Another New Year

This post was started on New Year's Eve with plans on posting immediately; now it covers a period of 3 days.  Well,  I hope I get it posted within that time.

2014--it's here folks.  We will wake in the morning and a whole new year will be upon us.  Right now I'm waiting for my New Year's Eve Festivities to begin.  It's 8:00 and the party hasn't started yet.

I remember those days that the plans for New Year's Eve were a bigger than big deal.  My thoughts would be like, "We gotta do something.  What can we do?  Where are we going?  Who is going with us?  What shall I wear?"

Now mind you, even though I wished for it, I didn't always have fantastic plans for New Year's Eve.  I longed to have them as a single girl in my late teens and early twenty-something years, but more times than not I didn't have any plans at all.  Poor me, right?   Don't feel too bad for me...I made up for the lack of parties after I married.  Fun for sure.  But I think the fun tonight will surpass any of those parties.  We will see.  I know for sure it will be one that I have never experienced before.

And I'm game, so here's the game plan:

The must-have New Year's Eve hats, necklaces, neon lights and whistles have been dutifully purchased from the Dollar Tree.  (We go all out for our decorations!)  Dinner has been eaten and dishes cleaned up.  The house straightened for the party.  The grandson is due to arrive soon for our New Year's Eve affair.  We are prepared to be at his beck and call.  (Nothing unusual there!)

Some appropriate TV shows have been recorded, just in case.  New books available.  Of course, there are plenty of real toys in his room plus all his imaginative items and friends that can talk i.e. "Cat in the Hat can talk" which means that you must talk for Cat in the Hat.  Rabbit can talk, etc., etc.

I'm sure we will have no problem in the play portion of the evening.  However, we have been forewarned that our guest for the evening woke up from a 3-hour nap at 6:00 p.m.  So, we may be in for some really wild times tonight.  He is known to come alive at night. 

But now as I am waiting for the arrival of our guest of honor (and only guest), I begin to wonder about this new year that is upon us.  Hmmm.  I'll be 64 this year.  Wow!  How can that be?  What are the words to that Beatles' song, "When I'm 64?"  Wait--I'll google it.  (Never could remember words to songs...)

Ah yes,  "...Will you still need me, will you still feed me
               When I'm sixty-four?"

Man, becoming 64 sounded like it would take forever to be that old when those words were first heard on the radio in the late sixties.  I was just a teen and being OLD--like 64 years old--was quite beyond my teen-aged comprehension.  I mean old people were those that were turning 40 or, for heavens' sake, maybe 30.  Did I know anyone at that ripe old age of 64?  My parents weren't even that old!  Maybe those little ladies with the blue hair and ugly sensible black shoes on--maybe they were that old!

But the thought of someone loving me when I was 64--that was appealing even then.  Honestly though, being a late-bloomer, I guess I really thought having someone "love" me at 17 would have been preferable.  However, I must admit, love at 64 (minus 2 months) is good, very good.

And having a party with the grandson is good as well.  I'll wait to post this until after the sleep-over and the new year actually arrives.

January 1, 2014--


Happy New Year!  We made it through the night and was entertained by not only the great little entertainer but also, surprisingly enough, a lovely five man brass band.  Quite  unexpected.

That little fellow made it until midnight, but sadly, YaYa did not--after all, I am almost 64 and I didn't have any nap, much less a 3-hour nap.  When the clock struck 12 midnight, I am told, he was ready to come to bed.  I did wake up enough to read him a story before we both fell fast asleep.

Oh, how nice it was to wake up with such a wonderful little guy next to me even if he, by that time, left me with only one foot of the bed.  But he was snuggled right next to me.  I watched him a little bit and when he woke up, he looked at me.  I smiled at that sweet face and the first thing he said to me was, "Put your glasses on, YaYa."  I guess his waking up next to a 64 year old was not quite as wonderful for him--at least not until I got my glasses on. 

Then the play began again.  Horsey-back ride through the house, outside to the club house, inside to some jumping on the bed.  Then during a break in the bed-jumping he hollered, "Grambo, come here."  When no answer came, this cute little guy turned to me and added, "Grambo is not listening to me."

His parents came and joined us for the black-eyed peas and cornbread traditional lunch.  Then home they went with a tired little boy in tow.  A nap was sure to come--for him and for Grambo and YaYa.

Well, it's now 3:00 in the afternoon.  The first day of 2014 is here and practically gone.  Boy, the days do pass fast, don't they?  But, thankfully, the joys and memories last.   I know I'll enjoy the wonderful stories and fun memories from this New Year's Eve all year. What a fun way to begin a new year.

So here's a toast to 2014--May the year be filled with lots of wonderful days and nights with the ones we love--with or without a five man brass band.  Oh, yes, did I mention to you that the band was on "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood?"  I must admit that is something else that I have NEVER done before on New Year's Eve.

"It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor,
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?

Won't you be my neighbor?"

Don't worry--I had to google that ditty too!

 

Laughter at the Breakfast Table

The grandson who is almost 3 has learned to tell jokes--well, at least the art of delivering them.  One day this week, the family gathered around the breakfast table and was entertained for quite awhile listening to his jokes.  Question:  "Hey, buddy, do you know a joke?"  Response:  "Wickely, wickely, wickely."  Quick pause, then with open mouth and head thrown back, the little emcee would burst into an enchanting fake laughter which would totally create genuine belly laughs from the rest of the table.

Repeat this scenario over and over again and you can imagine our breakfast that day.  While we were engaged in this routine, I was reminded of how much laughter has been shared through five generations at this very table.

In fact, my earliest memories of going to my grandparents involve this table and laughter.  No matter what time of day or night that we arrived at their farm, the grown-ups would circle around the table in their ladder back chairs and the hours would tick off as would the stories and laughter.  Many times I can remember falling asleep or waking up to the comforting sounds of indistinguishable words followed by the most infectious laughter you could ever imagine--just like the laughter following the "wickely, wickely, wickely" mumbled by the newest generation around that table.

My Grandma and Granddad made this table for their household and raised their 4 boys around it.  I was lucky enough to be able to take ownership of it when it was no longer needed for them.  It has been the breakfast table for my family for the last 30 or so years.  Hence, the laughter and memories continue.

Magic must have been waxed into the grain of this old oak table.  It was a plain farmhouse table--not fancy but solid and practical--important traits for furniture as well as men and women during those pre-Depression days on the flat plains of windy southwest Oklahoma.  It was just a round table with three or four leaves readily available to add with the sound of a knock on the door or the sight of dust stirred up in the drive.

Those leaves magically stretched that old round table to a size capable of handling the whole Strother clan, plus a friend or two who may have popped in, certainly the mail man making his rounds two or three days a week through the dusty country roads delivering not just the mail but the latest news of friends and neighbors.

The table magically became a unifying web around a family who no longer lived and worked in the area, who maybe even didn't share the same views politically or religiously anymore.  It magically reconnected the family; it provided the boys a place to relive their history, to confirm their relationships, to put their own personal spin on growing up and on events that happened while growing up.  It was an animate object embracing an inanimate emotion--love.  There was definitely lots of love around that table.

I can still see and hear those conversations, that love, especially those with the handsome Strother boys and their dad, my Granddad, telling stories and jokes.  There was probably a lot of re-telling the same stories over and over, but the laughter was as new and spontaneous as it was after "wickely, wickely, wickely."

As I picture the table from years and years ago, I can even feel the love through those sweet memories--the men would be sitting there, elbows on the table with each man leaning in eager to catch every word.  There would definitely be a cup of strong, black coffee before each man and ashtrays scattered around.  The smoke was as abundant as the laughter.  Each one of the four brothers' delivery was right on; the pitch, the timing, all precise.  Perhaps because of the frequency of the telling or perhaps because they were all natural born story tellers.

Nevertheless, the punchline would be delivered and the belly laughs would ring out as the rickety-looking wooden farmhouse chairs holding those men would tilt back on just two legs of the chairs.    I remember wondering how could they lean so far back without the chair falling over, breaking, or without Grandma scolding them for leaning back in their chairs.   It was like they were extending the enjoyment, the merriment, the love as far as possible--proving, at least for the moment, that nothing bad could happen or stop this feeling, this closeness, this love.

Two of those Strother brothers, the younger crop as Grandma would call them, are still around--not around that old Strother table, but thankfully, around; and I'm sure they still are telling some wonderful stories with that same great style that their brothers and others leaned far in to hear.

Now at that same Strother farmhouse table, I'm leaning in--hoping once again to catch the punch line and the laughter of those days.  I think I hear it--"wickely, wickely, wickely."

An After Christmas Poem

Yesterday morning I woke up at 4:30 and couldn't go back to sleep.  The highly anticipated day had come and gone.  As I walked through the still dark house, I was aware of the difference a day makes.

The house was pretty much the same--decorations, tree, lights were all still there.  But it was obvious that it was over.  The empty boxes were stacked together waiting to be flattened and recycled, the ribbons and wrappings were gathered and thrown into trash bags waiting to be taken out, the gifts dispersed to their new owners and taken to their rooms or neatly stacked waiting to be packed in suitcases all too soon closed for trips home.  Yes, it was done.  Another Christmas, another family get together, another set of memories.   Wow!

I studied the remains of the day, examined the tree, looked at all the decorations that would soon be packed away for another year, thought about the night before, the excitement, the fun, the laughter still hanging in the air.  It felt good; it felt sad; it was a cluster of memories wanting to find a permanent place in my head, begging not to be forgotten. 

So to process it all, I sat down to write.  Then the words to the season's favorite children's poem, "The Night Before Christmas," started repeating itself in my mind.  Now I know this classic poem written almost two hundred years ago has been used and misused through the years, and I have found myself doing the same many times.  It's just such a good poem.  But this old favorite poem became the format for my thoughts on the day after Christmas, 2013.


'Twas the day after Christmas, and all through the house,
Not a creature was there, not even a mouse.
The stockings were emptied and scattered without care;
It was obvious that St. Nick had been certainly been there.

The Christmas tree once festive now looks lonely and bare
With no presents spilling out from under there.
No little boy reaching in for a bright colored bow
And tossing the name tag over his shoulder with a quick throw.

Examining the trimmings, unusual things I now see
That were added discreetly to the decorated tree.
An empty wooden spool so gingerly placed
About a hand higher than a little boy's face.

A cowboy boot once part of a wreath
Now taps its toe on a tree branch underneath.
The feathers and leaves that evened the tree out
Found bundled together--by small fingers no doubt.

A frilly reindeer once participating in imaginative play
Lies forgotten in favor of toys from Christmas Day.
The wooden train engine originally bright and red
Now in three pieces--no more needs to be said.

Santa, glittery and spry, who sat in his sleigh
Has been found near a bed three rooms away.
Even the nestled metal trees on tables nearby
Were expertly relocated in the blink of an eye.

It appears the Dickens' village with its warm lights all aglow
Now has fewer villagers milling in the white snow.
Accidents happen and memories do too.
These are a few that I will treasure the whole year through.

Then knowing soon I'd be taking decorations down
I felt blessed and happy that these memories abound.
I wished to myself as I flipped off the light
That there were Happy Christmas memories for all, and for all good nights.