Simple Joys of Christmas

 

This year, Christmas Eve found me at home, and although no sugarplums danced in my head, I snuggled down in my flannel sheets and dreamed of Christmas Past.  Christmas Eve with family had been cancelled due to the vengeance of a miserable cold unleashed upon the 2 year old. But despite that, just like the Whos in Whoville, who celebrated their holiday without their trees, and gifts, I found a profound sense of wonder and anticipation. I drew family memories around me like a cozy afghan and remembered.

On Christmas Eve, when I was 4 or 5, I got the distinct and unusual privilege of bedding down with my sister overnight, upstairs in her bedroom. Elaine was 9 years older and didn't suffer a bratty sister in her personal space gladly. So to be awarded this boon was a gift without compare. I can remember her gentle breaths as she slept; I was too excited to join her in dreamland. 

Somehow, the night would pass and we'd be invited downstairs. Santa had come and my gifts, unwrapped, had been displayed for maximum impact; everything all at once. What to play with first? 

And then it was time to check our stockings, laden with exotic nuts and fresh oranges. It seems hard to believe in today's global market but an orange in December was a rare and beautiful thing. They weren't as widely available and if they were found, they could be expensive and perhaps not the pick of the crop.  I'm sure our stocking oranges came from the same lot of oranges that went into as Mama's ambrosia. I can hear her call it "food of the Gods" as she brought it to the table. 

Then, of course, the date nut cake which necessitated my teetotaling mother's trip to the liquor store. The cake was always much anticipated or much shunned; I consistently fell in the later group.  

As my memories of the years gone by blurred in my memory, many stills presented themself for my inspection. 

-The year our Christmas tree held a nest of praying mantises. They hatched, peppering our ceiling with tiny black, moving dots. They were everywhere, including in my paternal grandma's wig! 

-The year our chimney caught on fire on the day we were to attend the family Christmas party in Virginia.   Instead of toasting our family for the holidays, we hosted our galant Seaboard Volunteer Fire Department who wrangled a creosote fire into submission.. Damage, but recoverable. A forgotten item had forced us to return to the house, thereby saving it. 

-Every year, Dad's good friend, Mr. Bill Davis, paid a visit.  He would bring me card with a crisp dollar bill inside. One year, he brought me a Mary Poppins doll. As a father of three boys, I always felt he appreciated the relative calm our home offered on Christmas morning. 

- As I grew older, I remember our family visiting the Ramseys. Fran was a year older and I idolized her. We played Barbies and rode minibikes. An interesting combo. One Christmas in particular, I took my new Barbie and managed to accidentally snap her arm off at the shoulder. Yikes - I was heartsick, but my blond doll was beautiful. She just managed to have a disability. 

-Older still, the kids of my hometown would hit the streets on our bikes, ranging from house to house to see what the man in the red suit had brought. Battleships, bikes, BB guns, basketballs. Eventually the mother of all Christmas presents, PONG. 

It strikes me that the toys in those days weren't fads. They were tried and true. They lasted. Monopoly was as fun for me as it was when Mom had it as a girl. Dolls, yes, there were new ones each year, like my Newborn Baby Thumbelina, but they had staying power. And so many games - Mousetrap, Rook, Sorry, Parcheesi, games that brought people together, instead of isolating them on a new device. 

My nephews were born when I was 13 and then 15, so I have many good memories of their Christmas mornings. The day after Christmas, Western Auto in Roanoke Rapids always had a 50 percent off sale.  Mama and Daddy and I would hustle my paternal grandma into the car at the crack of dawn and head to wait in line in the cold for the doors to open to buy gifts for the boys for the next year. Once the lock was turned,  it was a free-for-all! Mom was not even 5 feet tall and she would stand guard over our stacks of gifts which sometimes reached higher than she was tall as my parents and I tried to grab the best for next year. The anticipation for the next Christmas began on the spot. 

What I'm trying to remind myself is that Christmas was simpler then. And though I love the advances of our modern age (tech, tech, and more tech) I think we owe to ourselves to try to slow down a bit. To really appreciate and thrive in the moment. Make some hot tea. Read hardback books. Print photos and dwell on them instead of swiping hurriedly past on our phones. Make Christmas decorations. Cook at home. Climb off the treadmill and take a walk. Sit with yourself. Sit with your God. Dwell in that moment. 

And if you get the chance, eat an orange. Savor the combination of sweet and tangy. Think about what a marvel it is to bite into its juicy goodness when it is 26 degrees outside. Taste. Think. Be. 

Happy New Year! 

Becoming Jabba the Hutt

 I noticed it when I gave myself my Dupixent injection this week in my round little belly. Stretch marks. I verified it this week when I got on the scales and found that sitting around on my fanny for a month and eating  delicious meals had caused me to gain five pounds. Huh.

 Jabba at his most glorious

For those who aren’t familiar with Jabba the Hut, heis a large, fat, loathsome, larval creature from Star Wars. For those of you who are Pride and Prejudice fans, he is the Star Wars character cast as Mr. Collins in my son’s AP English group’s Star Wars video adaptation of the novel. If you’re not a Pride and Prejudice fan, well, who even are you? But I digress.

"Excellent Boiled Potatoes!"

Turns out that recovering from a total knee repair requires movement, medicine,motivation, but also lots of sitting around and lots of sleepless nights. And naps.   I have read 17 books in the last month. And devoured umpteen delicious meals. Hence calories in  greater than calories out.

I defend the pleasure of these meals because knee replacements aren't for sissies. Yes, I know, it’s as commonplace as pedicures these days. Everyone has had one or two. I’m astonished by the folks coming out of the woodwork that have had one. But honestly they  major pains in the…well you get it.

In my pre-surgery glory

My surgeon is fabulous. I’m grateful I learned of him from my neighbor. He did both of Coach K’s knees and you know they got that guy the best of the best. I love Dr. B. He’s just the cream of the crop. When Dr. B. walks in the room, you see a man who is good at his job – he’s doesn’t swagger, but he exudes the kind of confidence you want to see in someone who is going to saw off the ends of two bones in your body and then install a metal replacement.

My Hero! 

                        
Somehow I managed to avoid thinking about what was actually happening to my knee during my first knee replacement surgery last year, despite knowing that the damage from multiple incidents (including my one and only kickboxing class) had left my knee looking like a gnawed-up chicken leg. I just couldn’t think about it, similar to when I close my eyes when I give blood. If I didn’t see it, it didn’t happen. Reminds me of my Dad when he got his bypass surgery. The night before, my nurse sister, gleefully described how they would split open his breastbone to get at his heart.  The confident man I knew and loved turned white as a ghost and accused her of teasing him.  But again, I digress.

My sister upon her graduation from Rex School of Nursing 

Dad, years after his bypass surgery 

So anyway, I love the surgeon who did my knee. I have him tucked up firmly on a pedestal next to my favorite vetinarian and Jane Austen. His tourniquet time was forty minutes by which I mean the man sawed off my old knee, drilled holes, glued, fitted and tested my new knee. I am unable to give myself a pedicure in that amount of time. God bless him.

So all that is to say that I had the best of the best when it came to my outpatient surgery. But hear me, recovery is a bitch. Like labor, you have to go through it to get to the other side. You must do your PT, starting day one, which isn’t really so bad, but then all the great pain meds and the nerve block wear off and you find yourself with your foot elevated “toes above nose”, a machine that constantly pumps cold water around your knee humming nearby, assorted pain meds that may or may not help. a walker and a healthy dose of pain. Days of misery until you see the glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. Two weeks later and you can see your life slowly returning. But in the meantime you  count the hours by how many times you’ve done your PT and when you can take your Tylenol again.

So yes, like Jabba the Hutt, you feel like a giant larval being, or maybe a caterpillar in a cocoon. Except for me, when I am just now coming out of the cocoon, I’m still a caterpillar – one that weighs 5 pounds more. And yep, I don’t regret a bite. Yes, I’m going to have to get these fancy new knees taking walks and start enjoying lighter fare, but every bite of comfort food, truly comforted me just as every turn of a page joyfully distracted me.

Really, ChatGPT? 

 And I’m grateful, so grateful for my church, who offered prayers for my healing, my extraordinary surgeon and his team who put in the work, my fabulous PT who is cheerleading and leading me through recovery, my hub who has stepped, fetched, fed, and encouraged, my girlfriends who have visited, fed, and driven me around, my grandson who has touched my knee with his magic finger which has clearly aided my recovery, and the Durham County Library Libby App which has kept my head in the clouds. And of course, I thank God every step of the way. (See what I did there?)

"Touch it" 

So yes, I’m making real strides (And there?) on my healing journey. And I’m about ready to try to shed the five pounds I gained after Miss Fancy (my new right knee) and the other five pounds I gained after Miss Priss (left knee) joined me. So hopefully I won’t feel like Jabba much longer. But don’t expect a gold bikini.

Not my aspirational goal

Miss Priss and Miss Fancy - Thank you for your service! 

Mimi and the Man: Work Retreat

 As anyone who has worked for a large business or corporation knows, longer days, and abundant sun lend them selves to work retreats. Intended as a bonding time for coworkers they can deeply influence a team's ability to work well together. So in June, Bossman deided to put one together for our extended work crew. The journey started with packing. 

Upon arrival at the sandy shores of Sunset Beach, employees and stakeholders were encouraged to hit the beach. It was a great ice-breaker! 

Retreats also offer opportunities to catch up on the latest journals...

and meet with board members.

There were important opportunties to discuss growing the business,

learn about new technology, 

and brainstorm with other business titans. 

But really, the sky was  the limit! 

It's always nice to share a meal on the company's dime

even if Bossman gets hangry from a long wait. 

And every retreat has trust falls and bounces on a blanket held up at the corners by their teammates. 

I will say, it was really nice to see the softer side of Bossman. (He's usually all business.) 

And we did get in a couple of outings to round out the week.

   

All in all, it was a great work retreat, though I wouldn't say I came back rested. It was a great to spend time with other employees and stakeholders as we are usually so focused on Bossman. He definitely approved of having them there and participating fully. 

Now that we are all settled back into our day to day jobs, it does give me a warm glow to remember the success of our retreat. As for the Bossman - he keeps on keeping on with more major objectives, including considering turning our organization into a non-profit. 

All the best,

Mimi

PS - Shoutout to Auntie Lilly who took the best of these shots. Always important to have a good photographer on staff. 

Aloha Hawaii! Departure and Arrival

When my son and daughter-in-law invited us to tag along with them on their upcoming trip to Hawaii, we said "YES!" immediately. Life happens and before we knew it, it was February and I was packing, unpacking, repacking and panicking about the imminent snowfall. Because, of course, here in NC, where winter weather is rare, a major storm was predicted the day and night prior to our departure. And of course, we had a 6:00 am flight to LAX. 

We reported to work on a white-skyed Wednesday and with our Bossman watched the snow start, then pick up, stick to the ground. and then the road. Bossman let us off work early and we headed, very slowly and very carefully, towards the airport hotel we had booked the day prior. En route, we stopped for Bojangles takeout where there was no-one in line. A glance across the street revealed the parking lot next door at Hooters was jammed. With temperatures dropping, ice forming on the the roads, and the sky darkening I have no explanation for their uptick in business but I sure hope the patrons tipped their servers well! 

Work lunch with bossman 

                                     

Hub and I spent a restless night, arising at 2:30 am to start our short drive at 3:30 am so as to arrive to the airport at 4:00 am. I was surprised how bad the roads were, but we sallied forth and much to my delight, our flight left on time. We overnighted at an airport hotel in Los Angeles and at 7:15 am the next morning our flight departed for Honolulu!  The plane was sparsely populated so we had a spare window seat next to us. I slid over and enjoyed racing the sun to the west coast. 

(A NOTE ABOUT EARLY MORNING FLIGHTS:  People who keep their seat in the recline position for the entire flight should be drawn and quartered. People who trash airplane bathrooms should be made to wear a hat made from paper toilet seat covers for the remainder of the flight. Women who chat at max volume like over-caffeinated starlings over their favorite TV shows while it is still dark outside should have their beverage and snack service priviledges revoked. But I digress.)

The first thing I noticed upon landing was the embracing warmth. Our journey to baggage claim included a walk along a lovely elevated exterior walkway where we were welcomed by soft island breezes. Ahhhh..already we had a taste of paradise. 

We did the expected: grabbed a rental car, made our way to our hotel airport, picked up our kiddos when their flight arrived, and battled intense traffic to Waikiki to find supper. I loved seeing the new-to-me flora: palm trees, banyans, and monkepod trees along the way. We stumbled into a food court in an upscale mall (one of many!) and found ourselves at Waffle and Berry where I got a delicious sugar high that lasted for the rest of the evening. 

Bayon Tree in Waikiki     Creit: Trip Advisor

Monkeypod Tree   Credit: Only in Hawaii

 (Note: Waikiki was astonishing. If Godzilla visited he would have a hell of a time knocking down the surplus of high rises like dominoes! Mrs. Godzilla would have a blast shopping at Prada, Tiffany, Louis Vuitton, Chanel, and the like. She would charge her Kaiju Am-Ex to the max.) 

Waikiki      Credit: iStock 

That night, we settled into a deep sleep. We'd arrived! 

NEXT UP: Pearl  Harbor! 

A Year of Grace

Yes, my grandson is sobbing. He is crying for his Pop-Pop. 

It is late afternoon and he's overstimulated from a family holiday get-together with new people in a new place and a small person his size. With stairs to climb and seats to spin in and lots of voices. 

But he's used to his Pop-Pop. His Pop-Pop soothes him when he wakes up grumpy from a nap or is just feeling grouchy. His Pop-Pop lifts him up oh so high and shows him things, things that make him forget he's miserable. Pop-Pop is magic. 

It's so easy to understand how he feels. It's so easy to offer him grace. He's so little and he has no words yet to express himself. 

But isn't that true for some of us, too? We feel miserable and we have no words to express ourselves. 

I've been telling some of my closets friends that 2025 is going to be the YEAR OF GRACE. It's not official. You can't Google it. But I have declared it, if for no other reason that to remember to offer myself a little grace. 

We've gotten uptight, worried, caught in the news cycle, stuck in traffice, held up in the grocery store. We've been offended, we've become impatient, we are irritated. And more often often than not, that irritation is focused on a someone. And in our hearts and minds and sometimes in our voices and our social media posts we insult, disparage, condemn, and lose patience. 

We put "I" before "them." And we really should be at least trying to offer them grace. 

For two good reasons. Firstly, because we think of ourselves as good people, as nice people. And good, nice people are kind to other people. Good people try to think before they speak. They try to understand how someone else feels. They try to leave space for grace. 

The second reason is a matter of faith. For those of us who believe in God, we believe we are given grace, given it freely. We are grateful for the space that is held for us to be human, the forgiveness that is offered us daily, hourly, minute by minute. As we strive to do better, to be better, we know God's grace is the space that we are given to grow. 

So this year, join me in trying to increase your awareness, to grow your compassion, and to nuture your empathy so that you can offer grace to those around you just as God offers it to us. And isn't that what faith is all about? 

May your Father in Heaven lift you, reassure you, surprise you, and love you, just like earthly grandfathers do for their grandsons and granddaughters. 

Peace be with you. Wishing you a wonderful 2025.