NO YELLOW LIGHTS!

This year's "traditional" Tree Day came and went with the result pictured here for the world to see. There was much discussion amongst the males in the household for days leading up to the big event. But, this year I declared I would not go under any circumstances. (If you want to know why I refuse to participate, check out my blog archives from last year's Tree Day.) No one seemed very upset about my not going, and no, that didn't bother me at all. I was happy to have the house to myself. However, the usual enthusiastic participants couldn't coordinate their schedules. So, in the end, only Kong and the Princeling ventured out into the tree farm wilderness to bring back this year's timber victim. The Princeling wasn't the least bit coy about why he was going. He didn't care so much about the tree. He wanted the traditional diner breakfast. And, as I noted last year, the lure of a diner breakfast is hard for even me to resist. Ahhhh! Diner hash browns! I don't even like eggs, but somehow, diner eggs are always appealing. Yet, I resisted the stainless steel temptation of the Pennsylvania diner.

So Kong and the Princeling set out last weekend in search of THE tree. Middle Monkey and Baby Monkey kept their unbreakable commitments elsewhere, and I enjoyed peace and solitude at home. Several hours later, I heard van doors slamming in the driveway, and yes, I was a little excited to see what was brought home. Strapped to the rails of my custom Yakima rack was this year's evergreen sacrifice. It didn't look too bad lying horizontally. The Princeling stood on one side of the van and carefully snapped off a bungee cord, which not so carefully snapped his father in the face as he stood on the other side of the van. Pain was ignored, and the tree was brought indoors and propped up in its stand. It was lopsided, because that's what Kong has done to each and every one of the 22 Christmas trees we've had during our marriage. I then told him in the traditional fashion, "It's lopsided."
"No, it's not," he said in his traditional man-of-the-house voice.
"Yes it is."
"No, it's not."
"Yes it is, just like every tree you've ever put up. Is there something wrong with the tree, the floor, or could it be YOU?" I ask sweetly. (OK. Not so sweetly.)

We then discussed the placement of lights. "I'm not putting the lights on that thing, " I warned him.
"I'll put the *$)%#()# lights up!" The traditional Christmas cursing began. I left the room. Three hours of cursing later, Kong finished putting up the lights, but by that point, I was too tired to worry about it or even look at the tree. So I went to bed.

The next morning, after all but the Prince had left the house for their day's work and schooling, I wandered into the living room to survey the Christmas tree scene. It was still crooked. I set down my coffee, walked over and inspected more closely. Wires were clearly visible everywhere. Clumps of lights seemed to be thrust into the tree with no real purpose or sense of light and shadow. I plugged in the extension cords. Sheesh! White and YELLOW lights! I know that Kong and I have discussed this before. I really only want white lights on the tree! Just white lights! But, no! He put yellow lights on the tree, too. He later told me that I wanted yellow lights, and didn't I always put yellow lights on the tree? UGH and GRRRR. Well, there was the ONE time, back during the Christmas of 1990 as we were gearing up for the first Persian Gulf war. Out of patriotism, I put yellow lights on the tree that year. Yellow lights and yellow ribbons. That's the one and only time. And now, every year since 1990 he attempts to put yellow lights on the tree.

So, maybe I'll chalk it up to the insomnia of the night before. But the yellow lights, the 22nd crooked tree, the exposed wires, and the fact that in recent years very decent, pre-lit, perfectly shaped artificial trees came onto the market all roared to the forefront of my brain. I just couldn't take it. I just started yelling at the top of my voice, "NO YELLOW LIGHTS! NO YELLOW LIGHTS! I'VE TOLD HIM YEAR AFTER YEAR AFTER YEAR!" I began grabbing lights and pulling them off the tree. I formed them into a cat-o-nine-tails and whipped them furiously across Kong's closed roll-top desk. Over and over and over I whipped and pounded, screaming my NO YELLOW LIGHTS mantra. Picture "Mommie Dearest" and wire hangers. You get the picture. The Princeling heard the noise and stayed upstairs. He later attested to the fact that mom "wigged out on the tree". Kong has declared he'll never light a tree again. But, I felt instantly better after thrashing the yellow lights.

Do not worry about our Christmas tree, though. Eventually, I'll get around to putting on some Bing Crosby music and decorating the tree, with or without lights. After all, he's dreaming of a white, not yellow, Christmas.

Oh, the Weather Outside is Frightful

Actually, it's not really that frightful, but it's a tad unpleasant. Just a tad, but only if you aren't prepared. As I check the thermometer mounted just outside the window behind me, I see that we're dipping just below 40 degrees at 5:00 p.m. It's also pitch black outside. Ahhh, winter in the mid-Atlantic states! I actually like the cold. A week ago on Friday we enjoyed a lovely 70-degree day. Well, ok. We didn't enjoy it. It happened to be the day of my father-in-law's funeral. But, it was uncharacteristically warm. That is, it was uncharacteristically warm until about 3:00 p.m. when a gust of wind blew through, and the temps tumbled into the 40s. All was right in the Philadelphia world. That's our weather here. One minute it's quite comfortable, the next it's freezing ... or it's boiling hot with humidity of 99 percent. I know a lot of people who talk about going to Florida to enjoy the lovely year-round weather. That's just not for me. I don't have the attention span for unchanging year-round weather. True, every now and then a good hurricane blows through to really mix things up in the Sunshine State. But we get hurricanes now and then, too, along with ice storms, blizzards, flooding rains, baking droughts, and I've even heard tell of a swarm of locusts coming through once. It's interesting. Really. I promise you. And in the fall, we enjoy beautiful crisp air and sparkling colors. In the spring, the green is greener than one can imagine, and the daffodils dip and sway in soft breezes. Spring in Philadelphia is my favorite season, by the way. It usually lasts several hours as we transition from freeze to oppressive, sticky heat.
So in about an hour, I'm going to venture out to Mass on this holy day of obligation. I'll put on my brand new down jacket and enjoy the cold air on my face, and I'll say a little prayer of thanksgiving for a pretty, sparkling cold evening just outside of Philadelphia. Amen.

More Than Words

My father-in-law passed away on November 28, and I was privileged to be there with him, along with his wife, children and his grandchildren when he passed away from this life. I have never seen anyone die before. My own father, who was the most kind and generous man I've ever know, died alone in a hospital room some 23 years ago. I've always felt regret that such a giving man died alone in the middle of the night. What a wonderful thing it was that my father-in-law had his family around him, talking to him, hopefully hearing them say good-bye and telling him that they loved him.
But there was sadness in that room, a sadness due to reasons other than his passing. I stood in the corner of the room, letting his wife and children be closest to him. For the first time in the 24 years that I have known this family I heard them say "I love you" to one of their own. I was fascinated and saddened. My first thought was, "Why have you never said these things before?" But quickly followed the thought, "Thank you, Lord! Thank you for softening their hearts and letting them speak the words!"
I have to admit that my own family was not very huggy, very say-I-love-you-all-the-time, either. We were loud, to be sure. We fought, we laughed, we carried on. My dad was always quick to say "I'm proud of you." But, I can't for the life of me remember him saying "I love you" to me even once. It may seem strange, but it just never mattered to me. My dad loved me, and of this I am absolutely sure. He showed it every time I walked into the room and his face lit up with a smile. He spent time with me, talked to me, and was interested in everything I did. We loved being together. He taught me to show people how I feel. I happen to think that the words are important, as well. But, one can live without the words if actions have already spoken. It doesn't work the other way around, though. Nope. Mouth the words all you want, but if they aren't backed up with action, they are meaningless.
In that hospital room, as my father-in-law lay dying, I know the words were heartfelt. I'm glad they were said. I really hope and pray that my father-in-law heard my husband tell him that he was loved. I hope he heard and believed his daughter tell him that he was a good dad. I hope he heard us pray for him.
Both my sons were there in the room as their grandfather died. But at the very end, the youngest was just too upset to stay. I gathered him up and took him down the hall to the waiting area. His eyes were red and swollen, but he only sniffled. He was trying so hard to be a man! I wanted to gather my baby in my arms and rock him through the pain, even though he's 6'3". Eventually he was able to calm himself and speak to me. We talked about Pop-Pop and how very, very proud he was of his grandsons. How he loved those kids! My son and I talked about saying "I love you", and we talked about Pop-Pop's love for his grandsons. I asked my son if he ever had a doubt about whether or not his grandfather loved him. "No!" Of course my son never doubted his grandfather's love! Anyone could see it on my father-in-law's face when his grandchildren were near him. His face lit up. What a joy they were to him!
I told my son that he knew Pop-Pop loved him because of the way his grandfather acted with them. They laughed together, he joked with them, he gave them bubble gum. They enjoyed being together. I told my son that he witnessed an important life lesson at his grandfather's death. Love is more than the words, but the words are important, too. I said that it was a wonderful, wonderful thing that his fathercould finally say "I love you" to his father. There would be no regrets. But my son must have been deeply touched, because now, each morning as he leaves home he tells me, "I love you."