Christmas Secrets

Clip art courtesy of Webweaver.nu

 
The cute little gal who cuts my hair told me that she doesn’t like surprises or secrets. Not even Christmas secrets, the kind that your hubby and kids keep when they’ve got something stashed waiting to be wrapped. “No surprises,” she told me. “Don’t like ‘em.”

That sounded a bit Grinch-like to me, so I thought I’d take a poll. Do you like to be surprised when you unwrap a gift, or would you rather have some idea of what’s inside the box?

Me? I love Christmas secrets. I’d rather be surprised with a new pair of socks than know about the Godiva chocolates in my Santa stocking. I’m always so tickled that someone took the time to think about me and what I might like.  The gift given is the manifest of that thoughtfulness; but the thoughtfulness is the real gift, isn’t it?

Christmas secrets are delicious. They are as much fun for the giver as for the receiver. Oh, there are disappointments I suppose. Like the time I expected a new bike and got a teddy bear instead. But you know what? That bike, had I received it, would be long gone. The teddy bear, a Christmas gift when I was 9, is still with me. I’ll never get rid of the old boy.

The Christmas I received Teddy was also the year I learned that I have the power to ruin Christmas secrets.  I was 9-years-old. My big brother, Craig, had finished his shopping and I wouldn’t stop agitating him about what he bought me. “You’ll like it,” was all he would say. And then I’d start in again: What is it, what is it, what is it? Finally, he said, “I’m not going to tell you because it’s supposed to be kept secret so you’ll be surprised on Christmas. But it’s in the top drawer of my dresser, so if you want to look and ruin it for yourself, go ahead.”

How brilliant was that? He put the power in my hands and stopped my nagging questions. I lasted about an hour before I scrambled up the stairs to his room and pulled open the dresser drawer. It was a locket watch. I loved it. Adored it. Couldn’t wait for Christmas so I could wear it.  And when Christmas morning arrived and the box sat in my hands, the disappointment gnawed at me.

I’d ruined it. This beautiful, thoughtful gift, chosen with care by the brother I adore, had lost its secret power.  The awed delight was already out of the box, you see. I robbed myself of the Christmas surprise, and I stole from my brother the joy of watching my face when I saw for the first time the gift he had chosen.  

Christmas secrets are some of the most precious, the revelation of which is anticipated by both giver and receiver. I like my secrets kept under wraps until Christmas morning, but not everyone feels the same way. How about you?  Secret, or expected gift?

Merry Christmas! May all your Christmas secrets be sources of joy, and may the loving Spirit of Christmas be yours this season and always.

God bless –

Lisa

P.S.  See you next for Book Blurb Friday!

OOoooowwww! It's a Howler!

OOoooowwww!

I descend from a long line of dedicated Howlers, none more devoted to the fine art of The Howl than my beloved big brother, Craig, known to all as WolfMan Howler of Tennessee.

Okay, fine. I just now made that up.  But he should be known to all as WolfMan Howler of Tennessee because:  a). He lives in Tennessee; and b). He's a Howler. And a ridiculously handsome devil, too. . .but now I'm just bragging.

A true Howler is not one of those folks who howls just to howl.  Anyone can do that.  No, buttercup, a bona fide Howler is one who harbors a deep appreciation and love for the beauty of the night sky, particularly when the moon is at its fullest and the earth is illuminated by the ethereal glow; a Howler is one who recognizes in the wild call of the wolf a kindred, independent spirit reveling in the joy and vastness of the universe.

As a Howler myself, I can attest to the fact that lifting one's face toward the moon and letting fly a heartfelt, "OOoooowwww!" is a fine way to commune with nature.  If you have never offered a vibrant, head-thrown-back howl to the night sky, I dare you to give it a try.  You'll be hooked after the first "OOoooowwww!" Your neighbors might wonder about you, but if they don't already then you need to work on being more of an individualist.  Good for the spirit, that. If you are nervous about your first Howl, have a few margaritas first.

The mailbox pictured above is my big bro's way of honoring The Howl.  Fortunately for him, his significant other, known to one and all as WolfLady Howler of Tennessee (oh, okay...not really; her name is Jeri), co-created that masterpiece of a mail receptacle.  The little wolf sitting on top of the box is Wolfie, a gift to the happy couple from yours truly.  Wolfie joins them on their adventures and makes friends wherever he goes. He doesn't know he's a stuffed toy, so don't tell him. He won't believe you anyway.

Scroll up and take another look at that superb mailbox, built to honor The Howl. It is a masterpiece.  OOoooowwww!

Happy Howling -
Lisa

Sibling Stuff

Yesterday I talked on the phone with my sister, and tonight I chatted with my brother.  Hearing their voices buoys my spirits. 

I'm the baby of the family, and had anyone divulged to my 7-year-old self that I would adore my older siblings one day, I would have contemplated wedging a ginormous wad of abc green apple bubble gum right up his/her nose, because gum up the snout is a suitable punishment for people who lie to children.

Obviously, I would never have actually performed such a heinous act, because I was an angel.  Honest.

At the age of 7 I didn't care much for the pecking order.  In retrospect, it turned out to be a good deal having two people who believed protecting me was a directive straight from God.  Yeah, I survived the usual torture doled out by older siblings, but it was a small price to pay for the blessings that ran alongside it.  

All those childhood arguments and fights and disagreements and rivalries that comprised every day living were stepping stones that gave way to hugs and kisses and laughter and shared tears and grief and memories of things so good that it aches to remember them. 

We can't pick our siblings. They are given to us without our input or permission. But if we are very lucky and all the stars align, we get to grow up with our very best friends. 

Til next time -
Lisa

Sisters of Serendipity

ser-en-dip-i-ty: noun

The faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought after. 

Some time ago I crowed about "serendipity" with regard to a book I stumbled across at the library.  A great read, The Intelligencer by Leslie Silbert brought sheer delight. Well, Easter weekend gifted me with another serendipitous find, this time in the form of a friend.

The weekend promised to be entertaining since my 16-year-old daughter and I road-tripped to Virginia to visit my sister, Sophie, and her family.  We blasted our CDs, sang loud, and giggled our way through six hours on the road.  

Joining us for the weekend was my brother's beloved Meg, a lady I had yet to meet.  I knew she would be something special because she owns my big bro's heart and because our sis said, "She is the berries!", which is Sophie-speak for "super terrific".  Due to all of that I expected to like her.

 

So where does serendipity come in? Well, I went to Virginia expecting to make a new friend. Returning home with a brand new sister-of-the-heart was not even on my short list of things to do, but serendipity bloomed and her name is Meg. (If I'm honest, her name isn't Meg, it's Jerri, but our family is big on nicknames and hers is Meg, so dubbed in reference to something my mama once said.) 

 

Only rarely does the universe bring into our lives a person who fits our contours with seamless ease.  Truth be told, were my brother to lose his mind and move to Bora Bora to join a cult of dart-playing turtle worshipers, Meg would still be on my speed dial and Sophie would continue to beg for her sausage gravy and biscuits.  We're a new trio, Sophie, Meg and me--sisters of serendipity, unexpected but treasured.  I am so looking forward to strengthening this bond of friendship.

 

Ah, Miss Serendipity...I love it when she drops by!

 

Til next time,

Lisa 

 

Photos courtesy of stock.xchng.

Forever Young and Fuzzy

Don’t you love how spending time with family brings on a case of the warm fuzzies?

Last weekend we visited my sister and her hubby, as well as two of my nephews and their families. My third nephew and his wife and young ‘uns, as well as my big bro and my nieces, have the audacity to live in Oregon—2,000+ miles away—and their presence was greatly missed.

It was wonderful just to see beloved faces and be able to nab a hug along the way from the kitchen to the outside deck. The drive from here to Virginia is only 6-7 hours, less than a full day on the job; but with work schedules, kid schedules, and working out incidentals such as boarding the dogs, our get-togethers tend to be few and far between which makes them, I suppose, all the more sweet when they occur.

It is always a shock when I see my nephews. I know they are grown with kids and jobs and lives to live, though in the men they have become I see hidden there the little ones who used to beg me to play games or to watch while they performed some acrobatic feat of great daring. While sharing precious time with them, listening to them talk about their lives, I could almost hear Rod Stewart crooning “Forever Young”.

Distance creates the capturing of time, I suppose. As an aunt, my nieces and nephews are caught as children in my mind like butterflies in amber; through my eyes they have aged not at all despite the passing of decades. The older they get the more they will appreciate that, I know. (I received emails last year from a couple of old high school boyfriends—thank you, classmates.com—and I love the idea that in their minds I will always be 17. Quite the time warp, that.)

The thing is, when we don’t see someone for a long time, even after we do, the reality doesn’t usurp the memories of the heart. The past and present are shared, like two images in a looking glass. Illusion, yes; but precious, nonetheless.

Forever young (at heart) –
Lisa