cafe. My note app on my cell phone was open and I was thinking about what story to write about. Sometimes you don't have to think, you just have to listen. Two tables away a couple were having a highly, overly, caffeinated conversation. They apparently didn't realize that decaf was an option. 

They didn't care if the whole cafe knew they were having marital problems. Everyone in earshot knew. How could I not; they were right next to me. There I was pretending I was doing research. I was doing research alright. 

You never listen to me, she said. You ignore me. The man said nothing. Then he tried to defend himself but he knew she was right. So he took a big breath and just let her rant. Eventually she stopped. Why? Exhaustion and she needed to tinkle.

 

She got up and said sharply, I'm going to the restroom. Announced she was going to the restroom. He was still recovering from the verbal assault. Numbed by the flurry of jabs, asked her where she was going. This didn't help her mood. When she came out of the restroom, it was clear that she had not rested. She looked at him and he looked at her. There was nothing left to say but I think get off your ass were leaving was implied. Her body language and a new wrinkle that had just appeared on her face, said it all.

They said goodbye to the staff. The grumpy man opened the door for his wife. The wife was almost committed but saw a collection of items on a shelf next to the opened door. What an opportunity to piss her husband off even more. She took her time perusing the shelf, checking prices and laughing outload inside. They finally exited and life was good for this guy, me, to write about the story. I guess, when one door closes, another opens. End of story.

Elastic Grandma

My grandmother had an obsession with elastic bands. She had every size and color under the sun. She had her whole collection dangling from her wrist like a big rubber bangle. She must have thought that if someone needed one she'd be ready.  Is there a better conversation starter? Coming to the rescue of someone's untidy emergency. You know what you need? Here's an elastic.

Every morning she would wake up ready to collect her rubber treasures. She read the morning news not just for the obits but because it came with a free elastic band. Wow! Sometimes, she prayed for rain just so she could get a bonus plastic bag. Plastics and elastics. Well, good morning to me. Her quest continued.

She must have thought, where else can I find elastic bands? The grocery store was now an adventure.  I don't remember her being a fan of  broccoli, I think she bought it because it came with a hard to find small fat elastic band. A collectors item. She wasn't a fan of the flimsy elastic around lettuce but she bought it anyway. She had so many bands around her wrist, I don't think she could feel her fingers. The price you pay to be of service.  Soon, everything she bought had to come with a bonus. Kid's cereal came with hockey stuff. She treated us and it was cool. I couldn't wait to tare open the box, rip the bag open, stick my hand threw to the bottom and dig out the surprise. There is only one thing better. Eating all the raisins out of the cereal and pissing my brothers off because all they have left is bran flakes. He, he. Even tea had to have something. They did have something. A lot of somethings. Little ceramic figurines. There wasn't a bare shelf in her house. Even peanut butter had to have a bonus jam swirl in the jar. Another bonus, the jar turned into a drinking glass. Clubs, diamonds, hearts and spades oh my. How cool is that.

From elastic to plastic

My grandmother had a little door next to her big side entry door, in case the Keebler elves wanted to stop by in the middle of the night to make cookies. It was the milk door. How special is milk to have his own door. It was like a green room. Mr. Milk is a comedian and he just can't wait to hit the stage and pour himself out in a comedy of errors. His trusty sidekick (my sister) would help him spill the laughs everywhere. On the table. On my lap, on the pet dog and eventually on the floor. Later, when milk came in bags the door was shut for good but luckily, the comedy continued. The bag had to to be smashed down into a  bag holder pitcher thing. Whatever it's called. If you didn't get it far enough down, that's when the fun began. Enter my sister. If the bag was not smashed down a little bit of the bag would lean over. A little tip:  the bigger the hole, the bigger the mess. The first glass disaster is brought to you by you know who, my sister. On the table. On my lap and on the floor. By now the pet dog, wise to seating arrangements, was eating out of my brothers hand on the other side of the table. 

My grandma was thrifty. A three pack of milk came with a bonus bag around them. Yippy! She wouldn't throw them away. No. She wouldn't recycle. Didn't need to. She would cut open the top and wash them out. It was the best of both worlds. Left overs in a plastic milk bag wrapped with and elastic band. Life was good.  Now a word about wonder. I mean bread. 

My dad use to say. Okay. Every dad use to say, When I went to school. I had to walk to school. Five miles, both ways. Up hill. We didn't have fancy boots. Bare feet.  Luckily, us kids had boots. When our boots or our socks had holes in them we didn't throw them away. Why? We had perfectly good bread bags. They even worked in our skates. What a great deal. Come to think of it, if it wasn't for grandmas bread bags, I would have lost my toes years ago.

I remember getting ready for school. My mother had a collection of bread bags thrown up on the shelf above our coats. Our boots and shoes were in a pile on the bottom. Everything was at arms length. We all had toques. After all, we were Canadians kids. For an added bonus we could choose a scarf or a turtle neck dicky. I didn't call dibs on not wearing the dicky, so I had to wear it. Before putting our boots on we'd pull our socks out enough to fold over the holes and ever so gently  slip a bread bag on, then ever so gently slip our bread bagged feet into our boots and pray that everything stayed in place. The rest of the exposed bread bags got tucked into our pants and were kept in place with you guessed it, Grandmas elastic bands. It wasn't about style is was about not freezing our toes off. Snug as bug in a rug. Off we went, three kids running through St. Jules field, bread bags on our feet and lunch pails in hand. Speaking about lunch pails. Our lunch pails were filled with love. Neatly packed inside, our PB and J sandwiches were in a elastic band secured repurposed milk bag.  

Life was simple then. I owe a lot to elastics, plastics and a woman with a weird obsession. 

Thanks grandma. Meme'

 

 

My Angel

Once upon a time, a school boy gazed beyond a playground fence. There were many school girls to choose from but only one angel. The boy pointed and said to his friends, do you see that girl over there? One day she will be my wife.

What the soul writes in the heart, so shall it be. A simple wish; destiny

I don't know much about my fathers childhood. My mothers, I had heard of. She had to raise her siblings when her mother was ill. And her mother was often ill. I can't help but think she gave up much of her childhood, being a care-giver rather than being a kid. She was a God send; an angel. My father and mother married years later and I was one of seven who were lucky enough to be called a Child of Jacqueline and Joe.

Angels don't pray for wings, they just pray. Wings are heavens gift.

My mother was like a real life Cinderella. I am so grateful that the glass slipper fit and that the prince took her as his bride. Her care-giving years were not behind her. Caring was her calling. She was the best mother a kid could ask for. She was a selfless servant of God. A strict devout Catholic. I can still see her sitting in the backroom at home, smoking a cigarette, drinking her morning coffee pausing while she said the rosary. She said her rosary every morning and went to mass almost every day. If there is one phrase she'd want the world to know, it would be this: more things are brought about by prayer than the world will ever know. Her faith was her strength. She was an indeed an angel. If anyone was in need, she's be there. A beacon of hope, during loss. A pillar of strength, when all hope was gone. A shoulder to lean on and an ear to listen. Her kitchen table was always a welcome safe place for coffee and conversation. Our home had two opened doors and two open hearts, waiting for anyone who needed comfort and love. Every knock was greeted with; Come on in!

Find your song and sing it every day

She was the most beautiful woman I have ever known. She could have been a star of the silver screen. She told me once that she wanted to be a singer. She was a wonderful singer. I remember her singing, what will be, will be, while washing dishes. Lots of dishes. She had set list that would rival any crooner. After a big family get together we could be at the sink for very, very long time. It's easy to tough things when you have song in your heart.  I remember being a small boy, standing on a chair next to her, drying dishes, putting them in the cupboard and listening in awe. She sang in the church choir. It didn't matter if it was Sunday service or a funeral mass, she was there. I grew up with a love of music. My mother and I sang together at home and on the road. I remember the old hi-fi we had growing up. Her collection of albums. From Glenn Miller to Any Williams. Big bands, crooners and Christmas. Our house was filled with music. CKWW played old stuff and the old stuff is what we loved the most. Speaking of old stuff. When I use to drive my mother and father down to St Pete's for the winter, I'd throw on Cd's or cassettes. Willie Nelson was a given. If I was going to drive I had Willie on. His stardust album was our favorite. She use to say to me, I'll listen to his music if I don't have to look at him. She wasn't a fan of long haired outlaws I guess. The one thing you can't lose is the love of music. I am so blessed and thankful for that.

When my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's the one thing I could count on even if she forgot who I was, was that we could sing an old familiar song. I would start with s'wonderful she would  right on cue sing it's marvelous and together we would sing that you should care for me. Indeed she was wonderful and marvelous. There were many songs to sing and we sang them all. The mind can't take away joy. There's a sign I saw at her rest home which reads; forget your age and live your life. I would add.  Find your song and sing it everyday. My mother is in heaven now but I still hear singing in my mind. I'm singing too, mom. I have many more stories to tell about my home, my parents and my journey from boyhood to adulthood. I do hope you stop by again. I'll end this one with this:

Once upon a time a small boy grew up to be a man. A very very grateful man.

Happy Birthday, Mom.