An "Old World" Christmas Gift

A few Christmases ago, my oldest son Christopher surprised me with this ornament of an "Old World" themed Father Christmas/St. Nicholas-ish/Santa Claus ornament.

I say "Old World" because of its theme, design, colors, mood - and because it reminds me of my "Old World," when I was a young mother teaching my year-old son about the spirit of giving, especially during Advent and the Christmas season.

I'd been reading "The Year and Our Children" by Mary Reed Newland, which became the foundation for teaching my children through many experiences how to develop a relationship with God and live the liturgical year.

For Christopher's second Christmas (1983), we moved hanging up stockings from December 24 to December 5, and that tradition has continued to that day.

Sometimes people as parents, "Do you ever wish your children were young again?" For me, the answser is always, "No."

For the sweet reward of the fruit of my parenting labors in the "Old World" is witnessing the adults they've become and the values they embody in this "New World," a world that is is always new every morning  even as we are still growing and becoming.

When I hang this ornament on my little tree in my bedroom, my mind goes back in years to the toddler in sleeper pajamas, to the time our family's faith traditions began, and then wanders through the decades as God sent more children, until I step back and admire this cherished ornament in present time.

Years ago during my homeschooling years, my addition flashcards somehow disappeared. And Christopher, not quite nine years old at the time, gifted me with a new set for Christmas, scarcely containing his excitement as I opened him; he was that thrilled at giving me something he was certain I wanted more than anything in the world.

Decades later, Christopher still selects his gifts that way, as do all my children. And it's always a joy to receive them, especially since, many times, the true meaning and value is known to only the giver and the receiver.

Yes, that's a lot to pack into one ornament. But that's good.

As we plan our Christmas giving this holiday season, let's do more than put ourselves into debt.

Let's choose our gifts with thoughtfulness and care, remembering that the actual gift goes beyond the actual item and the actual cost in dollars and cents.

Happy Monday!

It Happened One Halloween

I love Halloween.

I loved dressing up in a scary costume, heading out into the night with my sister and my father or, when we were older, our friends. Halloween candy somehow tasted better than other candy.

My sister Karen and I actually had a pretend drama we played only around Halloween. We were monsters in a family of monsters, so we played more than one role. I remember she was the mother. And I remember that feeling good and feeling bad were reversed.

So, for instance, if I, my monster counterpart, didn't feel well, my sister, as my mother, would throw a pretend rock at my head so I would get a "headache" and feel better.

Ah, those were the days!

(My five kids ready to trick-or-treat the year before the sixth was born).

I remember trick-or-treating in eighth grade, happy that the legal cutoff age was fourteen, that I still had a year to go. I must have assumed the police came out at Halloween and carded trick-or-treaters to make sure they weren't over the legal age.

We were new residents in New Lenox that year and one of my new friends' moms made and deep-fried doughnuts, which have forever become associated with Halloween since that time.

My trick-or-treating break only last a few short years. With college, came Halloween parties (I have a great grim reaper story to tell one day) and shortly after that, my newborn son and I were dressed in a homemade kangaroo costume and making the rounds of two sets of grandparents and one great-grandma.

A few years after that, my sister and I decided we and my three kids (at the time) would trick-or-treat as Dr. Who. Our costumes were based on existing clothing and props.

I was the master. Karen was Jamie. Christopher was a  cyborg (Karen actually made that costume). Sarah was Sarah Jane. Joshua was Peter Davison Dr. Who complete with the celery stalk in his lapel.

Our candy went into a homemade K9, which we built with cardboard and spray painted over the kids' small plastic shopping cart. It had flaps over the top where the candy went in.

Etc. Etc.

Our first Halloween living in a two bedroom apartment in The Birches felt like huge steps backward even though we were moving forward. I walked home from work in the brutal cold hoping to go trick-or-treating with the grandchildren.

Except no trick-or-treating happened that year.

My three youngest kids were either at school or working late. My oldest son had to work late. And my third child's son came home from school sick, so they weren't going either. So I signed back onto the computer and got some work done.

Two years later was more of the same, except the weather was milder, and Timothy didn't have to work too late, and we had moved to one of the townhomes in The Birches.

We wound up buying candy, dressing up, and sitting on the wall of The Birches, technically on private property, but able to pass out candy to anyone who walked or drove by. 

We saved some for Rebekah and took the leftovers to Joliet Junior College, where Daniel was in automotive class until ten o'clock.

The last Halloween before COVID was brutally cold. I was also brutally busy at work. This time, we had a houseful of adults and children able to trick-or-treat. We made it one block, and everyone was freezing.

So we headed over to The Timbers of Shorewood, which had opened up its doors for trick-or-treating at the last minute. 

Timothy cooked hot dogs on the grill (he destroyed the first batch with too much lighter fluid), and I answered email while hanging out with the family.

And, of course, I now get to dress up and enjoy Halloween with my crocheted mouse Bertrand, who enjoyed dressing up as a mouse vampire one year and trick-or-treating with grandchildren.

We're expecting blustery, snowy-ish weather tonight, so I'm not sure trick-or-treat will happen. It might be scary movies and pizza with some of the family. But that's OK, too.

Since I wasn't sure how to wrap up this up, I'll end it this way.

If you'd like to see the kangaroo photo, you must buy a special, out-of-print, holiday edition of the BryonySeries novel "Visage" at WriteOn Joliet's anthology release party on Dec. 6, from 6 to 8 p.m. at the Joliet Public Library, Black Road branch.

That holiday version of the book has different cover than the official edition of "Visage" and a few special sections in the back.

It also has the kangaroo photo, the only place (to my knowledge), anyone will find that photo.

Happy Halloween!

(My three oldest children, from left: Little Match Girl, clown, Little Drummer Boy)

"Ghosted" by an Ex

Remember when people used to carefully drop off the their rolls of film with all the precious images they took with their cameras to the local camera shop for development?

And remember how eagerly people would pick up the packages, excitedly look through the pictures, and then carefully preserve those pictures inside photograph albums?

Well, when you have a large family, those photo albums quickly stack up. Today, they are falling apart and packed in boxes, the result of one too many moves in the last decade.

Rebekah and I are hoping we can start scanning those photos onto an external hard drive after the holidays so all the kids can enjoy them, especially since some of those photos are fading.

So what's my point?

The point is I can't show you the "before" photo.

If this were a book, the above paragraphs might be considered a prologue.

In October of 1983, when my then-husband Richard was working at a door company, having been laid off over a year from Caterpillar, money was very tight. But we wanted a few Halloween decorations to delight our year-old son Christopher.

We bought three pumpkins for the porch. One was large, two were small, and one of the small ones was green. Of course, someone stole the green pumpkin, devastating Christopher, and I expressed my dismay with a Letter to the Editor, which I sent to The Herald-News.

And Richard made a ghost from an old white sheet and a galloon milk jug, which he hung underneath the porch. Christopher loved it.

I'd show you the original photo if only - see? I'd already explained why.

So fast forward to 2022. Money is still tight, but we do have a couple Halloween decorations. 

Like these skulls that glow in the dark.

And this item, which Uncle Barty and Bertrand love...

And this autumn wreath for the door.

I decided to what my porch needed this year was a ghost.

So I asked Richard to make one.

He couldn't find a sheet.

Yes, that's correct. In 2022, it's impossible in stores (it seems) just to buy one inexpensive flat white sheet.

So we did what lots of people do in 2o22. We found one on Amazon and ordered.

Richard made the ghost, a much fancier version than the 1983 version. 

And Timothy hung it - just in time for Halloween.

I can't wait for the grandkids to see it tonight.

A Lovely Tradition

I remember the first time I took my three youngest kids to Cracker Barrel in Joliet.

It was around Christmastime, and I'd made an impulsive decision to shorten the school day and treat them to lunch.

What they most enjoyed was browsing through the country store, which seemed magical to them in all its various vintage displays.

This might have been the end of our story if our family didn't have another tradition: the celebration of individual feast days.

Each of my children is named for someone in the Old Testament and someone in the New Testaments and the two names together have a particular meaning.

In the case of Rebekah and me, we share a commonish feast day, on back-to-back days.

Mine is the Immaculate Conception on Dec. 8. Hers is the Conception of St. Anne on Dec. 9.

The year after that first Cracker Barrel trip, I offered to take Rebekah there for a special lunch, just her and me, to celebrate our special days.

We've been doing it every year since then. And we pretty much order the same meal (minus the dessert, which is no longer on the menu).

Now that she's an adult and working full-time, we don't always make Dec. 8 or Dec. 9. But we do get there in December.

Some years she has treated; some years I have treated; and this year we split the costs.

And we always tour the store.

Don't be fooled by this photo. We have plenty of engagement on our special day out. She's actually looking up something to show me.

Rejuvenated

The cancellation of VampCon Chicago left several people in my family (and a few friends) with some unexpected time off.

We strove for a balanced used of the last three days. The old wedding rhyme came to mind:

Something old,

something new,

something borrowed,

something blue,

and a sixpence in her shoe.

Something old: I watched two old movies (the 1931 Dracula and the rare Hammer film The Shadow of the Cat, which I hadn't seen in 50 years). I also worked on the werewolf story, which takes place during the summer of 1961. I researched old werewolf lore. We made it up to Homewood for Divine Liturgy on Sunday, which we had not done since Pascha, and hugged old friends. I also did not go swimming (which has definitely gotten old!). We ate Saturday leftovers for Sunday lunch (see below).

Something new: We introduced Joshua and Amber to fresh culinary delights with treating some of us to Friday Night Dinner at Joliet Junior College's Thrive (Herald-News story coming this week). Joshua pointing out more than half the items on the menu, asking, "What's this? And what's this? How about that?" Amber ordered salmon and reveled in the fact one bite could produce five flavors! On Saturday, Timothy and Amber made a phenomenal dinner (cured chicken, au gratin potatoes with freshly grated Parmesan, a green salad (with broccoli, cucumbers, peppers, and two types of olives), and a layered dark chocolate cake (with homemade strawberry jelly and whipped cream). I finally spent some time (albeit very little time) with Cornell Dyer and the Flu.

Something borrowed: Rebekah lent me the money to enter a literary contest. Timothy is staying on top of our booth refund for the convention. I finished the final edits for WriteOn Joliet's third annual anthology (Rebekah will adjust the formatting today, I hope). I FINALLY had an overdue haircut (the money is always borrowed from somewhere else because I'm too cheap to budget for it).

Something blue: Since we are "moving," the kids have been looking at couches. Timothy put a deposit down on a blue one. Rebekah found a gray one (with blue tones) that she really liked. If Daniel likes it, she will hold that one with a deposit, too. Timothy, Jasmine, and I visited Ron in the nursing home, and he did not know us at all.

A sixpence in her shoe: With new financial rewards and responsibilities come new budgets and new items to buy, like computer desks. Lots of planning this weekend! Also, Daniel and Cindy brought me home a large container of turnip greens from Cracker Barrel. And Timothy bought me the dark roast of the day from Brewed Awakenings in Morris one minute before closing time. Rebekah and I walked and talked.

Because people who love you and care for you are better than money in your shoe!

Have a great Monday readers, writers, and BryonySeries fans! :)

Better Than a Throwback

I have a lot of grandchildren.

And even though most of them live within a 30 to 40-minute drive, visiting is hampered due to variances in everyone's work schedules and an overall lack of ready transportation for me.

But when kids are young and visits infrequent, it's hard to grow relationships.

So last year, I made pen pals out of the eight youngest with a goal if I could keep the commitment, I would branch out to the older ones, too.

Each month, I would send something: a small toy or game or note or recipe coloring sheet featuring an upcoming holiday.

My daughter-in-law Jennifer said her boys love "mail day" and will send me photos of them opening their letters with huge smiles on their faces.

We've had a few glitches: letters that never arrive, letters with postage coming back to me for postage, letters that come back to me "address unknown" although the address is correct.

But overall, it's been a satisfying experience and one that's stretched my creativity.

On Tuesday, as I was leaving for work, I saw a letter had come into the mail for me. Three of the Fourth of July coloring sheets had come back to me.

But not in the way I expected.

Hope you're smiling, too! :)

BryonySeries Throwback Thursday: Grandma, Can I Have a Blessing?

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Grandma, Can I Have a Blessing?

That question (minus "the grandma") is a common refrain in our household at bedtime, and one that has been resounding since my oldest child--almost thirty-one and standing nearly six-ten--was eighteen months old and wearing one-piece, zippered sleeper pyjamas with plastic feet.

That's when I was reading a series of child rearing books by 1950's Catholic mother of seven Mary Reed Newland, the best source of mothering wisdom I've ever encountered. In one of her books, Newland briefly mentioned how, after witnessing another family use the custom, she and her husband began giving her children "blessings:" at bedtime, before special events, etc.

The concept appealed to me, so I began adding this blessing prayer with the goodnight kiss: Christopher David, may the blessing of the Lord be upon you always, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. While doing so, I traced a little cross on his forehead. Christopher, although non-verbal at the time, was soon babbling back to me and tracing marks on my forehead with his tiny index finger.

As Christopher's siblings arrived, bedtime blessings lengthened and included Sarah Catherine, Joshua Paul, Timothy Michael, Rebekah Anne, and Daniel John. Most of the adult children living in my household still request blessings at bedtime, and I still receive them in return. If our schedules cross, we text them to each other.

As my children began having children, some of most of them continued the tradition, too, which was soooooo cool for me to experience. And of course, when I see my grandchildren, the goodbyes always include a blessing.

Friday evening, as I was walking out the door for the night, my five-year-old grandson stopped me with a, "Grandma, can I have a blessing?" After I happily bestowed that upon him, I asked him for one in return. I bent low; Ronnie placed his little hand on my forehead and recited the sweetest prayer. Then he gave me a quick hug and dashed away to find Uncle Daniel.

It's such a simple practice, and yet...think of the many, many decades of prayers we have raised heavenward on each other's behalf. The custom has created more than a family legacy, but a treasure whose value we'll realize only in eternity.

Mary Reed Newland, I owe you.