Resolutions

I resolve to appreciate more sunsets and rainbows, more clear starry nights and big golden moons; I resolve to indulge in more tender hugs, more soft kisses, and all of the everyday magic around me..

I resolve to smile more and talk more and to be more patient with my fellow beings than I am sometimes. I resolve to be on the look out for far more silver linings and far fewer dark clouds.

I resolve to sing more, to fret less, to dream more, to worry less; I resolve to dance when the mood strikes and cry when the occasion warrants; I resolve to cherish every kindness and to do my best to let go of any slights (real or imagined.)

I resolve to dance more…in the sunshine, in the moonlight, in rainshowers, whenever music takes hold of me and bids me to do so; I resolve to write more, to learn more, to know more, to be more.

I resolve to not let the incessant media coverage of preening and/or self-destructive narcissists bother me as much as it has in the past (though, I reserve the right to wonder why the vapid lives of people like Britney Spears and Paris Hilton merit so much media attention.)

I resolve to give more and expect less…life often works out this way in any case and so going with this particular flow can only make the path that much easier to negotiate.

I resolve to hang onto memories but to live firmly in the now. I resolve to respect the past but to look forward to whatever the future brings.

I resolve to believe in magic, and laughter, and love…I resolve to be the best me I can be, a little better me than I was yesterday, a less better me than I will be tomorrow.

I resolve to...Be.

Namaste, y’all.

150 Words: Breathe

“What are you doing?” she asked. She knew that it would take a moment for him to reply so she waited patiently.

The night stretched out towards infinity, the lazy gold moon nestled in the starry tapestry.

He smiled softly looking up from the blanket on the lawn. “I’m looking at the sky.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s there.”

It was her turn to smile; she should have expected that answer. “Okay. Can I watch too?”

He patted the ground next to him. “The more the merrier.”

She snuggled down next to him and looked up. “Now what do we do?”

He took her hand and held it. “Lay back and relax.”

She did so, engaged by the sparkling distant stars.

“Lay back…relax…and breathe.”

She breathed and the world slipped away and the universe enveloped her. “Wow.”

He smiled again. “Yeah.” Silently they watched the stars together for a good long while.

a merry little Christmas

We rush about to and fro, spending money we don’t have to prove love and friendship that should be known unspoken… but it’s all right.

We hear holiday music unto the point where Nat Cole singing about roasting chestnuts or Bing Crosby dreaming of snow is burned into our consciousnesses against our collective will…but it’s all right.

We dream of Yuletides long gone and fret that those days were better than the nowadays…we string our lights and trim our trees and stand on line at the Post Office while wondering why we’re doing all of it…but it’s all right.

We stop to sing…we stop to share faith, love, peace, and laughter…we pause to bask in the warmth of fireplaces and in the joyful company of friends and other loved ones…we exchange whimsical cards and brightly wrapped gift offerings…we remember, for a soft eternal moment, that the season is filled with light and music and golden magic when we let it be. And it is, wondrously, all right…

…have yourself a merry little Christmas,
make the Yuletide gay,
from now on our troubles will be far away…

Peace, joy, love, light, and laughter to you one and all.

Happy Christmas,
Michael

150 Words: Showtime

This is always the hard part, she thought, as she watched her husband sleeping soundly. He was, she knew, ready for that special night of nights but first he had to get up.

She nudged him and he grunted. “It’s time, sweetheart,” she said.

He grunted again and she shook him harder. “It’s time, big guy,” she insisted, “time to rise and shine.”

“Don’t wanna,” the old man slurred, “tell ‘em to go without me.”

The old woman chuckled affectionately. “They can’t do that…there’s no magic without you. So get up, it’s showtime!”

The old man sighed and rolled over. He sighed and then, with surprising grace for a man of his girth, he rolled out of bed. “Tell me why I do this every year?”

“It’s for the children, Nick,” the old woman said handing him a steaming mug of coffee.

“Right…the children…ho…ho…ho…”

“That’s the spirit, dear,” she smiled.

Acknowledging the Sunrise (on Christmas Morning)

Katie sat patiently at the top of the carpeted stairs…more patiently than she, all of 8 years old with the incumbent restlessness that typified that age, would at almost any other time. The house was still and cool and dark and Katie, bundled in her favorite robe, was waiting. Her parents and her brother were sleeping in their rooms but she was wide awake and waiting…waiting for the sunrise and waiting for the sunrise to be acknowledged.

It was Christmas morning and on that day, more than any other day, Katie wanted and needed to witness the sunrise and she wanted and needed to hear it acknowledged.

Through the windows below Katie could see tendrils of warm light stealing surely from the eastern horizon and she smiled expectantly. In the great room below the staircase, the tall tree, festooned with delicate bulbs and ribbons and strings of popcorn and surrounded at its base with a wealth of brightly wrapped treasures soon to be exchanged and gratefully accepted, seemed to be waiting as well.

Katie heard a door open down the hall but she didn’t look around.

“What are you doing, squirt?” her brother Scott, 8 years her senior and ever her most stalwart protector after getting over the shock of no longer being their parents’ only child back when he was Katie’s age, said while unsuccessfully stifling a yawn.

Katie waved her hand to quiet him. “Waiting,” she whispered.

Scott, ever accepting of his little sister’s whimsies, chuckled through yet another yawn, and sat down next to Katie at the top of the stairs. “Waiting for what?” he asked.

“It’s coming, just hold on,” she replied.

They sat in expectant silence until the clock in the entryway below struck 6 and, in the same instant, the bells began to sing throughout the town. On this day, more than any other day, they sang from every church, acknowledging the sunrise, acknowledging another glorious Christmas morning…they sang, a wondrous cacophony resonating through the still winter’s air, and Katie smiled guilelessly.

Katie leaned into her brother and Scott put his arm around her as the bells softly faded. “That’s what I was waiting for,” she whispered.

Scott smiled. “You’re an odd duck, Katie girl,” he said affectionately.

Katie, knowing how much Scott loved her, took no offense. “Merry Christmas, big brother,” she said leaning up to kiss Scott’s cheek.

Scott hefted Katie onto his shoulder and stood up. “Merry Christmas, baby sister,” he said as he carried her, giggling, down the stairs.

150 Words: The Only Two People in the Room

Joseph and Helen met at a dance when they were 17…he was stoic and yet romantic, she was demure and yet passionate…and they spent the evening waltzing…he was earnest but awkward, she was graceful and patient…as if they were the only people in the room.

They courted for a year and were engaged for a year and then they married. 57 years later, they still sometimes felt like the only two people in the room…but not when surrounded by their family.

Their family…children and grandchildren…gathered from near and far in their welcoming home for Christmas and Joseph and Helen gave thanks for all of the blessings in their life.

And every Christmas Eve…after their family had settled down to sleep…Joseph and Helen…stoic and romantic, earnest and awkward, demure and passionate, graceful and patient…waltzed by the light of the Christmas tree, still and always the only two people in the room.

Snowfall (Part 2 of 2)

(Part 1 of this story is here)

Two days before Christmas, Carole awoke to find the skies still gray and the ground a carpet of perfect white. It was not at all what she had hoped for but it was, she had to admit to herself, exactly what she had expected.

After breakfast, she sat at the kitchen table and made calls to her family…her Dad, her Grandfather, her sister-in-law Melissa Joshua, her sister Kim, her brother Tom, her Aunt Janey, and her cousin April. It seemed to be snowing everywhere they were and yet none of them seemed to be the least bit worried about it.

“Your mother and I wouldn’t miss this for the world, princess,” her father said. He’d called her “princess” since she was 3 and he had no intention of stopping. Carole always pretended that she didn’t like it but her father knew better. Carole loved that he knew better. “Your mother wanted to make sure you got the Granny Smith apples,” he added. “You know she only makes pies with Granny Smith apples.”

Carole’s mother had insisted on baking the pies for Christmas dinner dismissing as “nonsense” Carole’s offer to just buy some pies. “I got the right apples, Dad,” she said, “Mom would never let me here the end of it if I got that wrong.”

“We’ll be there tomorrow evening with bells on, honey,” he father said, “don’t you worry.” Carole smiled to herself as she realized, once again, how much Jason was like her father in terms of temperament; her dad had survived her tumultuous post-puberty years with an equanimity that had really ticked her off when she was girl but which made her feel lucky and loved in her adult years.

And all of her family members said variations of the same thing when she talked to them. The snow wasn’t weighing on any of her family as they prepared to journey from their far-flung cities and towns to her quiet suburban neighborhood. It was Christmastime, they all said in one way or another, and things would work out just fine. Carole always thought of her family as being more like her and less like Jason but she had to concede that she might be mistaken about that.

Last year, Jim and Melissa had held such a wonderful celebration at their house in Virginia that Carole felt a special urgency to at least make this year equally festive for her family.

“It’s snowing everywhere,” Carole said as Jason came up from the basement with a basketful of freshly washed bed linens. “Fritos in airports, just you watch.”

Jason laughed. “You have a vivid imagination, sweetheart,” he said, heading up the stairs that led from the kitchen to the second floor. “It’s going to be the best Christmas ever.”

“That kind of unbridled optimism is probably a sign of some kind of mental illness, you know?” She called up after him.

It wasn’t the first time she had said something like that to him and it wouldn’t be the last time either. “I’m cool with that,” he called back. He started singing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” at the top of his lungs before she could say anything else.

Carole shook her head and laughed. She stood up and went to the window over the sink. The snow was still falling lazily and she was starting to find it hard to believe that everything was going to be okay. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking that the “best Christmas ever” was going to be attended by just Jason and herself. She did her best to push past the feeling and she went upstairs to help Jason making up the bedrooms.

On the day before Christmas, the snowfall was still coming down intermittently and Carole was wondering what she had done to the universe to deserve having the first family holiday gathering in her house to be called on account of snow. Jason, for his part, kept going as if everything was perfectly in order; he bundled up and went out to shovel the sidewalk and the driveway (and, being Jason, he ended up shoveling the sidewalks and driveways of the neighbors on either side of their house.)

A round robin of cell phone calls let them know that everybody was on the road and in the air, none of them willing to let the weather keep them from gathering together for the holidays. Carole’s mother called from Chicago while they were waiting to make a connecting flight.

“Things are a bit backed up, honey,” Carole’s mother said, “so we’re stuck here for a while.”

Carole’s heart sank.

“But we’ll be there,” her mother added confidently. “A snowy Christmas will be wonderful. The children will love being able to make snowmen and have snowball fights.”

“You’re right, Mom,” Carole said half-heartedly, a bit weary of all of the chipper positive energy coming from everybody. “What’s Daddy doing?”

“He got hungry so he went to snack bar to get some Fritos.”

Carole stifled a laugh and excused herself as quickly as she could.

As the Christmas Eve night began to slip away nobody had arrived.

Carole and Jason, curled up by the crackling fire sipping eggnog, waited in silence.

“Aren’t you going to tell me that everything is going to be okay?” Carole asked, half as a taunt and half as need to be reassured by his optimism.

“Nope,” he said softly.

She was startled by the response. “Why not?”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Because you wouldn’t believe me if I did,” he said softly but not unkindly.

Carole closed her eyes and snuggled into her husband. She did her best to take her mind off the Christmas that might not be. She did her best to take her mind off her family snowed in at airports or truck stops. She did her best to take her mind off her father eating Fritos in the Chicago airport. At some point she drifted off into a dreamless sleep. She remembered half walking at one point and finding herself being carried up the stairs in Jason’s strong arms and being into their bed but then she surrendered to sleep once again.

On Christmas Day, Carole woke up after having slept long and deep. She was still in something of a fog as stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. Jason was already up and out of bed but she didn’t call out to him. Carole showered and before she dressed she decided to re-take the test she’d taken 5 days earlier.

Afterwards she dressed and wandered down towards the stairs that led to the kitchen. She needed to call and find out how her family members were doing and she needed a strong cup of coffee. She smiled as she started down the stairs and caught a whiff of coffee wafting up. She could also smell the aroma of cinnamon rolls…the familiar aroma that greeted her every Christmas morning when she was growing up…Jason must have gotten up to bake them for her.

When Carole walked into the kitchen, there was food out in various states of preparation…the turkey was in the sink, unbaked pies were on the counter, unpeeled potatoes were on another counter next to vegetables, spices, and other things needed to create Christmas dinner. It was only then that it registered on her that there were multiple laughing voices coming from the other room. Before she could move the kitchen swung open.

“Well, good morning, sleepyhead!” A cheery voice said. “It’s about time you got out of that bed.”

Carole shook her head. “Mom? You’re here?”

Carole’s mother wiped her hands on her apron and enveloped her daughter in a big hug. “Of course we’re here, silly,” she said. “Where else would we be?”

Carole returned her mother’s hug still not quite believing she was there. “Eating Fritos in the airport?”

Carole’s mother laughed. “You aren’t completely awake, are you?” She went over to the coffee pot. “Well, some coffee and a cinnamon roll will make your whole world right.”

Carole wandered over to the door. “Everybody’s here?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” her mother said handing her a steaming mug of coffee. “The snow stopped and the roads cleared. Your father and I got here about 2 AM…Melissa and Jim and the baby were already here and everybody else got here not long after that. Good thing Jason was waiting for us or we might’ve had to wake you up…”

Carole pushed open the door and looked through to the family room. They were all there… her Grandfather, her brother Jim and his wife Melissa and their baby Joshua, her sister Kim and her fiancée Jeff, her Aunt Janey and her Uncle Michael, her cousin April were sipping coffee and nibbling on cinnamon rolls while her father, her brother Tom and his boys, and her Jason were adding the final touches to the Christmas tree. The pile of colorfully wrapped gifts underneath the tree had grown. She glanced out the window and saw that the snowfall had indeed stopped.

Carole’s mother slipped her arm around Carole’s waist and hugged her again. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” she said.

Carole leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

Jason looked over and came over to them. He kissed Carole as Carole’s mom went over to join the others. “Merry Christmas, pretty girl,” he said. “And I won’t even say ‘I told you so’.”

Carole elbowed him playfully. “Thanks for that, wise guy.” She looked at Jason feeling like her heart was so full that it would burst. She leaned into him and whispered, “I’m pretty sure we’re pregnant.”

Jason recoiled, his face covered with a quizzical smile and then he leaned over and kissed her. “Cool.”

Carole smiled and leaned into him. “I knew that’s what you say,” she chuckled. She looked over at her family and sighed. “They made it…they all made it…maybe there is a little magic in Christmas…”

Jason hugged her. “Ha!” he teased, “not so cynical after all, are ya?”

Carole elbowed him again. “Shut up.” Just then the rest of her family caught sight of her and gathered around to exchange hugs and kisses and playful taunts with her.

The rest of the morning was blur of gift exchanges amidst bright smiles and waves of appreciative laughter. Carole’s father and Jason and Tom and Tom’s boys went out to play in the fallen snow while Carole, her mother, her brother Jim, and her sister-in-law Melissa set about the serious business of making dinner.

That night at dinner Carole shared the news with the family while Jason beamed proudly. And later, after the excitement of the day had worn off and the weariness of late night travels and waiting had taken Jason and the rest of her family to bed, Carole sat alone by the fireplace sipping cocoa, gently patting her stomach, and smiling wistfully. It had been a wonderful Christmas despite all of her worries.

Carole looked out of the window at the front lawn…at the snow, glistening softly in the amber streetlight, and nodded appreciatively. “Cool,” she said before closing the fireplace doors and going upstairs to join Jason in their bed.

Snowfall (Part 1 of 2)

Three days before Christmas it began to snow. This was a turn of events that did not surprise Carole…watching the first lazy flakes of snow drift towards the ground outside her living room window…because it was the last thing in the world that she needed. Most years Carole would have celebrated the snowfall with acerbic wit but this was not most years.

She was already distracted by something she hadn’t yet shared with her husband and in two days her family…her parents, her Grandfather, her brother Jim and his wife Melissa and their baby Joshua, her sister Kim and her fiancée Jeff, her brother Tom and his boys, her Aunt Janey and her Uncle Michael, her cousin April…are coming to spend Christmas and New Year’s at her house and there was still far too much to do for it to be snowing.

“It’s starting to snow,” she said ruefully. Carole was a bit surprised at how much it bothered her that Christmas at her house might be scuttled because from the time she was 16 she turned a jaundiced eye on the whole commercial idea of Christmas. But, on the other hand, she did love to be with her family seeing as how they were all living away from each other and the holidays were a joy to her for that reason and that reason alone.

Jason, her husband of 5 years, looked up from the paper. “Cool,” he said brightly, “looks like we’re going to have a white Christmas after all.”

Carole sighed softly and shook her head. Sometimes she thought of herself as a cynical optimist…or an optimistic cynic…but mostly she thought of herself as a realist. As someone who knew that the world had a tendency to go askew if we weren’t vigilant. Jason, on the other hand, was unabashed in his view of the world as a basically sunny and benevolent place.

Sometimes Carole found Jason’s seemingly guileless optimism as a source of great comfort and joy…sometimes she wanted to be able to see the world through his eyes. And sometimes it bugged the hell out of her that more things didn’t bug the hell out of him. “It’s not ‘cool’,” she said as evenly as she could. “We still have so many things to do before the family gets here and this is the last thing I need.”

Since their marriage, Carole and Jason spent Thanksgivings with his family and Christmases with hers. The Thanksgiving gathering was always at her in-laws’ house in Vermont but the Christmas gathering moved from home to home each year and this year was the first time that it would be in their home. Carole and Jason had a good life…he was an clinical social worker, she sold real estate…and a beautiful home that big enough for the children they would have when they were ready. Carole was proud of her life and her house and she wanted to make it a wonderful holiday for her family by sharing both with them.

They were both off work until after New Year’s so they had plenty of time to get ready and plenty of time to spend with the family when (or if) they got there. The food for the Christmas feast and the week after was in the refrigerator, freezer, and cupboards. The towering tree was almost completely decorated (Jason suggested that they leave some ornaments off for the children to put on the tree.) Carole had planned things meticulously…but serious snowfall was the one thing that she hadn’t planned for and she hated that all of her plans might fall apart due to the one thing she couldn’t control.

Jason put aside his paper and walked over behind his wife. “It’s December, Carole,” he said patiently, “snow is a normal thing. And it’s a good thing.” He put his arms around her and kissed the back of her neck. “Don’t fret so much, pretty girl,” he said, “everything will work out fine.”

Carole sighed again even as she nuzzled back into his embrace. Jason could be so maddeningly optimistic and so wonderfully comforting in the same instant. When they met and fell in love in college, none of their friends thought that the two of them had a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving as a couple. Carole was a hard charger, full of almost manic energy and always trying to make things bend to her will in order to make them come out as she needed them to; Jason, on the other hand, was quiet and mellow, moving forward by going with the flow and somehow knowing everything would turn out as it should.

Their first encounter did not especially bode well for their future. They met at a party that Carole had been dragged to by some of her sorority sisters. Carole was not having a good time and she spent most of the party sulking in a corner drinking beer. Jason, who’d come along to the party just because it seemed like a good idea, caught sight of her across the room and settled near her.
“You don’t look like you’re having a good time,” Jason said.

Carole had rolled her eyes. “What was your first clue, Sherlock?”

Jason had ignored the sarcasm. “You’re too pretty to be so sad,” he said. “I’m Jason, by the way.”

Carole rolled her eyes yet again. “I’m not interested, lover boy.”

Jason had smiled. “That’s cool,” he said. “But we will meet again,” he said with a wink, “I have absolutely no doubt about that.”

They did indeed meet again a couple of weeks later at the student café and they talked and talked. And they talked and talked on the phone. And they talked and talked through dinners and walks in the park. And their respective groups of friends wondered what they saw in each other and made predictions that they couldn’t possibly survive as a couple.

But they had survived as a couple. More than survived, they had thrived, folding into each other as if they had always been destined to be together. Jason’s calm had mitigated Carole’s manic tendencies…Carole’s drive had focused Jason’s fuzziness a bit…they were a great team and, more importantly, they were the great loves of each other’s lives. Their families didn’t understand the connection either at first. But when they saw them together and saw how well they complimented each other and then the two of them made perfect sense.

“It’s probably snowing everywhere I don’t need it to snow,” Carole said. “Everybody’s going to get stuck eating Fritos in airports on Christmas Eve and we’re going to be here alone with enough food to feed an army and no army to eat it.”

Jason chuckled warmly and gave his wife a squeeze. “Don’t be so cynical,” he said affectionately. “Everyone will make it here just fine and we’ll all be together and have a wonderful time.”

Despite her doubts, growing as she watched the snow begin to accumulate outside, Carole wanted to believe that he was right. “How can you be so sure?” She asked, though she instantly regretted doing so because she knew the answer was going to be annoyingly sunny.

Jason kissed the top of Carole’s head. “Because it’s Christmastime, sweetheart,” he said with a smile in his voice. He glanced over at the tall, brightly decorated tree in the corner of the expansive family room. “Because it’s Christmastime and there’s magic in the air and turkey ready to be cooked in the refrigerator and it’s our turn to host the holidays for the family and none of that can be denied.” He kissed her once more and then reluctantly let go of her. “I’d better make sure there’s enough dry wood for the fireplace.”

“I don’t believe in magic…Christmas or otherwise,” she said in mock petulance as he turned and walked towards the back of the house.

“That’s okay,” he said, “I believe enough for both of us.” It was not the first time he’d said that and yet she smiled warmly at it just the same.

Carole turned from watching the snow fall to look around. There were indeed things still to do…gifts to be wrapped, rooms to be made up, food to be accounted for…and she resolved, despite her nagging doubts, to keep moving forward as though Jason were absolutely right and everything was going to be just fine.

Carole and Jason bustled about their big house doing the chores that needed doing before their guests arrived. The house was indeed big…a sprawling two-story affair nestled in a quiet suburb…more house than they needed Carole had thought when they found it but they had both fallen in love with it almost at first sight and they had bought it and worked together to make it their home.

“We could have 4 or 5 kids,” Jason had enthused one day, “and all of them would be able to have their own rooms!”

Carole wasn’t sure she wanted 4 or 5 kids…her business was going well and stopping to have babies wasn’t really something she wanted to think about…but, in her secret heart, the idea of a house full of their children was undeniably appealing. She knew that Jason wanted children but she also knew that he wouldn’t press her on the issue so she kept putting off the conversation.

It was a perfect house for children…and a perfect house for hosting a family Christmas. Carole took comfort in that and that, along with Jason’s unwavering optimism about the outcome of the holiday, kept her moving forward even as the snow continued to fall outside.

150 Words: Us

Why are you here?

I missed you. I missed us. I thought maybe we should try to be us again.

I will disappoint you again.

No. No, you won’t.

Yes I will. I won’t mean to but I will. Or you will disappoint me. You won’t mean to but you will.

Why are you so cynical? I know you love me. You know I love you. We should us again.

Part of me wants to be us again too. But it will not turn out well. It never does.

We can make it work. We know where we went wrong and we won’t go there again.

Maybe…but we’ll just go someplace else instead. It’s what we do when we’re us.

So are you saying no?

No…no, I’m not saying no.

So what are you saying?

I’m saying…I’m saying come in outta the rain.

You won’t regret this.

Well, we’ll see…

Happy Thanksgiving

The Old Man (a Thanksgiving conversation)

(This Thanksgiving story appeared in this space two years ago. I am re-presenting it because it's still special to me...because many people reading this blog now weren't reading it in '05... and because I don't have time to write a new Turkey Day story this year...at least not yet...things could change :-)

Brian put his feet up on the rail of the porch and relaxed back into his chair, careful not to disturb the glass of brandy on the small table next to him. He took a languid drag on his cigar...one of the Cubans his father had given him with the caveat of “ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies”...and looked up over his neighbor’s roof into the star-spangled blue-black Thanksgiving night sky.

He rubbed his belly, his wife’s amazing turkey, cornbread stuffing, and sweet potato pie still filling the space to just this side of discomfort.

It had been a lovely day.

Upstairs, they were all sleeping the sleep of the content. Janey having willingly made the sacrifice of not talking on the phone to her many girlfriends and hopeful suitors in favor of listening to the jokes and stories her grandfathers loved to spin,

Christopher was doubtlessly sleeping with his beloved basketball. Brian had been willingly drafted into shooting hoops in the backyard for an hour or so in the crisp morning, only being dismissed when some of Christopher’s friends showed up to play.

And his darling little Annie was no doubt still clutching to the bear her maternal grandmother had surprised her with as a gift for her birthday coming two days hence; the plump dark brown bear that was nearly half her size. The bear that had made her eyes glow bright when she saw it; the one she took gingerly out of the box and inspected before pronouncing that “he looks like Daddy”. The bear (having been named Sam after her favorite character in her favorite book) had never left her side for the rest of the day (a place was set for Sam at the Thanksgiving table much to the affectionate amusement of Annie’s grandparents and much to the consternation of Annie’s usually tolerant siblings.)

Brian smiled contentedly.

He glanced up at the window a story above his head. His Ruth was sleeping there after a long day of cooking and being an attentive hostess. Ruth had allowed neither her own mother nor Brian’s his to get too involved with the cooking...this was the first time that both sets of parents had come together for Thanksgiving Day and she wanted them both to relax. She had worn herself to a near frazzle, but everything had come together beautifully. And now she was taking her well-earned rest, snoring daintily where he had left her...with a kiss...when he came down to look at the stars and count his blessings.

The guest bedrooms were filled as well. Ruthie’s parents were in one, his mother in the other.

And in the den downstairs was the old man. Brian’s bittersweet feelings toward the old man crowded up to the surface and he frowned, just a bit ruefully, but then he put them aside. It was Thanksgiving night and there was no place for anything like that.

As if he could feel Brian’s thoughts and energy, the old man...Benjamin Douglas Taylor...shuffled softly through the front door and out onto the porch. He was an imposing man (though, of course, he had seemed that much more imposing to Brian when he was a boy), half a shade lighter than his son.

Brian smiled to himself noting that the old man was still wearing his crisp white shirt and dark slacks held up by the dazzling rainbow suspenders that Annie had picked out for him. The old man was carrying a glass of scotch in one hand, a cigar in the other.

“What are you doing out here, boy?” the old man asked after clearing his throat.

“Looking at the stars, Ben,” Brian replied.

Benjamin nodded, a slight frown playing about his lips. “Thought I would stretch my legs,” he explained, “but if you’d rather be alone...”

Brian reached over and pulled another of the porch chairs forward, closer to his. “It’s okay, Dad,” he said, “come on and sit down.” Brian moved the small table across his body and in between the chairs.

The old man hesitated for a moment and then slowly moved across the porch and eased himself down into the proffered chair. Brian looked at the old man for a short while and then eased back into his own chair and looked up at the stars again. They sat in contemplative silence...staring into the sky, smoking and sipping at their drinks...for what seemed like a small eternity. The winter’s breeze kicked up just enough to make the old tree in the front yard rustle and dance a little.

“Thanks for having me here today,” Benjamin said in a small voice finally. “I know it must have been hard on you and your mother but I do appreciate being with family on Thanksgiving.”

Brian shook his head and sighed inaudibly. His parents had been divorced for more than 25 years but sometimes his father seemed to think it was still a fresh wound that had to be dealt with gingerly.

“It’s not a problem, Dad,” he said quietly. “Mama thought it was a wonderful idea...and the kids were thrilled to have all of their grandparents here for Thanksgiving Day...”

Benjamin grunted noncommittally. “You got some great kids, boy,” he said after a bit. “Makes me wish I had been a better father...”

Brian stifled the urge to agree with him. “What’s done is done, Dad,” he said instead, “and what’s important is here and now.”

The old man turned and looked at his son. “Do you really believe that?”

Brian turned and met his father’s gaze. “Yes, I really believe that...you can only hold on to the past for so long...”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a long time and then Benjamin sighed again and sat back in his chair and looked up into the sky. “Sometimes the past is all you’ve got, Brian...”

Brian rocked back in his own chair and looked up into the sky himself. “We all make mistakes, Ben,” he said after a long pause, “the trick is not to get too caught up in them...”

“Easier said than done, boy...” his father responded in a weary voice.

Brian started to retort but found that he could not. The old man was right. It was easier said than done. But he also knew that it could indeed be done. He was living proof of that having spent so long jealously hoarding resentments from past slights (both real and imagined) including and especially those assigned to his father, who had been gone from his life a long time before the divorce. They had had no real relationship to speak of until Brian had grown into manhood...past the need for a father in the classic sense, but open (more or less) to the possibility of learning to be the old man’s friend just the same.

“You can’t tell me that you didn’t hate me sometimes,” the old man interjected suddenly, his voice growing thick. “I mean...for not being there...you can’t tell me that...”

Brian took a long drag on his cigar and then stubbed it out in the ashtray on the table. He looked back up at the sky and slowly let the fragrant smoke escape. “No, Ben,” he said finally, “I can’t tell you that...you hurt me...” He paused and corrected himself, “I let myself be hurt...more times than I care to think about...”

“So you told me,” Benjamin said ruefully, referring to a caustic letter detailing a litany of paternal transgressions stretching back to infancy that Brian had sent him years ago. Brian took in a large measure of air and let it out slowly. That damn letter. He couldn’t say that he truly regretted sending it...it was a necessary step in letting go of that stuff...but still a part of him felt bad for having vented so seeing that his father still felt the barbs so distinctly so many years later.

The old man put down his cigar and hung his head. He finished his scotch with one fell swoop and put down the glass too.

“But I’m 40 years old, Dad, the stuff of childhood has long since been put away,” Brian continued, consciously making no direct reference to the letter.. “And I meant it when I said the past was the past. Whatever was done is done...I’m over it...well, for the most part anyway...” he allowed himself a slight smile at that and the old man looked up and over at him. “And you should be over it too...”

Benjamin started to say something but could not.

Brian stood up and walked over to where his father was sitting. He knelt down in front of the old man and looked up into his sad, dark brown eyes. “You’ve been a pain in the butt sometimes, Ben,” he said with a smile, “but you’ve never stopped being my father. Hang on to that...let the rest go.” They looked into each other’s eyes for a long time and then Brian nodded. Benjamin nodded in reply.

Brian rose to his feet and stretched and yawned. “I’m going to bed,” he said, “it’s been a long day. You coming in?”

Benjamin shook his head. “Not yet...think I’ll sit out here a little while longer.

Brian nodded again, reaching over to pick up their empty glasses. “Okay, Dad...don’t forget to lock the door when you come in.”

Benjamin grunted a small, playfully dismissive laugh. “I’m old but no so old as to forget something like that, son.”

Brian nodded for a third time. “Good night, Ben...Dad...Good night, Dad.”

The old man looked up at his son. “Good night, boy,” he said softly.

Brian disappeared into the warm darkness of the house and Benjamin looked up into the Thanksgiving night sky. “It was a lovely day,” he muttered softly.

- for Bud -

150 Words: Butterflies

The wily breeze laughed through the flowers and the little creatures took to colorful wing. And the children, tickled by the wind and delighted by the colorful swarm, laughed and ran happily amongst the dancing butterflies.

The whimsical breeze ebbed and flowed playfully and the children and the butterflies ebbed and flowed as well…carefree and joy-filled on a bright blue afternoon in fields of tall grasses and bright wildflowers. The breeze and the children and the butterflies joined together in youthful abandon.

The warm breeze blew sure and the butterflies…the butterflies soared beyond the tiny fingers of the laughing children. The children watched as the breeze carried the butterflies off to find other children and other flowers and other places to dance….and they turned and ran laughing through the fields, carefree and joy-filled on a bright blue afternoon in fields of tall grasses and bright wildflowers, all the way home.

The "N-Word"

Thanks to a half-wit reality TV star, the “n-word” debate flared up again a while last week. It is a debate that will continue, off and on, for a good long while it seems. The “n-word” (what a precious euphemism that is) has a power and a history that cannot be denied…and should not be forgotten.

It is a word that flows freely (in one form or another) from the lips of both some redneck racists and some black rappers (an odd point of connection if you think about it)…from the pens and mouths of pundits and comedians …and from a certain “bounty hunter” who had no idea that applying the word as a venomous epithet to refer to his son’s black girlfriend would be taped and sold to a tabloid and released to the world. It is a part of the American culture and it never fails to assault the ears and wound the hearts of anyone who understand the ugly legacy of the word.

It’s quite a powerful word indeed.

Like Richard Pryor in his later days (he used the “n-word” with relish for years before having an epiphany about it during a trip to Africa) I have always eschewed the use of the word…this doesn’t make me noble or anything like that, I just never cared for the ugly word and I could never bring myself to believe that co-opting it somehow empowered it (as some black people claim.) But I know that it’s not going away anytime soon.

Duane “Dog the Bounty Hunter” Chapman is doing his mea culpa/rehab tour (following the footsteps of other celebrities caught out throwing slurs…yes I’m looking at you, Michael Richards and Isaiah Washington…who knew their was rehab for being a prejudiced knucklehead? You learn something new every day…) and he will probably get his show back soon (A&E put it on hiatus they didn’t cancel it outright) and life will go on. And the word…the “n-word”…will go on as well. More’s the pity for that.

150 Words: One Million Kisses

Five days after their 53rd anniversary, Eugene and Grace climbed into their bed after a good day. Eugene, 72, leaned over to kiss Grace, 77…long done with the brief scandal of being “the older woman”.

They lingered in the kiss as was their wont and then Eugene smiled. “That was our one millionth kiss,” he said. “I’ve been counting.”

Grace smiled quizzically. She thought back on the shy, chaste kisses…the urgent, unrequited kisses…THE kiss that sealed their union…the random pecks, the butterfly kisses… the passionate kisses before, during, and after all the times they made love…the comforting kisses…the celebratory kisses…the apologetic kisses…the “secret” midnight kisses that Eugene thought she slept through. She looked over at Eugene skeptically. One million seemed like an awful large number. “You didn’t really count…?”

Eugene, always a charming scamp, grinned. “Does it matter?”

“No,” Grace conceded truthfully leaning into kiss number one million and one.

The Chubby Girl

“Who’s the chubby girl?” Gabe asked. Everybody in the club seemed to know the woman, softly rounded and quite abashed about it, greeting her affectionately as she sauntered up to the bar and picked up a margarita that was waiting for her. She was wearing a soft blue dress that hugged her breasts and gave ample room for her hips and billowed gracefully down to ankle level. She wasn’t very tall but she still stood out in the crowded club.

Nick smiled; he’d forgotten that he’d never brought Gabe to the club before. “That’s Amanda. She’s very cool.”

Gabe watched as Amanda sipped at her drink while swaying with the music. Her hair was black and long and her eyes were brown and bemused. She wasn’t frowning but she was not quite smiling. “What’s her story?”

“Nobody really knows. She comes here three or four nights a week. Dances a little…chats a little…drinks a little…and then she leaves.”

“She ever leave with anybody?” Gabe asked, a bit more hopefully than he had wanted.

Nick chuckled knowingly. “Nope. She gets asked all the time but she doesn’t do that,” he said just ruefully enough to let Gabe know that he had taken a chance on her himself.

Gabe usually liked his women blonde, willowy, and pliable. Amanda was none of these things and, for some reason, it inflamed him. He watched her move…casually and surely into the beat…while chatting with a thin redhead and a bald guy who looked like he spent every other waking moment lifting weights.

“She’s not your type,” Nick said. “But you want her anyway, don’t you? Happens all the time.” He paused and then said. “Leave it be, Gabe…she’s not looking to get laid…she’s not looking for love…she’s just looking to dance a little…to chat a little…to drink a little. She may dance with you if she’s in the right mood but nothing more.“

Gabe nodded as if he understood what Nick had said but he’d already decided that the chubby girl…that Amanda…would succumb to his charms. He moved closer as the redhead and the bodybuilder melted into the crowd.

There was a space around Amanda that people came into fleetingly. Gabe moved closer and smiled. “Hi, would you like to dance?”

Amanda looked at him with those dark eyes and nodded. “Sure.” She put her margarita on the bar and then took his hand and led him towards the small dance floor.

Gabe was amazed at how warm and soft Amanda’s hand was…how gracefully and sensuously she danced…how she seemed to flow into the music and to draw him into it until they were moving as though their bodies knew exactly the right moves to counterpoint and enhance each other.

And then the song stopped. Amanda looked up at Gabe and said, “Thank you.”

Gabe drew on his courage. “Would you like to go out sometime?”

“No,” Amanda said. “Thank you, but no.” Her tone was firm but not at all unkind. She wasn’t frowning and she wasn’t quite smiling. “Have a good night,” she said drifting back to the bar where her margarita and an old black man in a three-piece suit were waiting.

Gabe watched as Amanda and the old man chatted, bending close to each other to hear over the music, and then chuckled like school children sharing a secret joke. He kept watching as he moved back towards Nick. Amanda and the old man hugged and the old man kissed Amanda’s cheek with chaste gallantry. Amanda finished her margarita and swayed, still feeling the music, towards the door. She exchanged fleeting words and fleeting hugs with some of the people in the club…including the redhead and the bodybuilder…before she disappeared out of the door. Gabe felt a twinge of something dark as he realized that she hadn’t even glanced in his direction. He had an impulse to rush to the door and follow her.

“Leave her be, Gabe,” Nick said, knowing the impulse all too well. “I got you another drink.”

Gabe nodded and picked up the drink.

Gabe frequented the club often after that night. And sometimes Amanda was there. And sometimes she would dance with him…drink with him and chat with him…but she would never leave with him. And in time he understood without completely understanding and he stopped asking her out. And one night she hugged him…as plush and warm and wonderful a hug as he’d ever experienced…as she was on her way out of the club and he luxuriated in that sublime gesture as he watched her disappear into the night.

“Who’s the chubby girl?” a newcomer to the club asked him one night.

Gabe smiled. “That’s Amanda. She’s very cool.”

- for MS, who was (and hopefully still is) very cool -

* * * * *

Other MKW Blogstuff:

Neverending Rainbow

Suspending Disbelief

Me and Lloyd and a Good Halloween

At the risk of sounding like an old man gassing on with pompous proclamations that begin with “in my day…”, I remember the Halloweens of my childhood as kinder, gentler, more magical times than Halloweens seem nowadays.

Trick-or-Treating was a (mostly) carefree endeavor where children went from door to door in a neighborhood that was safe and full of people you knew (and, perhaps more importantly, full of people who knew your parents :-) We compared costumes…some store bought, some homemade…and collected treats delightful (those little bitty chocolate candy bars) and mildly disappointing (those rock-hard ribbon candies that linger in our bags until we could pawn them off to younger siblings or until everything else was gone.) And we could happily take fruit and homemade delights without fear of them containing poison or razor blades or anything else like that (the idea of taking our Halloween treasure to a hospital to have them x-rayed for dangerous things wasn’t part of our childhood experience.) The worst thing that could happen, we assumed, was a childish prank.

When I was in the 5^th grade I made the Halloween rounds with Lloyd, my best friend at the time. We were both shy boys but we were quite at ease with each other. Lloyd lived across the street from the north side of Manual Arts High School and I lived about four blocks to the west. Most school mornings Lloyd would be waiting for me and we would walk the six blocks between his house and Menlo Avenue School together talking about things that 5^th grade boys talked about.

On the Halloween evening of that year, Lloyd and I made the rounds of the neighborhood together (my brother Guy was off with his bratty little friends which was just fine with me.) I was dressed in my plastic Batman helmet, my vinyl Batman cape, my cool Batman t-shirt, black pants, and my stylish Batman sneakers; Lloyd was decked out as a cowboy.

We went to my block of 40^th Place first making a beeline for the vaguely spooky house of the old lady who lived across the street from me. She was one of the few white people left in what had at one time been an all-white middle class neighborhood and she mostly kept to herself; but every Halloween she made the most amazing little cakes, meticulously decorated, and handed them out. I knew to go to her house early because there were only so many that she made each year and when the last one was handed out she would shut off her porch light and apparently go to bed. Lloyd and I got there in time and took the precious little cakes over to my house to stash them in the refrigerator for safekeeping.

We circled the blocks we were allowed to visit collecting candy and gum and fruit until our bags were loaded down with sugary, chocolaty goodness. Having collected as much as we could…if not, being 5^th grade boys who didn’t always know what was good for them, as much we wanted to…we stopped back by my house. I took off my helmet and my cape and stashed my loot on my bed while Lloyd retrieved his little cake.

As the hour was growing late I offered to walk Lloyd halfway home and he agreed. We sat off…the cowboy and the unmasked Batman…but as we reached the corner two teenage boys came running out of the darkness howling like banshees. Before we knew what was going on they had snatched Lloyd’s bag right out of his hands were running back into the darkness laughing.

Lloyd was devastated. I offered to share half of my candy with him but he adamantly refused so I took him back to my house and got another bag and we went out again. Trick-or-Treat time was winding down so many houses…including the house of the old white lady across the street…had already switched off their porch lights but we went to every house that still lit. I was, as I said, quite shy but I screwed up my courage to explain to people at the doors what had happened. Lloyd was tight-lipped, afraid that he might cry if he said anything he told me later, but the people were happy to give him more treats even though we’d been to their houses before (a couple gave him the remainder of what they had left in their bowls.

By the time we were done, Lloyd’s bag was almost as full as the first one had been. We went back to my house so that I could get my cousin Philip, who was in High School, to walk us to Lloyd’s house. Though part of me really didn’t want to, I tried to give Lloyd my little cake…sitting in its little box in the refrigerator…but, again, he refused. But when he wasn’t looking I slipped it into his bag anyway.

Philip walked us all the way to Lloyd’s house and then walked with me back home.

The next morning, I met Lloyd across the street from the north end of Manual Arts High School. He handed me a little box with exactly half of the little cake in it. We didn’t say anything about it, we just walked on to school.

It was, all things considered, a good Halloween.

The Street (a Halloween story)

The boys had turned a corner and ended up on a street they didn’t recognize. Bobby, feeling sporty in his Spider-Man costume, and Adam, feeling almost heroic as Luke Skywalker, frowned at each other. Each of them were carrying pillowcases half-full of trick-or-treat loot.

“I think we went too far,” Adam said, looking at the row of big old houses running down the street in front of them. “I’ve never seen any of these houses before.”

Bobby shrugged. “Well as long as we’re here we might as well see if they have some good candy,” he said striding up a walkway lit by eerie Jack O’ Lanterns flickering with candlelight.

Adam, always more cautious than his friend, hesitated. “I don’t know about this, Bobby,” he said looking around the street. “How come there’s no other kids trick or treating on this block? Maybe we should go find your Mom...”

Bobby stopped and, exasperated, spun around. “Don’t be such a chicken, Adam,” he said sharply. “If no other kids have found this block then maybe we can really score. Come on!”

Reluctantly, Adam obeyed and followed Bobby up the creaky stairs. The night was suddenly still and cold and when Adam looked over his shoulder he saw a thick fog creeping up the street. He started to say something but Bobby was already knocking on the door.

After a few seconds, the door opened with an awful, almost human groan.

“Trick or treat!” they both said (though Bobby was more enthusiastic by far.)

“Indeed?” a voice as old as time said in reply. The oldest woman either of the boys had ever even imagined stepped into the dim light. A smell…a mix of cinnamon, rosewater, and something musty...assaulted their senses. “My, what brave young men,” the old woman croaked, her eyes twinkling impishly. Her teeth were brown and seemingly jagged and her dress, which looked like it hadn’t been washed in years, was a dingy black. “You brave boys deserve a special treat.”

She disappeared into the shadows of her house and just as quickly reappeared. In her gnarled hands were what looked like two balls wrapped in gleaming golden foil. “I save the best golden chocolate apples for the bravest souls,” she said, holding out the treats.

The boys glanced at each other and then, warily, they held out their pillowcases. The old woman deftly placed a golden apple in each. “Thank you,” Bobby and Adam said as one.

“Off with you now, you young scalawags,” the woman said. “You don’t have much time to finish your rounds before the witching hour strikes.” The door creaked shut before either of the boys could ask her what that meant.

Adam spun on his heels and fairly ran down the stairs and down the walkway. Bobby, full of more bravado, pretended not to be fazed as he sauntered behind his friend.

“Okay, Bobby,” Adam said anxiously, “I think we should get home now.” He glanced around and the fog was dancing all around up and down the street and he realized that he wasn’t completely sure which way they had come.

“Relax, Adam,” Bobby said, finding his courage again. “Did you see the big ball of chocolate that old lady gave us…I’ll bet all of these old houses are giving out cool treats! Come on!”

Bobby marched off towards the next old house and Adam, unwilling to be left alone on the increasingly foggy lane, scurried to catch up.

At each house the boys were greeted by old people with gleaming eyes and wry smiles and at each house they were given delectable treats: bags of chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil, tiny cakes in protectively little boxes, glistening green apples, little wooden chests filled with plump jellybeans.

The fog was down to the ground by the time they reached the last house on the avenue. Adam paused at the gate of the last house because something about it looked so very familiar.

“C’mon, Adam,” Bobby said, “this is the last one and then we can go home.” Bobby wasn’t as confident as he sounded as the fog had spooked him as well but he knew that Adam looked to him to be the strong one and he wasn’t going to let his best friend down.

Adam couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity as he walked towards the porch behind Bobby. This house was smaller than most of the others and it was well-lit and actually welcoming. As he approached reached the top stairs he smelled a familiar aroma…gingerbread…and his heart started to pound as Bobby knocked on the door.

The door swung open and a woman, with a cherubic face and wearing a neatly pressed white apron, opened the door.

“Trick or treat!” Bobby said, relieved that this old woman looked like a normal person at least.

“My, my, my” the old woman said, smiling warmly, “what marvelous costumes!” She reached to her side and held up two large, meticulously decorated gingerbread men wrapped in plastic. “You young men deserve my best gingerbread men,” she said carefully placing one in each of the boys’ bags.

“Thank you!” Bobby said enthusiastically. Adam looked up at the woman with his mouth agape but he found he couldn’t say anything.

“You boys need to get back on home now,” the old woman said. “It’s too close to the witching hour for you to be here.”

“Okay,” Bobby said, turning to leave, “thank you, ma’am.” He started down the stairs into the gathering fog. “Come on, Adam.”

The old woman smiled at Adam who was still standing staring at her. She bent down and kissed his forehead. “Get along now, sweetie,” she said.

Adam nodded and turned and walked down the walkway. He turned and looked up at the old woman who smiled again and waved as the fog closed in all around. Adam waved back and then turned to Bobby. “Where are you?”

Bobby, his face pale, stepped towards Adam. “I’m here but I can’t see anything in this fog…I don’t know which way to go…”

Unconsciously, the boys took each other’s free hand and started to walk. Their hearts were pounding and there were tears in their eyes as they inched their way through the all-encompassing fog. They couldn’t see anything and their only contacts with reality were the ground beneath their feet, the pillowcases in their hands, and the tight grip they had on each other’s hand.

The fog grew darker and darker and from somewhere close they heard the howling of a wolf and cackling laughter that sent shivers down their spine. The boys stopped, not knowing which way to go and not knowing what was in the fog. They both wanted to cry out for their mothers but they didn’t want to let each other know how afraid they were.

And then, suddenly, there was a spot of golden light off in the distance.

“That’s the way home, boys,” the kindly voice of the last woman they met said softly. “Get along now.”

The boys, still hand in hand, started running towards the light as the dark fog around seemed to grow agitated. They ran and ran until, quite suddenly, they ran into someone. The boys both closed their eyes and screamed expecting to be brutally killed in the next moment.

“There you are!” a quite familiar voice said. “I lost sight of you for a moment.” It was Bobby’s mother, their escort for trick or treat. She was holding the hand of Alice, Bobby’s little sister, who dressed as Cinderella.

Bobby and Adam looked at each other. A moment? They smiled at each other nervously and only then did they realize they were still holding hands. They quickly released their grips.

“Come on, boys,” Bobby’s mother said, it looks like you both have more than enough treats for one Halloween night. Besides, it looks like the fog is starting come in. We’d better get home.”

Bobby and Adam looked into their pillowcases as they followed Bobby’s mother and sister. All of the treats they’d gotten on the strange street were there. Right on top were the smiling gingerbread men the last woman had given them.

“Dude, that was strange,” Bobby whispered. “Good thing that last old lady showed us the way home.”

Adam stared forward. “That wasn’t just an old lady,” he said solemnly, “that was my grandmother.”

Bobby looked startled. “It was? Why didn’t you say something before?”

Adam continued to look forward. “My grandmother died five years ago.”

Bobby’s mouth fell open with surprise and confusion but he didn’t say anything more as they continued home neither of daring to look back where they’d been or at each other.