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Tag Archives: gifts
I was sad yesterday afternoon as I watched the large group of people leaving for Mexico. I so very much wanted to go with them. They are bringing Christmas gifts to the children at Casa Hogar Elim, an annual thing started last year by Jeff Harrell. We collect shoe boxes, fill them up with small age-appropriate toys and sugar-free candy, then wrap them up. Now these gifts aren’t just for a boy, age 6, or a girl, age 10, there’s a package for each individual child with their name on it. We can’t put bows on these boxes, as they would be crushed under the weight of all the supplies in the cars and vans.
There are so many people from our church that want to go to Casa Hogar, they don’t even need to advertise the trips. If you’ve been there, you’re a walking billboard for CHE. The Thanksgiving trip even had a waiting list this year. The ‘regulars’ have gone so many times, they can’t even tell you how many trips they’ve made. We love these kids, and for those of us whom visit often, these kids are our extended family.
You know the old saying, ‘you can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family?’ I beg to differ. I was thinking last night about family and friends, and all of the funny ways God placed them in my life. God clearly has a sense of humor!
I moved into my house three years ago, although my kids didn’t start attending the local school until two years ago. We live at the end of the street, walking distance from the elementary school. I noticed a house that had some fun yard decor, more specifically, ‘little skeleton girl’. She was out for Halloween, dressed in her hippie costume, but she stayed out for other holidays. What!? Could this be? Could I really have a soul sister on my street?
I was intrigued. Why did I think this was my soul sister? I have a full size mannequin named Darla. You can learn more about her on Facebook at facebook.com/luvplasticpeople. Anyway, I wanted to meet little skeleton girl’s mom. I did, and her name is Patty.
Patty loves to volunteer her time for great causes, so we cross paths quite a bit, not only walking down the street, but many other places. Patty was at Victoria Gardens with me when I met Flo, the ghost of Christmas future. I can’t wait to go to Casa Hogar with Patty! I live in a great neighborhood, as it’s filled with fun, caring people like Patty.
As I said in yesterday’s post, I was an only child until my teen years. I really don’t remember ever bugging my parents about wanting a baby brother or sister. I don’t know if that’s because I didn’t want one or because I knew it was a horrible idea for my parents to have anymore children. I guess God knew I needed some siblings, but decided to bring them in under different circumstances. At the age of 14, I got a step brother, two step sisters, and soon after, a half brother.
The funny thing about this is my sister Jo. We are not blood related at all, yet we are just alike. Our beliefs, our personalities, our creativity… and the list goes on. The more perplexing thing here is our kids. My son Joe and her son Isaac, again, no genetic relation, not only look alike, but act alike. Jo lives in Wisconsin, so we don’t get to see each other too often. We were on vacation in Florida several years ago, Joe and Isaac both ‘sitting’ on their heads on the sofa watching TV. Jo says, “Look, Isaac taught Joe to do that.” I replied, “What? Joe’s been doing that for months.” Both kids had been doing this separately for months. And just for the record, they look alike right-side up too.
This next one isn’t as much humor funny as it is implausible funny. Let me just start by saying it’s an extremely rare occasion when I can find anything good to say about my ex-husband. The aftermath of an interaction with him frequently results in misery and relational mass destruction.
Dawn and Genna live near Kansas City, so we don’t get to see them very often. Genna is my step-daughter and Dawn is her mother. The boys and I took our family vacation up there this past summer and we had a blast! Okay, I know what you’re thinking. You probably think it’s odd that we’re friends, so this next statement will really throw you. We consider ourselves family. Yes, family. You may not be able to choose your genetic family, but through love and friendship, you do choose your ‘preferred’ family. One of the definitions of family is “a group of people who are generally not blood relations but who share common attitudes, interests, or goals…” Yes, that’s us. I’ve realized one thing this Christmas, one very big positive thing to say about the boys dad. Without him, I would not have my boys, nor would I have Dawn and Genna. As you can tell by the photo, they are obviously ‘related’, as they are a bunch of little camera junkies! Genna is a very talented photographer and is doing an internship right now. The boys like to make funny YouTube videos, a couple that have gone small-time viral.
God has brought many other people into my life in unexpected ways, from church and Facebook to a lady at church who accidentally door dinged my beat-up car. I’ll take 100 of those kind of door dings! Oh, wait, I have 100 door dings, but only one has a great story behind it.
So what does all of this have to do with Christmas? This is the time of year when many people experience strong feelings of loneliness, seemingly endless despair and high levels of stress. I’m no different, but as these feelings arise, I have this faint awareness of hope. I appreciate my friends and family, realizing I don’t tell them that nearly enough. I also appreciate you for taking the time to read my 25 days of Christmas blog. 🙂
I want to talk about ghosts, those scary, shadowy phantoms that haunt all of us. The dictionary definition of a ghost is a dead person’s soul, imagined as a vague, shadowy figure. My definition is a bit different. Now maybe I watched too much Casper when I was young, but I think ghosts are typically friendly and they’re usually trying to teach humans a lesson. Aren’t ghosts just people spirits in 32% transparent bodies with a 78% vivid light outer glow? Yeah, okay, I spend too much time with Photoshop. I do believe ghosts can be dead or alive. Whether it’s the dead ones that are completely invisible or the live ones that are in plain sight, their presence is known. Yesterday I visited one ghost, and two ghosts visited me.
The Ghost of Christmas Past
I have to say, I didn’t want to see this ghost anymore than Scrooge did, but I reluctantly, yet intentionally decided to visit him. This particular ghost is one that I usually don’t go searching for, but I thought it might shed some light on my Christmas beliefs and struggles with our existing Christmas culture. This particular ghost is a vintage Poloroid camera, as the ghost of Christmas past has presented himself in photographs. The person behind the camera? My grandpa. He passed away many years ago and I miss him terribly. My grandpa was a shutterbug and also the designated family photographer.
My first exploration took me to a large box in the garage, filled with old photos that belonged to my grandparents. I enjoy looking at the past, captured through my grandpa’s eyes, on these little black and white squares. I love visiting this box, but you couldn’t tell that from the amount of dust on it. I searched though the box, looking for any Christmas photos I could find. I found Christmas photos of my dad, aunt and cousins.
The second part of the search took me to my own childhood albums. These albums were meticulously organized by my mother, every photo page referencing my age in years and months. I can only imagine what these albums would look like had they known scrapbooking back then. Not only do these albums contain photographs, but every birthday card I ever received as a child. There must be hundreds of them, and I would venture to say, there are as many cards as photos. I guess that explains why I don’t like cards. All those cards are symbolic of how many superficial contacts my parents had, it was the number that meant something, not the depth of the friendships. Christmas was no different, there were hundreds of cards taped on the wall, creating an oversized map of numerical acquaintanceships. It looked to me like the US, and if anyone looked closely enough, I expect they would have seen tiny little cars driving aimlessly all over it, looking for an unknown destination.
I was an only child until the age of 13, and I was the poster child for ‘spoiled brat’. The photos I found depict the excess of gifts, boxes in such large quantities they spilled out into the room from under the tree.
I remember getting so many gifts, my mom always shuffling me toward the things she liked best, asking me how much I liked this and how much I liked that. She was buzzing around the gifts, all the while, reminding me how lucky I was to get all this stuff. As a child, I remember it being fun getting so many presents, but the moment it was over, the emptiness set in. I saw my friends and neighbors celebrating Christmas and I could tell, even at that young age, that they were experiencing something I wasn’t. It looked nice, felt warm and seemed surreal, yet I had no idea what ‘it’ was.
The ghost of Christmas past brings a melancholy gloom, but visiting with this ghost gives me hope. A hope that I might be able to find ‘it’.
The Ghost of Christmas Present
Get it? Christmas ‘present’? I crack myself up! The really funny thing? This crazy ghost manifested herself in the form of a present, and yes, she led me into the abyss of retail madness. The human ghost behind the present is Candy.
Remember me telling you a few days ago that I needed to buy one more gift? Yesterday, I set out to find a pair of mismatched shoes for Candy. No, you couldn’t pay me enough to go to a mall to shop this time of year, although you could pay me to go there and people watch.
I made my usual discount store rounds, looking for a specific ‘Converse’ style pair of shoes, but in two different colors and patterns. Now I haven’t been shopping in a long time, but when did all of the shoes turn brown and black? What happened to all of the fun colors and styles? Boring! I received some strange looks as I asked for help, and as I’m guessing, nobody actually goes to the store to purposely purchase a pair of mismatched shoes.
I have to say, I was very excited to find a pair of Sketchers for $16.99. Yeah! All I have to do is find another inexpensive pair in the same style, now how hard can that be? Let me just say that I never intentionally bought a pair of mismatched shoes. My favorite pair? One came from Kelly Tuggey, the other from a thrift store. I really needed to get back to work. Where should I go to find another pair to stylistically match?
Running out of time to find a deal, I had to settle for a higher priced place. I finally found a pair of orange Ed Hardy shoes. Yes Geoff, I paid $49.96 for these puppies! I know I will never hear the end of this. That was about half of what they would cost at the mall, but it’s way more than I would ever consider spending for a pair of shoes. And don’t get me started on the statement part of this! Ed Hardy… phssshhh.
So what did I learn from this ghost? I learned that sometimes it’s good to do things you wouldn’t normally do. The cost, whether financial, emotional or otherwise, is very worth it. Even though I won’t be there to see Candy open her gift, I know that she will love the shoes. I’m going to write her a note and have it translated, telling her that she is special and loved not only by me, but everyone. Yes, Candy is a very special ghost.
The Ghost of Christmas Future
I met the ghost of Christmas future last night and her name is Flo. She was at the nursing home where our church was hosting a Christmas party for the residents. This is a photo of Flo talking to one of the kids at the party. The little girl was asking what her name was and Flo replied, “My name is Flo. Pretty crappy name, hey?” She had my full attention now.
Flo and I have the same hair philosophy, wash it, go to bed, and whatever you wake up with is the new style of the day. Capturing Flo in a photo was a difficult task, as she was working the room at an unbelievably rapid pace. Her walker, with tennis ball feet, must be jet propelled.
During one of the Christmas songs, she was dancing. I later told Flo that I captured her dancing on video. She asked, “Is this the New Year’s party? You got me dancing? I don’t remember doing that. I’m not leaving this party until I see myself on TV.”
Flo is cute and spunky, and in her day, I bet she was a blast to hang out with and had many friends. Flo disappeared from the party early, I’m assuming to get ready for bed.
A while later, a large group of us went caroling down the halls. There were four wings, and I so desperately wanted to find Flo again. Toward the end of the last hall, there it was, Flo’s room. She and her roommate were sleeping. I see Flo as the ghost of Christmas future because that will probably be me in 40 years. We were not allowed to take photos in the rooms, you know, all that HIPPA junk, but when I saw the painting hanging over her bed, it took my breath away. I had to secretly snap a photo.
In the nursing home filled with small traces of personal artifacts, arranged into the same basic, beige shell, this colorful painting spoke loudly about Flo. I knew the moment I saw it hanging over Flo’s bed, that she loved color… and loved life. I so terribly want to know her story, but Flo’s memories have been stolen from her. Sadly, Alzheimers, or whatever she has, might have taken her memories, but it made me happy that it did not rob her of her wonderful personality.
I told my kids about Flo last night during our prayer time. Joe prayed for her not to die before he had a chance to meet her. She might be his ghost as well.
We can all learn from our ghosts, and whether you go seeking them or they come to haunt you. Don’t be frightened. Also, don’t ignore them. Remember these are friendly ghosts, and they want to show you something in your life through their own human experience. The Christmas spirit? Yep, it’s a ghost, and I think I’m a little closer to it now.
I have to say, committing to write everyday until Christmas is taking a lot of time and energy, but I’m enjoying it. This blogging idea started out as a fun way to share my funny photo finds of crazy Christmas yard decor, but turned into more than that, I wanted to document the process of what an upside-down Christmas looks like for me and my family. These blogs are a bit more wordy than I had anticipated, but it they do tell the story, and in great detail.
The idea to write everyday was inspired by several people. Hank Stuever, for the way he can write about something controversial, yet word it to not be offensive, while painting a picture of the truth. The book Tinsel really has to make a person evaluate how they do Christmas. My assesment? If this book doesn’t give you some food for thought, then you need to find something that does. Allison Harrell, for her amazing writing skills. I will never type as fast as her (she has a letter jacket for typing), but I want to enhance my communication skills. Writing is not an easy thing for me like it is for her, or easy like photography, graphic design or altered art, but I do enjoy it with a sick kind of love / hate relationship. Another person is Jackson Robinson. He has committed to doing a painting everyday and he blogs it. These tiny masterpieces are painted by him every morning and look like they should be hanging in a gallery. Unbelieveable detail! And Robert Leahey, who took on a challenge to write a novel in one month, and successfully accomplished his mission.
Words are my friend. I feel better after journaling pages of handwritten words, I love doing typography art and my opinionated side loves to share my views with words. Even with all of those positive word attributes, words are also my enemy. I struggle to find them, I have a difficult time articulating them and my brain thinks in pictures, not words.
Turning Christmas upside-down has been a wonderful experience so far, but it came with some unexpected returns, deep feelings and a better understanding of my life and the way I live it. An experience of which I hope to put into words. Besides taking the money I would have spent on gifts for people and giving it to great causes, I still want to give something meaningful to my family and friends for Christmas. Something that is an expression of how I feel about them and something that inspires their creativity. I came up with the perfect thing, but I’m still in the creation process. It’s my little Christmas secret. I guess you’ll have to keep coming back and reading to find out what it is, or wait until you get one.
I guess I must really love words because I’m a book junkie. I have five bookcases in my house filled with books, an no, I didn’t pay full price for any of them. Over the years I have made several trips to Gladewater and there’s a small mom and pop type bookstore I’ve always wanted to visit. Most of the time I was there on Sunday and the bookstore was closed. Friday, it was open. I like buying books that have had previous owners, not only to save money, but for the chance of finding a book with a personal note in it, handwritten sentiments to someone I don’t even know. It’s like getting two stories in one, the story in the book and the found mysterious story. I love creating the rest of their story and incorporating it into my own.
As I was shopping in there for gifts for some of my close friends, I realized the books didn’t have any prices on them. I brought a stack to the front and asked where I could find the prices. The man at the counter said, “I’ll look them up, tell you the prices, then you can argue with me.” I immediately took a liking to him. I shopped a little longer, taking in the pleasing scent of old books, then finally made my way to the counter to argue with Pete. Pete and I talked for a long time about books, photography, art, Bible translations and people. I was telling him I could never work there because I would want to take everything home. He said I was too interesting to work there. That made me smile, as I like the word interesting more than quirky or weird.
Toward the end of our conversation, Pete was looking up a few books for me. I asked, “What did we ever do before Wikipedia and Google?” He replied, “We argued.” Now I’m really liking this guy. Pete, being of a slightly older generation than myself, and from what I could tell, progressively embracing the electronics age, I had to ask. “So, are you on Facebook?” Unfortunately he is not there… yet. He’s about to purchase a new digital camera and wanted some tips so I gave him my email address. He said, “I’m going to contact you and ask you camera questions. I guess you could just ignore my emails if you don’t want me bugging you.” I replied, “Nah, you’re too interesting to ignore.”
I gathered my new-old books, and headed for the car. Pete told me about an abandoned church right up the road, so of course, I had to stop there before heading home to Frisco. Words… books… what does any of this have to do with deep feelings and understanding life? I’ll tell you.
Shopping, or as I prefer to call it, treasure hunting for meaningful books made me think a lot more about the relationships in my life. Not just my friends and family, but in a deeper sense, people that are close to me, people that are acquaintances and people that I don’t even know. I’m not one of those crying, emotional types, as a matter of fact, I missed that line when God was passing out those genes. My face leaks about once a year, just to clean out the cobwebs in my tear ducts. I don’t express emotion through tears, I do it through art. Words are an art form, one I am learning, just like learning to have more meaningful relationships in my life. I have a deeper appreciation of the people I know, an admiration of their uniqueness and an understanding of what an important role that plays in all of our lives.
I don’t know if it was the death of my cousin or searching for meaningful gifts, or maybe it’s just the loneliness of the holiday season, but I have experienced some life change. It’s a feeling I have never felt before and one that I cannot put into words. I have a desire to live differently. This isn’t a passing thing, I have acted on it and am reordering my life around it.
The icons of Christmas that started this writing adventure are not the plastic Santa statues or the many strands of mismatched colored lights. The icons of Christmas are people, from the impoverished guy on the street corner with his ‘need help’ sign to my closest family and friends. The most important Christmas icon of all is Jesus, and I don’t mean the plastic one. The eight pound, six ounce baby Jesus that was born on December 25th.
Words to sum this up? If you are planning on turning Christmas upside-down, you better put on your seatbelt. It will turn your life upside-down.