Pretty Pretty Bang Bang

It’s easy to forget how fragile life really is until you’re faced with the reality that it does end. I rarely discuss personal things on this blog, but I’m making an exception today.

Yesterday I received an email from a childhood friend telling me that her dad is nearing the end of his life. While I knew he hadn’t been well, I was shocked to learn that he had deteriorated so rapidly and that the end was near. It broke my heart. Not only for the pain she was feeling, but also because he is so young. When she and I were spending most of our free time together as kids, I remember her dad as a quiet, serious man who listened to a lot of bluegrass music and spent time in his office. Naturally, he is more than that, but as a kid you see things differently. While I don’t know his exact age, I do know that she’s too young to lose a parent and he’s too young to go. But is anyone really “old enough” to die? I don’t think so.

A few years ago, I dealt with a similar situation with another good friend. After spending a fun weekend at our house, she was on her way back home when she received a call from her mother informing her that her dad wasn’t well. Unfortunately, the signs of his deterioration had probably been going on for a while, but no one noticed. The news was bad; he had brain cancer and wasn’t going to get any better. About six weeks later he was gone. I was in the car driving to see her when she called asking when I’d arrive because her dad had died that morning and she needed me. A couple of hours later I was there and we spent the weekend dealing with the situation. I felt helpless, as I do now, but glad I could be a shoulder to lean on and an ear to listen.

I guess the reason this hits me so hard is that I have been dealing with my own father’s illness for the past several months. While his prognosis is very, very positive, it’s just a sobering reminder that life is to be cherished every day. I love my dad dearly and hope he knows that even if I don’t talk to him as often as I should. Yes, we drive each other crazy (probably because we are very much alike), but he’s my dad and I love him.

Life is fragile. Treat it with care. Take time today to tell the special people in your life that you love them. I know I will.

Steve and I have been devoting some time this new year to purging unwanted crap stuff from the house. While most of the things we have in the house are items we love and enjoy, we knew there was an attic filled with stuff we hadn’t looked at or used since we moved three years ago. Saturday we devoted the day to working in the attic.

Despite the low ceiling, which meant we were sitting most of the time, and the cold, we had fun unearthing stuff we hadn’t seen in a while. While most of it was garage sale material, we did find some real treasures which made the afternoon fun. Steve found a box full of photos and his uniform from the Navy, along with some possibly valuable baseball cards and a mug with his high school crest on it. I found this:

This photo is from a Drury College (as it was then) Admissions catalog. I believe this is the fall of 1985, but it might have been the spring of 1986. I was dating the guy pictured, Steve W., and he worked in the Admissions office. They needed some Drury students to pose for their upcoming catalog so he asked me to be a part of it. I think it’s the happiest I ever looked in college! Ok, so the nerd part is that I can tell you the details of my “fabulous” outfit. The shirt was a peach cotton shirt from The Limited and I adored it. I wore it until it faded and fell apart long after college. The shorts are Liz Claiborne shorts my Grammie bought me on a shopping trip in Columbia. Yes, I was stylin’ in those days.

I also found my letter to the Pi Beta Phi sorority I wrote  in 1987 asking to be excused from several absences and permission to go on alumni status for my senior year. Many of you who know me personally know that I was not excused from those absences and was kicked out of the organization. Reading the letter made me want to go back to my 20 year-old self and tell her to lighten up! I was so sad and angry then, mainly because my parents were getting a divorce and I didn’t know how to process the whole thing. Oh well, I survived and learned quite quickly who my real friends were in those days.

The attic is clean and organized, the garage sale stuff is in several bins, I have things of value I’m going to put on eBay and some nice vintage stuff I’m going to try and sell to a local antique store. The best part is that Steve and I worked together, had fun and are getting rid of the clutter!

Once again, Steve and I had one of the most uneventful New Year’s Eve celebrations in history. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining! We were invited to a party and had every intention of going, but Steve developed a sinus infection shortly after Christmas and was still feeling a little tired. Since the party wasn’t supposed to start until 9 p.m., we met some friends for dinner at Gem of India for their New Year’s Eve buffet and celebration. It was a great time with some excellent food, but we were done partying by 9:30 p.m. Call us old farts, but NYE celebrations just aren’t our style.

We went home, watched a little TV and then got into bed. The new year came while we were snoozing and that was just fine by us. The next morning we decided to hit the Dillard’s New Years Day sale at the mall. I consider myself a seasoned shopper, but that sale was not for the faint of heart. It was a madhouse! I will say, all of the employees were so nice and most of the people I encountered were laughing about the situation. Steve and I were both in good moods and just went with the flow. An hour later, we declared ourselves done and went to Target for some cat food. Yep, we were on fire in 2012.

Later that day, we rearranged the living room and talked about our goals for the new year. I wouldn’t call them resolutions, but more like goals we’d like to achieve together. It was a good weekend, but I’ll admit I’m ready to get back to my normal routine. Happy 2012, everyone!

Whew! Another holiday season has come and gone. It was a great time filled with love, laughter, family and friends. Once again, Steve and I headed to Des Moines to spend Christmas with the world’s cutest nieces. Oh, and my sister and brother-in-law too! It was the first time in several years we didn’t experience a white Christmas, which was odd, but it was nice not to battle the weather. On Christmas Day we were able to take a walk and enjoy some sunshine before dinner.

As usual, the girls provided us with much entertainment as they tore into their gifts on Christmas Day. The day before, my mom had surprised them with handmade velvet stockings similar to the ones she made for my sister and I. They were delighted to have “fancy” stockings but Julia immediately started worrying that Santa might get confused over the fact they each had two socks. The solution was for them to hide their old socks so Santa wouldn’t make any mistakes.

Ralph and Blair always wraps Santa’s gifts and place them under the tree. Santa uses different wrapping paper and each girl gets the same number of gifts. That’s important, you know, because they come downstairs and start counting their stash! Lydia announced that she knew Santa had gotten her a new Care Bear so naturally that was her first gift to open. The joy and delight of being around them makes the holiday special.

Around noon we did some Face Time with mom and Burl in Arizona. While I love the technology, Face Time isn’t my favorite thing. I knew it was important to mom so I played along, but it can’t replace being in person and enjoying the moment face to face.

The day after Christmas my sister and I hit the mall early for some retail therapy. The stores weren’t busy and we had fun bonding over some shopping. Julia was disappointed she wasn’t included, but we had plenty of time with her and Lydia before we hit the road home.

Next year we’re looking forward to having mom and Burl here for Christmas. We don’t know if we’ll be in Des Moines or Springfield, but we do know we’ll be with family and that’s what Christmas is all about.

It was Christmas of 1987 and I had turned 21 the previous June. We were spending the holiday in Fulton, MO with my grandparents, Aunt Susie, Uncle Riley and cousin John. John is four years older than I and I always thought of him as my very cool, very nice looking cousin. He had supposedly graduated that December from MU (we later learned he hadn’t, but had told his mother he had) and my mom’s graduation gift to him was a case of Corona beer.

Around noon on Christmas Day, John took two bottles of beer out of the case and handed one to me. “Here Cuz,” he said, “Merry Christmas.” I was in heaven. First of all, it was Christmas, but more importantly, my very cool cousin was sharing a beer with me, his dorky younger cousin. We clinked bottles and what eventually became known as The Corona Christmas had officially begun.

Throughout the course of the day, John and I continued to enjoy our beer. We had one at dinner, with dessert, while watching movies, and so on. By midnight, only two beers remained but we were done. Now, before you go judging my family and wondering what kind of parent lets their kid drink all day, I’d like to point out that 1) I was in college and really knew how to handle my liquor, and 2) we consumed those beers over a 12 hour period with plenty of food. Neither one of us really got drunk.

We spent the night at Susie and Riley’s sleeping on the floor of the living room near the fire. Bright and early next morning, I was greeted by my cousin holding the last two Coronas. I don’t think I drank that one.

Like most people, Christmas music plays a large part in contributing to my holiday spirit. Having grown up in a house full of music, the sounds of the season are very important to me.

I remember the first solo I ever sang. I was six years old and we were singing Christmas songs in music class at school (long before people got bent out of shape regarding holidays and personal choices). Dr. McCurry was walking through the rows listening to us sing. When the song finished, he called me in front of the class and asked me to sing “O Little Town of Bethlehem” for everyone. I was so nervous that during the song, I twisted the brass button off the front of my green and navy plaid skirt (yes, I remember what I was wearing that day). He then praised me and told the class that my singing was an example of how the song should be done. After class, Chris W. came up to me and complimented my performance.

Fast forward to high school where I performed in the choir and handbell choir. While I enjoyed many different type of music, I always loved the Christmas programs. We would practice for weeks and the entire school would participate in a performance for our parents. It was a dressy affair and we were required to wear black or navy skirts (pants for the boys) and white shirts. We would also have caroling in the halls. Dr McCurry would roll a piano out to the hallway and we’d gather by the administrative offices to sing. The finale was the senior class singing “White Christmas.” I know I got choked up my senior year, but it was such a great time.

In college, I also performed with the choir and smaller ensemble groups and loved the Christmas Vespers program at Stone Chapel on the Drury University campus. It was such a beautiful setting for all the gorgeous songs we’d perform.

My performance days are over, but I always love singing along with the Christmas music at home. Christmas Eve, we’ll be at church and I’ll be thinking of my family as I sing along with the Christmas hymns. It will be hard to make it through “Silent Night” without getting a little weepy (and I just might cry anyway) but it’s the beauty and meaning of the song that moves me rather than sadness.

Despite all the hype of Christmas Day, the Christmas Eve celebrations of my childhood are probably the most cherished memories I have. We always spent them with my paternal grandparents, Fred and Lucille, and we’d spend the night at their house (I’m sure you’ll remember the previous post regarding the reason for that!).

The entire evening was a dressy affair and I loved wearing my fanciest frock. Dinner was usually boiled peel and eat shrimp (filet mignon for my sister), salad and French bread. I loved gathering around the dining room table and making a huge mess with all the great food. After everything was cleaned up, we’d either head to church or my sister and I would create our own services in the living room. Once I’d learned to play several Christmas songs on the piano, we’d have music too. We even made our own programs to hand out to everyone at the service. The highlight was the reading of the Christmas story in the Bible. I never tire of hearing it. Here’s a photo of my mom, me, Fred and Lucille. I’m guessing dad is taking the photo and Ralph is sleeping. I think I’m four, but I couldn’t find a date on it.

When the church service was over, it was time to open some presents. But wait! What’s that sound outside? It was Jane and Pat Ciccone, friends of my grandparents. They would come by every year, Pat playing the trumpet, to sing and wish everyone a Merry Christmas. They’d rush inside and stay long enough for a cup of cheer. Pat would play Christmas songs and we’d sing along. I remember Jane looking so beautiful in her fur coat. It was a rush of excitement and then they’d be gone to play at the next house.

My sister and I would be bouncing off the walls to open something but the rules were (and still are) one present at a time. We’d tear into our packages and squeal with delight. One year, my grandmother gave me five rolls of quarters (a sizable sum for that time) and told me I could shop. I was confused at first, but then grabbed the JC Penney catalog and went to town. Soon we were off to bed and the long night of waiting for Santa to arrive began.

One of my favorite things during the Christmas season was all the dances I attended. While my family wasn’t affluent enough to have a country club membership, I had several friends who invited me and my date to attend the Snowflake Ball at Hickory Hills (the country club of the 80s). I have many fond memories of the dances, the dates I had and the dresses I wore, but one of my favorites was the Christmas I was in 8th grade.

It was 1979 and my grandparents from Fulton, MO were visiting. I didn’t have a steady boyfriend, so I asked my neighbor and good friend Don to be my date (Don would later become my first serious boyfriend, but that’s another story). I remember exactly what I wore. Earlier in the year, mom and I had shopped for dance dresses so she could score the best deal. I found a gorgeous dress at The Children’s Shoppe, Springfield’s upscale clothing store for babies, children and teens. Gunne Sax was the brand and style of dresses all fashionable girls were wearing. Made of lace and calico, they were modern interpretations of old fashioned dresses. Of course, there were many knock-offs around, but I wanted the real thing. Naturally, mom found one on sale that met both of our needs. It was a dark green calico with semi-sheer while sleeves, lace trim and pearl buttons. I wore it with nude hose and my chocolate suede Candie’s shoes. Man, I was stylin’.

Don’s mother called my mom to get the detailed information on my dress so my corsage would match. Not only did I have a coordinating corsage, but Don wore his dad’s dark green suit. We looked so great!

My grandfather, Keck, took us to the dance and my most vivid memory of that car trip was him wearing his Sherlock Holmes hat. Don was fascinated by it and commented on it several time during the evening. I’m sure Keck entertained Don with several embarrassing stories about me and my family too.

I remember it was a fun evening and I probably ducked when Don attempted to kiss me good night. That was long before I had any feelings for him!

I still long for the days when Christmas meant dressing up and attending parties. Alas, I have no parties to attend this year, but I might just dress up and drag Steve out with me anyway!

I have a sixth sense and it’s one that actually drives me crazy. I can guess gifts. Seriously. Hand me a package and I can usually figure out what it is before I shake it. I really find it annoying because I love surprises.

One Christmas, my grandmother decided to give me a sewing box filled with all kinds of sewing goodies. I hadn’t asked for one, and hadn’t even thought about wanting one, but I managed to guess exactly what it was a few weeks before Christmas. She was convinced I had snooped in her closets and found it before she wrapped it. What’s sad is that I only remember snooping once and all I found was a doll she’d made me. I didn’t even snoop at home, but I sure loved shaking and handling gifts.

My mom found a way to deter me from guessing what I was getting – she came up with a code system for the gifts. Rather than put our names on the packages, she used a series of numbers to indicate who the gift was for. It worked because I had no idea which gifts were mine so I finally gave up trying to figure out the whole thing. I later learned that the code system was quite simple – odd numbers for me because I am the first child and even numbers for Ralph because she’s the second child. One year mom used the numbers of my sorority membership, but I never knew them so I had no idea.

Mom no longer needs to use numbers to keep my sister and I out of the packages, but it’s still fun to talk about the years she fooled us with her package code.

This month I thought I’d share some of my most vivid Christmas memories. Those of you who know me and my family will not be surprised that most of them are a little twisted. Hey, we have a good time, that’s all I can say!

It was the Christmas of 1975 (if memory serves me right). I was nine and my sister was five. Mom and dad had put us to bed early but we were too hopped up on the excitement of Christmas to sleep. Of course, we eventually fell asleep but awakened before dawn. It was around 5 a.m. and the house was quiet. It never occurred to either one of us to wake our parents. Not that it would have done any good. My mom’s ability to sleep through things is legendary. We did what any child would do when they can’t wait to see what Santa brought – we got up and raided the tree. By the time our poor parents crawled out of bed, we’d played with everything and weren’t quite as wound up as we had been at 5 a.m. It would be our last Christmas Eve at home.

Next year, a new tradition was born where we would spend the night at our grandparents’ house and drive over to our home on Christmas morning. The rule was that we weren’t allowed to wake anyone up before 7 a.m. By the time we arrived at home, mom and dad had some coffee in their systems and were ready to see our faces light up at what was under the tree. I actually loved riding across town on Christmas morning in my pjs. The city was so calm and peaceful. When we arrived at our house, the lights were on and the music was going. It was the perfect way to celebrate the day!

One of my last Christmas Eve’s at home: