Long about the end of November, my mom would start piling shopping bags filled with Christmas presents in the corner of her bedroom. Bag after plastic bag would be stacked one on top of the other until the whole corner was one big credit card nightmare, not to be reckoned with until after the first of the year.
Each time we went into Mom and Dad's bedroom, those packages would call our names.
"Sharron, come have a peak!"
"Hello? Anybody want to know what's inside?"
"Greetings! I'm your Christmas present! Aren't you anxious to know what I am?"
And I did and I wanted to and I was sorely tempted. But I never looked. Not once. Not one peak. Not one furtive glance. Not one kick of a package with a toe to see if something would "accidentally" fall out. Never. I know that must be hard to believe, but it's true. I can still remember my mom looking me in the eyes and saying,
"Yes, those are your Christmas presents. I'm not going to hide them. You can look if you want to, but on Christmas morning, you won't have any surprises."
And boy, did I want those surprises! I wanted to rip the paper off those carefully wrapped boxes and find my next great gift waiting for me and only me to enjoy whatever pleasure it offered. A sweater soft as cashmere. A new purse. A Christmas puzzle. New earrings. Socks. It didn't matter. It was Christmas, and it was new, and it was mine.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
My Mother's Hands
My mother’s hands were never blue-veined and wrinkled. They were never gnarled at the knuckles or spotted brown with age or rough with years of wear.
Her hands were gentle and full of purpose. They could make school lunches and cherry turnovers and a pot of coffee while braiding hair and buttoning blouses and tying shoes. They wiped noses and bandaged knees and could tell a fever to within half a degree. They diapered bottoms and bathed bellies and slathered sunscreen on shoulders and cheeks.
Those hands snapped thousands of beans and shelled peas and shucked corn. They peeled apples and picked strawberries and rolled peanut butter balls and cut cookies. They made pickles and pies and pans of lasagna. They poured hundreds of cups of coffee and sliced trays of pumpkin and zucchini bread.. They cooked meals for the sick and the sad and those who were without…without food, without friends, without a place to be.
My mother’s hands knew how to play a game of Candyland and lose on purpose. They could play Fish and Old Maid and Crazy 8s and never win a single time. They could make dinosaurs out of Playdoh and dress Barbie without looking. Her hands could paint fingernails and toenails fabulous shades of pink and red. They made perfect snowballs and snowmen and delicious snow cream to share with neighbors.
Mom’s hands were strong enough to lift my grandmother into bed and gentle enough to rock my babies to sleep. They wrote checks to charities and letters to far away daughters and Christmas cards to friends and recipes for church cookbooks. They clapped with pride and wiped tears of joy and waved goodbye to those they loved. They served others, helped small children to cross the street, and spread peace at mass.
My mother’s hands were never blue-veined and wrinkled. They were never gnarled at the knuckles or spotted brown with age or rough with years of wear.
They were still much too soon.
Her hands were gentle and full of purpose. They could make school lunches and cherry turnovers and a pot of coffee while braiding hair and buttoning blouses and tying shoes. They wiped noses and bandaged knees and could tell a fever to within half a degree. They diapered bottoms and bathed bellies and slathered sunscreen on shoulders and cheeks.
Those hands snapped thousands of beans and shelled peas and shucked corn. They peeled apples and picked strawberries and rolled peanut butter balls and cut cookies. They made pickles and pies and pans of lasagna. They poured hundreds of cups of coffee and sliced trays of pumpkin and zucchini bread.. They cooked meals for the sick and the sad and those who were without…without food, without friends, without a place to be.
My mother’s hands knew how to play a game of Candyland and lose on purpose. They could play Fish and Old Maid and Crazy 8s and never win a single time. They could make dinosaurs out of Playdoh and dress Barbie without looking. Her hands could paint fingernails and toenails fabulous shades of pink and red. They made perfect snowballs and snowmen and delicious snow cream to share with neighbors.
Mom’s hands were strong enough to lift my grandmother into bed and gentle enough to rock my babies to sleep. They wrote checks to charities and letters to far away daughters and Christmas cards to friends and recipes for church cookbooks. They clapped with pride and wiped tears of joy and waved goodbye to those they loved. They served others, helped small children to cross the street, and spread peace at mass.
My mother’s hands were never blue-veined and wrinkled. They were never gnarled at the knuckles or spotted brown with age or rough with years of wear.
They were still much too soon.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Greetings!
Greetings! My first blog. I've been wanting to start a blog for awhile seeing as I have a lot to say an no one to say it to, but I've never taken the time to find out how to do it. My cousin, Angie, started blogging a few months ago and inspired me to do so as well, so here we go...
The election is Tuesday. I will be so glad when it is over. I am so excited at the prospect of an Obama administration. I am dismayed, though, at the incredibly negative tone this campaign season has taken on. I just want to shake the candidates (mostly McCain and Palin) and remind them that on November 5, we are all still Americans and this divisiveness that they have created and allowed to flourish will not do our country any good at all. I am really disappointed that we have seemingly not come as far as I thought we had. I think we are all just afraid and worn out after 8 years of GWB.
I'm helping at school tomorrow with their mock election. I told my kids not to be upset if Obama loses the popular vote there. We are in a pretty red school with lots of staunch republican parents. Like my kids, they will copy what their parents believe when they vote. I think it's important, though, to teach our young people the value of voting so that they might carry this with them into the future and become regular voters throughout their lives.
I remember when I was a kid during the 1976 presidential election. Our school brought in one of those booths where you go in and pull the lever and the curtains close and you get to vote. We all got to vote for president that year in our own mock election. It was so exciting! I used to go vote with my mom, too, and she would let us go into the booth with her and show us which levers to pull down for the candidates she was choosing. It was such a big thrill to open those curtains and know I had helped her vote. I could not wait until I was 18 and could vote for real! I wanted to go behind those curtains in my own private booth and make my selections...Too bad for me that by the time I turned 18, we were using paper ballots and pencils! It's just not the same as standing in private, in your own little booth, choosing your candidates. Oh well, I guess that's progress!
So Tuesday, we get to choose the course for the country for the next four years. I don't know what I'll do if Obama loses. I will go into a major depression, I think! I did in 2004 when Bush won a second term. Hopefully, things will go the other way this year. I think the country is ready for a change.
I'm keeping my fingers and toes crossed!
The election is Tuesday. I will be so glad when it is over. I am so excited at the prospect of an Obama administration. I am dismayed, though, at the incredibly negative tone this campaign season has taken on. I just want to shake the candidates (mostly McCain and Palin) and remind them that on November 5, we are all still Americans and this divisiveness that they have created and allowed to flourish will not do our country any good at all. I am really disappointed that we have seemingly not come as far as I thought we had. I think we are all just afraid and worn out after 8 years of GWB.
I'm helping at school tomorrow with their mock election. I told my kids not to be upset if Obama loses the popular vote there. We are in a pretty red school with lots of staunch republican parents. Like my kids, they will copy what their parents believe when they vote. I think it's important, though, to teach our young people the value of voting so that they might carry this with them into the future and become regular voters throughout their lives.
I remember when I was a kid during the 1976 presidential election. Our school brought in one of those booths where you go in and pull the lever and the curtains close and you get to vote. We all got to vote for president that year in our own mock election. It was so exciting! I used to go vote with my mom, too, and she would let us go into the booth with her and show us which levers to pull down for the candidates she was choosing. It was such a big thrill to open those curtains and know I had helped her vote. I could not wait until I was 18 and could vote for real! I wanted to go behind those curtains in my own private booth and make my selections...Too bad for me that by the time I turned 18, we were using paper ballots and pencils! It's just not the same as standing in private, in your own little booth, choosing your candidates. Oh well, I guess that's progress!
So Tuesday, we get to choose the course for the country for the next four years. I don't know what I'll do if Obama loses. I will go into a major depression, I think! I did in 2004 when Bush won a second term. Hopefully, things will go the other way this year. I think the country is ready for a change.
I'm keeping my fingers and toes crossed!
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