Random Meetings

Saturday we were back in our hometown for the event Lucy mentioned in her last post. That afternoon I walked our dog, Sammy, and admired the lilacs, phlox, tulips, pansies, and other flowers that bloom along my in-laws' street. Already nostalgic from our visit to Nana's house, my mind turned to childhood days and visits with friends and their grandparents. I stood on the street corner and contemplated while Sammy made use of a fire hydrant, and then, as if conjured from the drizzle and clouds, a red Jeep SUV passed. Clara, a friend since the ripe old age of nine, drives a red Jeep and has since the high school days of cruising the twisty roads to her house with the windows down and tunes up. I couldn't see into the vehicle because of the glare, and as the car turned the corner down the street, I wondered how Clara was and if she'd gotten off work for the day.

Sammy and I walked the opposite direction, and we'd covered half a block when the red Jeep appeared again. It was Clara, who circled back because she thought she recognized Sammy and wondered if the woman with darker hair huddled inside the quilted jacket was me. (It's been a while since we've seen each other.) Clara parked on the street, and Sammy and I ambushed her as her feet hit the pavement. Clara and I talked (Sammy wagged and drooled and squirrel watched) in the middle of the road and made plans for a very loud, very loving dinner together with my family and Lucy's.

The arranged dinner time arrived. Lucy's dad drove, Adam was in the front seat, and when we stopped at Lucy's and Clara's place, the three Fantastic Spatulans squeezed into the back. It felt like old times, driving along to a favorite restaurant as we laughed and teased. That random meeting on the street corner thanks to dog whizzing and serendipity gave me a gift of time with old friends.

Saturday was a day of random meetings that turned bitter sweet memories into present joy and hope for a new future. It will be different, but the blessing of people will continue, and we'll all be just fine.

Merry Christmas Eve

This season has come too soon; the Christmas decorations, covering stores since before Thanksgiving, were so long ignored they ceased to register, carols were hummed but not digested, Christmas presents were left unsought until days before, and a grocery store bagger’s holiday greeting met a blank stare. Those decorations and carols are trappings, of course, string and glitter that can no more hold us together than December winds can drive us apart, but those trappings make a visceral impression I carry throughout the years.

I remember childhood Christmas Eves: long goodbyes at Granny’s house while I feared missing Santa Claus, belly full of potatoes and pies, counting the minutes until I could climb out of bed, the smell of oranges in my Christmas stocking and the turkey in to roast, and crawling into bed with my siblings, nestled beside Momma as she read The Night Before Christmas. Our copy of the poem was a pop-up book, similar to the one mentioned in Shelf Unbound’s childhood remembrances, and we each turned the wheels and slid the tabs to make sugarplums dance and Santa rise from the chimney. Those traditions altered as we grew and our family changed, but the memories are treasured.

Each tradition, whether decorating the tree, lighting the candles, or sitting down to a family dinner, holds the meanings amassed over holidays past and creates a frisson of excitement today. After spent wrapping paper is gathered up, broken toys are interred in landfills, and our time passes, we leave traditions for our loved ones and the memories they recall.  As I begin final preparations and settle in to the holiday, I need to pause, to laugh at the sweet potatoes splattered on the ceiling and the tree boughs bared by the cat, to share a moment and create a new memory, because the cooking and decorating and reading are traditions for my family, and our joy and love become the patina absence cannot tarnish.