Chinkapin Oak for Tomorrow

I planted an oak tree this past weekend.  It's a chinkapin.  I got it for free at Trees Louisville Fest a couple of weeks ago.  It's 3 feet high, and its trunk is about as big around as my thumb.  When it is full-grown, it will be 50-60 feet tall, but I will probably not be here to see it in its full glory.  They take about 30 years to reach 50 feet, and in 30 years, I will be almost 89.  Maybe one of my kids will drive me by the old homeplace so I can see it when it's grown.

I remember years ago when we lived on Bellaire.  There were all of these really mature trees around our house but none in our yard.  Kyle, who was 4 at the time, asked if we could plant a tree so he could have a treehouse.  Bless his sweet little heart, he didn't understand the time it would take for a tree to grow big enough to support a treehouse. 

When we moved to our home on Crossgate, it had several large trees already happily living in the yard: two giant maples, three massive white pines, and an oak.  We never built a treehouse in any of them, but they were climbed and played under for years. One of the maples was nicknamed "the dragon" after the 2-headed dragon in Dragon Tales.  The kids across the street still like to rest in its arms.  The others shaded swing sets and playhouses, tea parties and GI Joe battles.  

Sadly, one by one, the trees had to come down.  The oak tree got the blight and began randomly dropping thigh-sized branches out of nowhere. We took it down for safety reasons.  The pine out front, 70 feet if it was an inch, blew over during Hurricane Ike.  We stood in the doorway and watched it sway back and forth, terrified it would fall on our house, until, thankfully, it fell across the street instead. The maple in the back began losing large limbs several years ago. One lowered to the ground so slowly that it was halfway down before we noticed.  Another branch fell violently across the neighbor's fence during a freak March snowstorm.  The last branch fell into the other neighbor's house after ice weighed it down. We finally decided it, too, had to go.

So we are left with one original maple and two pines. They are healthy but will reach the end of their lives sooner than later, and I wanted to have a younger tree well established before they disappeared. I've been meaning to plant something for a year or so but couldn't make a decision.  With Claire finishing her Master's Degree and thesis (on trees) this month, I was inspired to get planting.  A couple of Saturdays ago, I scored the oak and a spice bush, both for free, and planted both in the yard.

Yesterday, I was putting mulch around the base of the oak when it dawned on me that I probably won't be around to see it grown but how that should not ever stop anyone from planting a tree.  A sapling in the ground shows hope for the future.  It is a promise of beauty to come...of shade for the house, acorns for the squirrels, and, maybe someday, a treehouse for a little boy.  

Tired

Christmas 2024

It was the best of years. It was the worst of years. And because I don’t want to dwell on the worst, I’m just going to list the best of 2024 and then send it on its way… 

Winter 

• Joyce moved to Louisville. She’s at Dominion next to Jean, so they are together and see each other every day. 

Spring 

• Kyle travelled to India for a meditation retreat and then met Macey in Asia (not sure where exactly) for an incredible trip to several countries. They have continued to travel around the world. She even went to Kiev for a couple of days. 

• Emily graduated from NKU Suma Cum Laude with Honors. She did an amazing job and made the most of her time there. We are really proud of her. 

Summer 

• Kirk and I flew to Denver and got Joyce’s house cleaned out and ready to sell. It was like being on the set of Queen’s Gambit. Nothing had changed since 1960. It sold for a nice price to the neighbor behind her. Didn’t even have to put it on the market. 

• I got to see 2 bucket list items: dinosaur tracks (Colorado) and the ruts from the Oregon Trail (Nebraska). Bonus was seeing Chimney Rock (also Nebraska) 

• Kirk and I flew to Minneapolis to get Jean and Milt’s house cleaned out and ready to sell. It was also a challenge. So much stuff. So many trains. It sold also for a nice price by the end of the summer. 

• Claire and I spent a week at Myrtle Beach, just the two of us. It was a really good trip, and I loved the time away with just her. 

• My dollhouse won a blue ribbon at the state fair. 

Fall 

• School has actually been good, and I like the kids and the curriculum. I didn’t miss being retreat director either. I also started watercolor painting. I’m not good, but I enjoy it. 

• Emily got a job with Jimmy Fallon’s Tonightmares in NYC. She had a ball. 

• Kyle and Macey did some more travelling. Kyle got to reconnect with his Laotian “family” from when he was there in 2018. 

• Claire has decided to go back to finish her Master’s degree. She has been working with United Campus Worker’s union for a year, organizing people for better pay and working conditions, but she is so close to the degree and wants to get it completed. 

• But the best news of the year is that Emily and Brendan got engaged! He asked us for our blessing in September, and he proposed with my mom’s engagement ring on November 30. It was perfect. We can’t wait for the spring of 2026! 

 I’m sure there was more, but that’s all I’ve got. Buh-bye 2024.

Christmas Oranges

A few years ago, when Macey first got a Christmas stocking at our house, she was puzzled by the extra large orange in the toe of the stocking.  "An orange?" she asked quizzically.  That got me to thinking about the tradition we have in our family about putting oranges in Christmas stockings, and I wanted to write it down.

When I was a kid, stockings hung on the wrought iron divider between the living room and dining room.  Initially they were the traditional red and white fur ones, our names written on them with glitter glue by Mom so we could tell them apart.  Eventually we each got striped ones.  Mine was red, white, and green.  I still have both.

Stockings were always an afterthought for us kids in our Christmas toy frenzy.  We'd be so busy playing with all the goodies Santa brought that we wouldn't even think about the stockings.  Midway through the morning, one of us would remember: Stockings! and we would sprint towards them, hanging off the wrought iron, stuffed with goodies.  Sometimes I would remember before my sisters, but I wouldn't say anything because having those stuffed stockings hanging there kept Christmas going just a little bit longer.

They were filled with chocolate Santas and foil Christmas bells and candy canes. Hershey Kisses and Rolos. Sometimes small toys like those water games with the rings that you try to get on the little pegs or the Wooly Willy with the metal shavings that you could use to give him hair or a beard.  Sometimes we got Tinker Bell nail polish or Dr. Pepper flavored lip balm.  There was always a handful of nuts in the shell (Almonds were the best. Brazil nuts the worst.  Who can crack those shells anyway???)  At the bottom of the stocking was a giant red apple and a softball sized orange.  Mom told us they were so big because they came from the North Pole.  The fact that apples and oranges don't grow that far north not being an issue because, well, Santa.

We always knew we were at the end of the stocking when we got to the fruit.  It always tasted just a little bit sweeter than usual, and I liked to keep mine in my stocking so I could eat my North Pole fruit on my own time, savoring each delicious bite.

When I became a mom, I continued the North Pole apple and oranges but not the nuts.  I would go to Kroger a day or two before Christmas Eve and look for the biggest most perfect specimens I could find and hide them away until the big night.  I continued the story of how they came from the North Pole with my kids, and they always looked forward to eating fruit from Santa.  Eventually, oranges became the only fruit put in the stockings.  Still big, bright, and blemish-free.  

My mom was born in 1939, so figuring that her family got fruit from Santa, this is nearly a 100-year old tradition.

When I got to thinking about why we put fruit in our stockings, I thought about how Mom didn't have the luxury of year-round oranges when she was a girl.  Citrus was a seasonal fruit back then and also fairly pricey, especially for her mom who was a widow with 7 kids.  It would have been a real treat to get an orange and some nuts and candy in her stocking.  My dad, who grew up in a more well-off family, also got fruit in his stocking.  He loved tangerines, and his sister told me the other day that they always got a tangerine in their stocking.  

So we continue this tradition, whose meaning, like many traditions, may one day be lost to time.  I give my kids oranges because my mom gave us oranges because her mom gave her oranges...I hope this will continue on into the next generation because those North Pole oranges are just so much sweeter than regular ones.

The Year Without a Christmas Letter

Every year, I have copied and pasted our Christmas letter to this blog so I can have a record of what happened in the weeks and months before. I pride myself on my quirky ruminations and tell myself that people enjoy reading what I write. Ha. 

This year was different. This year, I got disgusted with photo cards and other people's good news. I don't care this year. It has been a crappy year, and I didn't have the energy to pretend otherwise. I sent old fashioned Christmas cards and was hard pressed to do that. 

I thought about trying to write a clever letter using the analogy of the flooded campsite on our trip to Virginia Beach in July. It would have been a funny but poignant letter. I would have talked about how all of the signs were there...the marshy ground, the lack of grass, the ruts from tires driving in mud...How we didn't pay attention to any of the signs, and how we were shocked when we came back from the aquarium to find our site in 5 inches of standing water. How we bugged out and went to a hotel and then found a new campsite nowhere near the beach, which was my main objective for camping. How we were put on a hill at the next site, which was fine, but challenging, and how freaking hot it was and how the bugs just ate us up, leaving welts that stayed for days and days. 

I would have figured out a way to work all that into what this year was like. Kirk flying to Minnesota all the time to help with his dad, who was stuck in the basement because he couldn't do the stairs, his mom trying to take care of him but not succeeding. Kirk's work laying people off right and left, the writing on the wall for him but trying to ignore that his job was in jeopardy. Me getting an extra class at the last minute, something I'd never taught before and wasn't interested in teaching at all. 

Then Kirk's dad being dropped at the rehab center, which fractured his neck and spinal vertebrae.  Getting the call at 2 a.m. that if Kirk was hoping to see his dad before he passed, he should come now. Milt's injuries, caused by negligence, killing him a few days later. The trip to Minnesota for the funeral, seeing for myself how Jean should not be alone anymore because she has memory loss and her friends and neighbors are worried about her and wondering why we aren't doing anything. Coming home to begin the search for a place for her. One of the few good things finding a nice place a mile away from our house. Bringing her here on the sly because she wouldn't have come if she had thought she was staying for good. Having her live with us for an entire month. Finding furniture at the consignment stores and pretending we had it in storage so she wouldn't stress about the cost. Finally moving her in to her new place to "try it out for a few weeks" and thankfully, praise God, finding she likes it. 

Then Kirk losing his job like he thought he might. Severance til the end of the year. Me still working, doing back to back senior retreats between Thanksgiving and Christmas that were incredibly stressful. Still trying to have meaningful lessons while being out for two full weeks. Trying to shop and have a good Christmas but worried about money (again). Not being able to do much of what I wanted to prepare for the holidays... 

And all these sound like first world problems as I look back over this, but damn, it was a hard year, and I had no idea how to put this in a Christmas letter, so I just didn't. 

The end.

Thoughts on a Saturday Morning

It's been a while since I've written.  I'm too exhausted most of the time to do much of anything once I'm finished with work and house or yard stuff.  I miss writing, though, so I'm taking time this morning to put some thoughts down.

I haven't written anything about going back to work.  I'm not sure why.  It was a huge change in my life for sure.  That whole time was pretty overwhelming, so maybe I just didn't have the words.  I do now.

When it became clear that I needed to find a job, I wasn't sure where to even look.  I had been out of the workforce for so many years that I was pretty sure I would be stuck with retail or something similar.  I was sitting on the patio checking email one day when I got a blast email from Holy Cross that they were looking for a theology teacher and campus minister.  The thought crossed my mind that I could do that.  I had worked with kids and ministry all my life.  I used to teach.  I thought about it for a hot minute and then moved on.  The next day, I saw the same notice on Holy Cross's Facebook page.  I got that nagging feeling in the back of my mind like I do that this was something I needed to pay attention to, but again, I scrolled on.  Not long after that, I got another notice about it.  I can't remember now if it was an email, or it came up on Facebook again.  This time, I thought, "Okay, God.  I hear you."

I reached out to my high school friend, Susan, who works there and asked about it.  She was so supportive and encouraged me to apply.  Kirk helped me get my CV together, and I emailed it in on a Monday.  That night, the principal called me to see if I would come in for an interview on Wednesday.  I did, and by the following Monday, I had the job.  I would be the senior theology teacher for Catholic Social Teaching, have a class of sophomores for Paschal Mystery/Church History, and shadow to be the next campus minister.  It was so fast, I didn't even have time to think, but when I did, I panicked.  Holy crap!  I hadn't been in a classroom for years!  The last time I taught, I used an overhead projector.  I was so scared of the technology piece I almost shut down.  The curriculum was a breeze, but my tablet sent me into a tizzy. But there I was, going back into the classroom where I knew I belonged.

It was a rough start.  OneNote.  Teams.  Online learning for kids who had Covid.  Masking up every day.  Creating content.  It was a s t r u g g l e.  I was blessed to have a great principal who sat with me and walked me through how to use the gradebook.  How to make a seating chart.  How to do lunch count.  Our IT guy is a SAINT on earth.  He was so patient with me and worked with me without any sighs or eye rolls.  I learned stuff.  I created lessons.  I had success.  I failed a lot.  My brain was exhausted all of the time.  I slept in my room during planning periods.  I loved, loved, loved my students...Well, most of them anyway!  Lol!  

I loved my job, but I felt like an imposter.  How could I possibly be doing this?  I kept waiting for someone to see that I really didn't know what I was doing but I kept getting good reviews on my observations.  I got kuddos from my principal, constant reassurance that I was doing a great job.  Eventually, I began to believe in myself.

Part of me felt really angry that I was back at work, that my life was upended without my consent. I didn't want Kirk to know I was happy at what I was doing.  Part of me felt like this job, if I had to work, was my consolation prize from God.  That if I had to work, then I was going to be able to do something that I loved, and it gave me the chance to be creative and have fun and have time off to nurture my soul. It took me a long time to let go of the anger and just enjoy being at work.

I still feel like an imposter.  I still have some resentment for having to go back to work without my consent.  It's not as strong as it was, and that's good.  I often ask myself if I won the lottery would I still get up at 5:45 every morning and go teach a bunch of teenagers.  I think yeah.  I'm pretty sure God put me here for a reason.  I love what I do, and I'm not done yet.

My Cousin, Jim

It's Derby weekend here in Louisville, and naturally, my thoughts turn to my cousin, Jim.  Jim lived in Kansas City, and for years, no, make that decades, he came home the week before the big race to take in the spectacle that surrounds the First Saturday in May.  Jim was my oldest cousin on my dad's side, a kind of hybrid uncle/cousin/big brother kind of guy.  He was funny and interesting, and he never hung up the phone after a chat without saying, "I love you, Sharron."

Jim loved the horses.  He loved the track.  He loved studying the racing forms and going to the backside and getting a look behind the scenes.  Beyond the track, he loved the Pegasus Parade and the Great Steamboat Race and the hats and the SHOW that was the Derby.  And, he loved the people.  He was the people-ist people person I knew.

Every year he came to Louisville for the races, but he never had a ticket when he left for the track.  He knew he could find someone selling them outside the gate.  Sometimes he ended up in the infield.  Most of the time, he got in the grandstand or in a box.  A few times, he made it to Millionaire's Row.  Regardless, he almost always paid less than everybody else, and, rain or shine, he always had a good time.  I can picture him heading to the track now...sports coat, a colorful tie, a hat on his head, racing form in hand, wearing sensible shoes in case he ended up in the infield.  He'd have a big smile on his face, ready to go. 

He stayed with his dad, my uncle, until he passed away.  Then he stayed with my dad.  After my dad passed, he stayed with me a year or two until he found that he could have a place of his own for a minimal cost in the dorms of the Presbyterian Seminary just up the road.  

He came alone for many years, then he met his wife Patty and introduced her to all things Derby.  She came with him most of the time, but if she had to work, he would come by himself.  We would always get together, sometimes for lunch, usually dinner, and he would regale us with his stories from the track, this year or years past, and he always had a story.

Jim with my sister, Colleen, and me, May 5, 2017

He never met a stranger.  Jim could talk to the hitching post and have a great conversation.  He was interested in people, and when people know you are interested in them, they talk.  It must have been the reporter in him, but he could get anyone to open up, and usually find a connection between himself and whoever he was with.  He was amazing like that.

I always called him each year to see who he was betting on.  He gave me excellent tips, but I am a shy bettor, so I never won much.  Jim was the first person I called when my best friend and her husband won big on the Derby after Maximum Security was disqualified.  He was the first person I called when I learned Bob Baffert had been banned from Churchill Downs.  I'd like to call him today and get his thoughts on the deaths of the horses this week and the suspension of Saffie Joseph.  I'm sure he'd have some things to say. Even though he lived in Kansas City, and I am in Louisville, he always had the scoop.

Jim passed away suddenly in February.  He was on a long vacation in Florida with Patty and their friends, and he and the guys were about to hit the links for a round of golf.  We got the news one day that he was in the ICU and the next day, he was gone.  I still can't believe it.

I'll be thinking of him tomorrow when we sing, "My Old Kentucky Home."  I'll picture him in the grandstand, hat on his head, racing form in hand, shouting, "Go, baby, go!" as the horses round the last turn and head down the homestretch.  This year, I know he will win big.

I love you, Jim