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Advent calendars and counting down days,
angels on tree-tops and where Jesus lays, Bubble lights, boxes, and bright-colored bows, baking for weeks with freshly made doughs, Carolers, candy canes, and ribbon that curls, Christmas cloaks worn over grandmother’s pearls, Department store windows, decorating the house, desperate for sleep—even the mouse, Evergreen boughs and the scent of fresh pine, extra guests at the table all ready to dine, Fudge that is chewy and chocolates and sweets, friends from afar sending holiday tweets, Gingerbread houses and glitter that sparkles, gifts for the postman who delivers the parcels, Holly in wreathes with its sharp little leaves, hiding the presents under dark eaves, Ivory candles that light up church altars, Incense reminds that God never falters, Joy in our hearts and joy in our feet, jingle bell rockin’ all down the street, Kettles of red and hand bells that ring, keeping the secret of what Santa will bring, Letters to Santa and long distance calls, logs on the fire and trips to the malls, Mangers and magi and Mary and child, mistletoe kisses and magic grown wild, Naughty and nice and neighbors who carol, nutcrackers dressed in soldier apparel, Ohs and ahs on this special occasion, opening presents takes no persuasion, Prickly pine needles that stick to our socks, parade floats with singers who know where to dock, Quick little elves known for work and not prattle, quarters in stockings that hang from the mantel, Rudolph, red noses and radio tunes, rejoicing at midnight, napping by noon, Shepherds and stockings, and last minute shopping, snow drifts and shovels to get everyone hopping, Tissue paper and travel and toasting and trees, tinsel and toys and down on our knees, Unwrapping presents and unselfish deeds, uncles who love us and help with our needs, Visions of candy canes that dance in our heads, velvety blankets that cover our beds, Watching holiday movies with tears in our eyes, wishing and waiting and hoping time flies, X-raying packages at busy airports, Xeroxing wish lists so we don’t come up short, Yams in the oven alongside the ham, yeast rolls with butter and auntie’s best jam, Zipping along with zest and with zeal, zero days left to make an appeal. Santa is coming; I hear that’s quite true, May all that you’ve wished for be delivered to you. Merry Christmas!
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For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. –Kahlil Gibran My Aunt Lillie was a World War II Army nurse having served in England where she cared for injured soldiers brought there from the battles in Europe. After the war, Aunt Lillie returned to the family home to care for her mother. Lillie remained in the family home for the rest of her life, and she lived alone there in her later years. Through the eyes of childhood, the family home seemed enormous. The hall was long enough to be dark and spooky when the lights were off. There was a long front porch with a swing, a sunporch with bookcase of ancient titles, and a back porch from which all loved ones entered. The basement had a summer kitchen no longer in use. Aunt Lillie ran this household with a certain order, an order that was part nature, part Army nurse, and part practical. She repeatedly told me that she organized and maintained her home in such a way that should she ever become blind, she could continue to live in her home alone. I loved the beauty, the order, and the peace and quiet of that big, old, solid family home compared to the chaos of my small suburban house crowded with four children, two adults, a dog, and various friends who seemed to spend enough time with us to be named dependents on my parents’ tax return. It seemed like something was always lost, breaking, falling apart, wearing out, or used up in that newer, crowded, and busier household. In my memories, the paneling in the family home is always shining, the furniture scented with lemon polish, the curtains freshly laundered, everything just so and yet comfortable and reliable in its just so-ness. There is always something delicious on the kitchen counter or ready to come out of the oven. Ringing comes from a heavy black phone on Aunt Lillie’s desk, someone calling our number that began with K-I-6. The family home left me with an understanding that home can be a retreat from everything else. Especially in times of grief or uncertainty, I think of Aunt Lillie and the security and comfort of her home. I am reminded that small acts of caring for what we have ARE life and those small acts are meaningful in ways we do not acknowledge or understand. All these years later, I sometimes find extraordinary comfort in the ordinary tasks of living. When under stress I can return to center by straightening the towels on the bathroom towel bar, stirring the soup, lining up the shoes in the closet, folding the napkins, watering the plants, and making the bed. When the world seems out of control, I am the master of this universe I call home. And if I ever go blind, it will still be home. A homeless man made his way into my apartment building where he hid beneath a stairwell. I suspected the man’s presence because of the body odor that drifted up the stairs and met me outside my door as I left to run an errand. I set about my business tormented by the moral dilemma of the man’s presence. Management had instructed all residents to call the police when these situations occur. After completing my errand, I purchased a sandwich at the local convenience store and ran home to add fruit, cookies and a drink to the bag even though I did not know if the man would still be hiding there by the time I returned and made my way down the stairs again. As I descended the steps, the man heard me coming and began to hastily layer on the clothes he had placed across the radiator to dry. Also on the radiator were four squares of pepperoni pizza that I had seen earlier frozen to the ground next to our overflowing dumpster. The man looked up. “I am supposed to call the police, but I am giving you some food and asking you to leave,” I said. “I understand. I just came in to get dry. I was so cold and wet.” “I understand too,” I said. I wish I could do more.” “Thank you,” the man said as he held out a purse that he had rescued from the trash—a purse still in good condition. “Take this, he said.” “Save it in case you need it later,” I said. I returned to my apartment and I cried. Already on edge from the hideous state of our politics, the unraveling of the world order, and the heartless but understandable public reaction to the recent execution of an insurance executive on a street in New York City, I asked myself, “What to do? What to do to live through such a desperate situation?” How do I protect my soul in times as troubled as these when there are far too many with way too little and a notable few with far too much? History has shown that it is an untenable situation. It is a recipe for revolution. “Who will save us?” I asked myself as I looked into the twinkling Christmas lights. And the voice of a revolutionary answered: “Today I was hungry and you gave me to eat. Come to me now all who are weary, and I will give you rest.” Most days the news that greets me sets my hair on fire. What?!! is my new greeting. Let me sum up the state of the world we live in with a recent example. After years of strange and tragic mishaps aboard their airplanes and the resulting loss of hundreds of lives, Boeing, once the greatest name in aviation, admitted that maybe there were some problems in the manufacturing plant and within the corporate culture…BUT that didn’t stop them from launching two astronauts into space in a questionably-functioning spaceship for an eight-day trip. Well, guess what? HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLEM! Since NASA and Boeing couldn’t agree on the risk assessment, Boeing could not bring the astronauts back to earth aboard its Starliner. Astronauts Suni Williams and Butch Wilmore were left behind to float around in the International Space Station awaiting a celestial savior. No one seems troubled. Except me. With all of the political outrage about minor things like the energy efficiency of refrigerators and EVs, this aerospace situation does not seem to be ruffling a feather. The attitude seems to be a yawn, and a “so what?” or “Are they still out there?” Maybe I am too much of a pessimist. Maybe I am too out of touch with the miracles of technology. Who knows? Maybe an ingenious and determined Uber driver will reach those astronauts before the planned February rescue by Elon Musk’s Space-X. In any case, I remain INCREDULOUS. While the culture at Boeing that led to all of this does not surprise me, anyone who has held a job in the last 10 years could see what was happening to corporate culture and the workplace, but what sets the match to my hair is that even with knowing all of this…THE ASTRONAUTS WENT! When most other employees are refusing to come into the office or work overtime, these astronauts went into O-U-T-E-R S-P-A-C-E. And they did so WILLINGLY. It seems we live in a time when people jump into the deep end whistling, “Don’t worry; be happy.” (Except for the ones who are asked to come into the office that is.) I have actually heard people say, while they are JAYWALKING, “If I get hit by a car, I’ll just sue.” The assumption is that I can do what I want and someone else will pay. At the very least, I can get even. Forget the part about being maimed or dead. Of course, should the Starliner astronauts be lost in space forever, the tragedy will become the subject of such notoriety that it will earn itself some additional Congressional hearings to embarrass as many people as possible under the guise of weeding out those responsible. Will it be the left? The right? The woke? Or, maybe in this case, whoever was asleep at the launch pad? I grew up in a time when it wasn’t just the Boy Scouts who had the motto: “Be prepared.” We all did. We were taught to think things through. Do what is right. That went along with wear clean underwear just in case. Which leads me to wonder, what are those astronauts, who expected to be in space for 8 days, doing for clean underwear 180 days later? Maybe I was so preoccupied with the basic life and death issues that I missed the grand opening of the first Lunar Target. Perhaps Williams and Wilmore are just so happy to be free of post-election politics that they would rather be in outer space. Maybe I would too. Hopefully, Elon Musk will stay in Donald Trump’s good graces long enough to get the astronauts home because I heard the incoming president is conducting deportations of immigrants who get on his nerves. My words of wisdom to you are this: if someone offers you a once in a lifetime opportunity, think long and hard…because it just might be. |
AuthorLilli-ann Buffin Archives
April 2025
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