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.