A little Christmas melancholy but a very Merry holiday to you

T-shirt tales—Because every t-shirt tells a story, don't it.
And I have so very many of them. Shirts. And stories. ---- Tell me more. or Read all t-shirt tales

SUMMARY:  It is hard not to feel it. For me anyway. At this time anyway

Source: Discord chat with another writer Dec 22,2023

Somehow I seem to be more busy than before I retired, moved out of state, and left most of my family and friends behind. But I have finished my Christmas shopping since I really have only two family members, two dogs (Only one of them mine), and a couple of neighbors And friends to shop lightly for this year. Such a small number of gifts. So surely I can leave wrapping them until the last minute tomorrow.

As much of my life as I can remember – – and I'm retirement age, so that's...forever – – everyone in the family and their significant others (And often their parents and siblings) and their children and random friends and cousins from near and far and Dad's parents until they died (in the 1970s, but I can still recall how disquieting it felt the first Christmas that neither of them were there) gathered at my parents' house Christmas morning for an astonishing number of Christmas present openings. Even if each person received one gift, that was still a lot, but some of us--like my dad and me--enjoyed giving more than one gift to each person. Christmas at their place became legendary.

Then my dad died in 2015 and it impacted me like a crash and burn. We still all gathered that Christmas and still had a lot of gifts. But he had been the true driving force, And of course their house was good because it was huge because we all grew up in that house. The following year, mom's health declined rapidly and she died two days after Christmas, and we sold their house. We tried for a while, but it wasn't the same. I know they say that, to avoid this kind of sadness during the season, one should create new traditions. We didn't seem to be doing that. I didn't know what to try to create.

[Sidenote: That was a hard, hard year. Lost dad and mom, Tika and boost, dad's cousin who used to spend Christmas with us, and the beloved dog,Who got along well with Tika and boost, of My cousin (dad's cousins daughter) who also used to spend Christmases with us]

I have to work at managing the grief around this holiday. Not looking for sympathy, it's just a thing that is true. Three of us moved completely out of state to basically the same town and we are experimenting with planning a Christmas this year more suitable to three people than 20. We will open gifts, we will have a good meal, we will go for a probably short hike, we will drive out Christmas Eve looking at decorated houses,  we will see about trying to visit some of the many local waterfalls that we haven't seen yet, we will go through our notes and photos from our big trip in October, We will probably watch some Christmas shows or movies. we might do a jigsaw puzzle. Whether a new tradition will spring out of this remains to be determined.

This will be our ninth Christmas without Dad Cheering us on and preparing parts of a Christmas feast to browse from all day and mom trying to keep him moderate and doling out love. Missing them still feels like yesterday.

I have mom's Christmas T-shirt that she received fairly late in her life. It's almost new. I have worn it at Christmas. I don't feel like mom when I do. But the message on the front feels like her.

9-11 Twenty-two years later

SUMMARY: We'll never forget, but we can't remember every day of every year

From a reply to another blog about today

My dad's photo of the New York city skyline, when we visited in1975
The World Trade Center only 2 years old

I didn't realize what day it was until I had to write the date on something. It doesn't kick me in the gut so much any more. Not like the first day, watching the videos (on TV of course--most channels it seemed) over and over in shock. Not like the 2nd day, watching again. And, by afternoon, realizing that if I kept that up, I might never climb out of that hole. I recorded a couple of hours of the news, then turned off the TV and didn't go back to it. But there was no escaping the numbing realization of what had happened -- not just to the iconic buildings, but so so many people who had nothing to do with anything. Just people. Dead. Hundreds of men, women, children; moms, dads, sisters, brothers, business partners, cousins, lovers, husbands, wives, teammates, best friends--whole departments of companies wiped out-- and all of the first responders who paid the worst price of their professions.

But now--it was a long time ago.

Twenty-two years. More than a generation. My youngest--barely adult--niece wasn't born yet and the next youngest was only a year old. Over 13,000 babies were born in the US on that day (this article from 2021 shares some of the things that these adults will never know as a result of the fallout from the event). Imagine 22 years more of that many babies born every day, making well over a million US-born residents who have no idea what life was like. And it was different!

Day after day now, we encounter restrictions that didn't exist. There's a boundary of Before and After, like a black line drawn across time. A curtain beyond which, looking back, can't be seen through, really, unless you were there and already know.

But I don't think about it much, any more, really. Life is what it is and it's hard to stay angry and afraid this long. Still, today, and 9-11s in the future, I'll remember.

https://news.yahoo.com/babies-born-on-9-11-turn-20-sept-11-anniversary-090055997.html

A couple of my photos from 1983 from atop the towers (unedited, sorry). The tower was 10 years old.

It fell at age 28.

Some of the bridges across the East River into Manhattan (where the towers were); I think the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges

It was a long, long way down.
You can barely see how many taxis there are (yellow)
I haven't taken the time to identify the streets or buildings--
but I wonder how many of these still exist after the disaster--

It Has Come To My Attention

SUMMARY: Some kind of festive holiday thing? "Krismass"?

Feeling: Inexplicably uneasy and, strangely, eager.

It has come to my attention that it is, once again, despite my best efforts, December. It is apparently, without my express written permission, in a brand new year, not repeating any of the perfectly fine Decembers that our holiday factory has worked hard to produce over the years. 

For example, 1987 involved pirates sneaking into our house while we were out doing something important --such as not decorating our tree--and leaving us with a garland skull and crossbones. Remind me to never again give relatives or pirates the keys to my house. At least not while boxes of pending tree decorations are sitting around unguarded. Why has no one submitted a re-use request for this perfectly good December, which required very few holiday decorations for a last-minute reconstitution?

This one was pretty good, too. I'd have signed off on a request for this one. The 2002 when Mr. Alien took over Disneyland. Remember that? It was in all the news. Anyone who neglected to wear their aluminum foil hat was instantly brainwashed into not seeing all the thousands of tiny Mr. Alien-kins swarming the place, aiming to abscond with the rumored "Magic." I don't know whether they succeeded. But then, I never actually saw any tiny Mr. Alien-kins, having left my aluminum foil at home.

1983 had its highlights as well, although no aliens were involved. The household beasts always received a giant rawhide bone each from Santa. Santa must be a dog person. Or maybe the elves are dog elves and Santa just rolls his eyes and goes along with it. Watching them unwrap their gifts gave warm fuzzies to the humans, too. Although why unwrap the whole thing when all you need to start is one end? In fact, why unwrap yours at all when you are a genius husky and are pretty sure that you can end up with two rawhide bones if you play your cards right. If someone had played their cards right and arranged ahead of time with my department, perhaps we could have resurrected this year from the archives.

I wouldn't mind dusting off 1990, either, when everyone in the family received matching "San Andreas--It's Our Fault" t-shirts, which were enchanted like some of those old fairy tales so that we had to keep dancing and laughing while wearing the shirts until we collapsed in the living room to eat cookies, roast beef, candy cigarettes, and matzoh ball soup. My family had an eclectic idea about Christmas buffets. I'd love to dust those off, too. Do you see what I am getting at here? Asking permission is key.

Also, I seem to recall that 1966 would be perfectly reusable, including all of our annual new Christmas nightclothes and not-annual Tressy dolls ("Her Hair Grows!"). Best thing is that they could fit all of Barbie's clothes. Worst thing was how expensive Barbie's clothes were. That Barbie sure could wow 'em at the Met, though. No, worst thing was that I couldn't fit Barbie's clothes. But I could fit my new Xmas nightgown, although I'm afraid that I outgrew it before the following Dec 24. The same thing I did every year, Pinky. But at least I had bright blue fluffy slippers at the time. Pretty sure Tressy is still around in some quiet repose in the playroom here at Taj MuttHall, so redoing that year would be a piece of cake. Or of cookies.

Even Christmas of 1956 holds promise for a revisit, because I still have Dad's hat. Pretty sure I'd look as charming as I did then. In particular, I notice no wrinkles. In me, I mean. Although, in real life, I grew, and the hat shrank.  

Or maybe I transposed the numbers and I mean 1965 instead of 1956. Why I opted to dress like a pirate at Christmas shall remain a mystery.  But, see, if we were reusing this year, perhaps I could solve the mystery. But nooooooo. Also, it is perhaps because I stereotyped pirates as having bad teeth, being visually impaired, and walking with a peg leg, that eventually what goes around comes around and I ended up with a garland skull and crossbones on my tree two decades later. Let that be a lesson: Don't stereotype pirates. Hear that, Disney? It would never sell.

(You can tell it's Christmas because you can see one of the wise men in mom's childhood creche wearing blue and kneeling just to the left of someone's horse that someone added in front. Not confessing who that might have been. Although it's possible that that horse is still in a toy box around here somewhere. Not that it has anything to do with me. But that family might have needed a better way than the back of a donkey to transport mother and child along with all that gold, frankincense, myrrh; hair combs and watch fobs; hippopotamuses; and silver, gold, and drumming drummer boys. Just saying.)

So, in the future, please ensure that you have properly submitted the requests for a December before I have to deny it because the whole corporation goes on vacation December 1, when it is too late to properly implement a new one or reassemble an old one from storage. Who knows what will happen in an unauthorized December. Just this year, I give you after-the-fact permission and will overlook your mistake this time. But don't let it happen again.

Feeling: Nostalgic. Curious. A little at sea. Transmogrifying. 

See? A perfect recreation is possible.
From a 2011 photo

Living On The Edge of Agility and Memories

SUMMARY: Those were the days, my friend!

My Facebook post on Wed, July 22, 2021

Watching a day of agility (Steeplechase plus Masters Gamblers and Standard (?))* and watching so many people's videos** from these two local*** USDAA trials this month, I'm taken back-- 

I started competing in agility the week I turned 40. Wish I could've started years sooner, but dang agility had barely even been invented back then, local clubs barely started.

Ah, yes, I remember being able to run, pre-knee-and-particularly-spine arthritis! A blast! Loved living on the edge when my dog burned jet fuel almost on autopilot, racing through the course just on my words or a little body language and using their own experience as I barely managed to keep up or stay ahead, adrenaline peaking.

Remington, somewhere in those 1st couple of years, Qed 7 of 8 runs.
Very happy handler (I was concentrating too hard on the dog paying attention to the  photographer Bill Newcomb to remember to smile!)--my heart soared! 
Still one of my favorite photos.
(Wearing my Bay Team shirt, too!)

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* I worked as timer/scribe on July 3 at the Bay Team USDAA in Prunedale.

** I still know so many people in agility, and they post on Facebook. Wins, near misses, contact joy, whichever videos they choose to post. So much fun!
***  Last weekend, SMART also hosted a USDAA trial in Prunedale; I stayed home.

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The Challenge of Mothers' Day

SUMMARY: My mom. Missing her.

I discovered recently that there are different Mothers Days depending on where you live. In the U.S., it was two weeks ago. In the UK, it's today.

Interestingly, a friend just posted on her blog some Mom Musings. Much of what she muses about matches my Mom's situation. 

My family contained 5 kids and Mom and Dad. And the dog. Dad worked "at work" (not at home); Mom stayed home. It was a full-time job. Probably more than full-time. At some point in my teens, I had to start doing my own laundry, sometimes. It was a mystery to me at first, but really it was one of the simplest chores I probably had to do then. I'm sure I resented it.

Mom in her 50s, peeling apples and prepping them for apple pie or some other apple dish.
On the back deck. (note the sugar/flour/spices mixture in the measuring cup.)

So she did all that Laundry. Making sure we had meals 3 times a day (if it were a school day and we didn't like the cafeteria offerings, she might make us sandwiches; my favorite was cream cheese and jelly), vacuuming, dusting, more laundry, always in Mom mode for her kids--

My dad's photo of her. Probably in her 40s. 

Even when we camped, Mom cooked. Yosemite, early 1960s.
(Dad would do the tent, carry things, find firewood and chop it up--like that.
At least, that's how I remember it. Reality says that they probably 
helped each other.) (Dad's photo)

Oh. Plus cranking out all those babies. Plus Diapers. Sleepless nights. Breast feeding.
Starting in her 20s.

Nine years later...#5.

So I don't know how she managed to have time for gardening. But she made that time for herself.  Earliest I remember was at the place we lived when I was in 1st/2nd grade, the first house that my parents actually owned. She let me plant some seeds, too, and they grew. I was hooked. At the next couple of houses, she grew food, too.  This is how we learned that dogs figured out that cornstalks held ears of corn--and how to get at them.

Mom in her 30s, at that first house with part of her garden! (Dad's photo)
The house was new, so bare dirt ruled when we arrived.

(Oh--and she always had other activities, too! A Girl Scout almost her entire life,
she served as troop leader for two or three years, as well. And Environmental Volunteers.
And League of Women Voters. And more.)

I have no photos of her doing any of those things except I think one photo of her standing at the kitchen sink (*found some others in Dad's photos just now* ... and a few more of mine*). All those everyday things that it never occurred to me to photograph until much later in life. OK, film and processing were expensive, but if I had had any tiny thought about reminiscing about NORMAL life, not just vacations and activities, I'd have taken so many more.

Mom in her 70s. She never wanted to lick the beaters herself, 
so would offer to anyone around, particularly her kids.
She didn't have much of a sweet tooth. Dad did.

I gradually started taking more, the older I got. But by the time I was really into it, Dad had retired, she was mostly arthritis-ridden, and Dad had started doing most of the household tasks (cooking (as little as he could get away with, not always the healthiest, which Mom had made a priority), cleaning, laundry). He mowed the lawn and trimmed the shrubs and trees and really took good care of the yard until we finally convinced him to hire a mow-and-blow team in his 80s.

Mom was the reason we had flowers to stand in front of
for all the important school photos.

[Poor Dad, I just thought about this now: Thought he was retired, but nooooo--took over Mom's full-time job. At least there were no kids living at home any more.]

Dad at 70. 

But yard wasn't the same thing as garden.  Mom still tried to keep up in one small plot out front, probably with Dad's help, or some of us kids. She loved flowers and birds. I learned so much about all those things from her. Someone hung a hummingbird feeder in front of their living room window, where she could see it from her favorite chair. And the hummers gladly came.

I miss all of that. I miss her. And Dad.

Dad in the kitchen

Mom in the kitchen

Second Annual Chip High-Heat Ice Cream Wake

SUMMARY: This could become a tradition

Chip left us last year, on June 17. It's been really hard for me this week.  

Also I can't believe that I've gone an entire year without  a 2nd dog. Zorro just turned seven last week, and for the last couple of months, he hasn't been so cavalier about jumping up into his crate in the back of MUTT MOVER. I have to do things to give him extra space or gear to help him get up. 

But that's a different story.

Last year, on June 18, Zorro and I headed down the street to Baskin Robbins to have some memorial ice cream in honor of Chip.  In 100+ degree heat.

I don't know why blogger accepts videos, uploads them, and then displays what looks like a control pane--but it's just a PIC of a control pane. And then says video not available.
Sorry for now, folks.

So, this year, we did the same. In 108-degree weather. And so is born, ta-da:

Annual Chip High-Heat Ice Cream Wake

Wasn't going to leave Zorro in the car while I got ice cream unless (a) I could park in complete shade and (b) Baskin Robbins didn't have a huge line.  Turns out, yes! Full parking spot in the shade, and yes! no one else at BR! Freaky.

And then all this happened.

Empty Baskin Robbins! In this heat?

Still wearing masks to be safe. Plus my buttons saying I'm not one of the unvaxed.

It leaked all over my hand just walking back to the car, no matter how fast I licked.
Had to keep licking to try to take photos.
Now my phone/camera is sticky.

Rest assured, Human Mom ate almost all the ice cream.

I was glad that I kept his crate door closed and latched, because right about then a huge Standard Poodle trotted up from behind us and tried to stick his nose into our business.
Zorro was not pleased.
Owners did not have him on leash.

Biting through the wires is strenuous!

Fun with animated gifs, part 1
Wagging tail, hard-working tongue
(from 6 photos; need to figure out how to crop it more betterz.)

That was TOTAL nom-nom-noms!

Took the rest home because in the heat it was liquidating beyond  control.
(Fortunately only 5 minutes away.)

The last bite.

Fun with animated gifs, part 2 (from two photos).
Guess who gets to lick the bowl.

P.S. 

I do have a history of drowning my dog grief (or sometimes celebrations) in frozen concoctions that help me hang on. (No--not margaritas--) .--in addition to 2020 and this year-- at least the followings:

• June 2019
• April 2018 and 2015

Still Missing Her

SUMMARY: Wrong kind of anniversary, but it's in my heart.

Backfill: Copied from my Facebook post this morning

April 21, 2005: The most gorgeous blue merle pup in the known universe came home with me.

We had joy, we had fun, we had agility in the sun! And hiking! And All The Things!

The utterly reliable off-leash dog sometimes helped with the mostly reliable off-leash dog. 

April 24, 2015: Ten years and 3 days later, she was suddenly gone. She overflowed with life and that spills over into my life now, every time I think about her.

Good girlie, Boostie, Booster, BOOST.

Tip: Follow the "Boost goodbye" tag for more photos and then more anniversaries...

If this were Tumblr or Archive Of Our Own, which I have started using in the last year, I might tag this "#I'll probably do this every year."  Oh, what the heck, I'll tag it like that anyway.

Christmas Paper Chain and Other Memories

SUMMARY: Red and green paper chain

Back at Christmas, I read a story online in which the protagonist makes and hangs a long paper chain made of green and red paper. Instantly it transported me--

Red and green paper chain! When I was young--maybe fifth grade, I made a short paper chain from red and green construction paper. Maybe at school? I used Elmers glue; I don’t think there were glue sticks back then.  One green, one red, repeat. But, inspired because the chain wasn't quite long enough, the next Christmas I doubled its length. 

Then, every year for probably eight years, I added more, MORE, MORE, until it could run all the way around my parents' living room and hallway and around the tree! I didn’t add to it after I went off to college, but I still hung it up every year. 

It needed a larger and larger box every year to store it for next time.

Eventually it fell apart--Christmas lives forever, but no so paper chains – – such good loyal paper rings, bringing a festive feeling to everything. 

Note: I talk about the chain in this old family xmas page, too, under "Poughkeepsie."

Also in this photo (by Dad):
💚 Mom! How young she looks!
🔴 The Little Drummer Boy album (behind the wing-back chair): always there!
💚 Painting (print) of three girls reading--was Dad's parents and
they had it because it reminded them of me and my sisters.
🔴 Advent calendar! On wall next to that. I'd forgotten about it!
💚 Old family clock and I don't remember its origin (but now a sister has it)
🔴 Mom's mug-collection cabinet (over Little Drummer Boy). She didn't really "collect" mugs--she had had a few favorites-- but we kept giving her interesting ones.
💚 Below Drummer Boy, a purple hippo in a blue tutu! I think
  I made that for someone as a gift that year--I'll have to ask--there's a story there, too.
🔴 Books. Of course. Everywhere in the house.