Anny Cook's Blog, page 2

Christmas Journey

Christmas 1989. “Please come if you can. Uncle Charles has terminal cancer and probably won’t be with us next Christmas.” For many years in my family, holidays (Christmas and Thanksgiving) have been alternated with the in-laws. This year was not a family Christmas, but the family was trying to get together anyway. It wasn’t a great year for us. The house hunk was on disability because of an accident at work. I was on unemployment because my company, Waldenbooks, had moved their warehouse operation from New York to Tennessee. The boys, recently graduated from high school, were out of work, since they had also been employed there. Jobs were scarce in our rural county with 700 unemployed warehouse workers suddenly in the job market. I was attending school as a dislocated worker, hoping to obtain the skills for a new job.  “Please come.” Our car was shot. There was barely enough for a gift for each of the kids. Friends had provided Christmas dinner components for us. The trip from New York to Indiana was out of the question. Reluctantly, I called my parents with the news.  The kids asked us if we could talk for a few minutes. “Suppose we give up our present money…would we have enough gas money to get there?” one of them asked.  My younger son offered to change the oil and do a quick check up on the car. Our oldest pointed out that we could take turns driving. The car had very little heat…but our older daughter suggested that we could take extra blankets. Slowly, one objection at a time, they showed us that we could make the trip. I called my parents in LaPorte, Indiana and suggested that they make up some extra beds.  We traveled to LaPorte, stopping only for restrooms and coffee. Our car was a tight squeeze for five small people. We had six large people. The kids said that was a good thing as we all stayed warmer that way. Meals were sandwiches eaten in the car. In Ohio, we ran into snow. The car heater didn’t work well enough to defrost the windows so they began to freeze over. There were frequent stops to clear them, but we made it. After eighteen hours on the road we arrived in LaPorte. There was close to a foot of snow on the ground.  It was a great Christmas, rendered more poignant because of Uncle Charles’ illness. There were more family members there than at anytime before or since. Close to 70 people sat down for Christmas dinner. Afterwards, there were games, carols, and visiting.  The trip home was longer as there was more snow to contend with. In Pennsylvania, the snow was so heavy that it melted on the headlights, creating a sheet of ice that coated them. We stopped frequently to clear them just so we had light. Cars were sliding off the road. It was night. Plows couldn’t keep up with the storm. The rest areas were closed. We had no money to stay anywhere so we kept moving. Twenty-six hours later, we arrived safely home.  Anyone who has traveled with teenagers knows that it’s impossible to travel far without petty squabbles and picking. However, our entire trip, bad weather, extremely uncomfortable conditions, with limited money, there wasn’t a cross word from anyone.  A miracle. Several, in fact.
anny

Christmas Gifts

Over the last few days I've read several social media posts and statuses where adults are mourning their lack of Christmas (gifts, lights, tree, decorations, etc.) They're not mentioning the lack for their children's sake. No...they're speaking up for their own lack.

Since this is something I can speak about from vast experience, I had to have my say. For the last innumerable Christmases (not to mention birthdays, Mother's Day, etc., etc.) I could count all my gifts on one hand. Some years I didn't need even a finger to count. And yet, I feel blessed.

I have four reasonably healthy children with their attachments, one healthy husband, two still independent parents, and three healthy siblings with all the attachments--spouses, children, grandchildren. Speaking of grandchildren, I also have five brilliant, healthy ones of my own.

None of them live anywhere near us. But I love them and I am blessed by their very existence.

I have shelter. I have food. I have everything I need to be comfortable, plus some to spare. It was not always so. There were years when I wondered how we would feed our children, but that is not the case this year. And so I am blessed.

I have a closet full of decorations for the holidays. This year except for our tiny fiber optic tree, I chose not to haul them out. But even if that closet was empty, it wouldn't leave me less blessed. Christmas isn't about decorations or carols or gifts. It's about love.

For those of you feeling loneliness or depression, my heart goes out to you because you are devoid of the greatest of gifts--love. Love for yourself. Love for another. Love for your neighbor. If you have any of those, you are blessed.

Light a candle and give thanks.

anny

Let There Be Peace on Earth

"Let there be Peace on Earth..." The first time I heard this song was at my oldest daughter's Christmas pageant the year she was in fourth grade. The elementary school had no place big enough to hold the pageant so it was held in the high school auditorium. The program was creative and joyous and enjoyed by all the parents and families.

Near the end of the evening, teachers dressed as reindeer took the stage with a rollicking skit and song. As I was enjoying it, awareness of a shuffle and hiss crept in and I realized that the children were silently lining the walls around the auditorium.

The lights went out. A deep silence filled the huge room.

And then one young voice soared in the darkness. "Let there be peace on earth..." A tiny light flicked on lighting her face.

A few more voices joined in...just a few from points all around us. "And let it begin with me." More lights. More voices.

Until we were ringed in light and earnest small voices singing about peace on earth.I think about that song often. I think about how we still don't understand the underlying truth of the words..."let it begin with me" for peace does not begin with warriors. Peace is protected by warriors when all else has failed. Peace begins with each of us.

Most people believe that peace is an absence of war. That isn't true. Peace is an absence of conflict. And true peace will not arrive until we as humans refuse to countenance abuse, intolerance, genocide, greed, and famine. As long as we turn away from the less fortunate ignoring the needs of the many in favor of the wants of the few, there will be no peace on earth.

"Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me..."

Anny

Grinch Gets a Heart

Christmas 1997. Well, there we were. Life, as usual, had twisted us in knots. We were short on money, long on bills, and the holiday was around the corner, nipping at our wallets. That year we had a new miracle in our family. Her name was Talitha and she wasn't old enough to know that she was a miracle.
I watched her being born back in September. My younger daughter and her husband were having tough times so they were living with us… which meant that I got to see her every day. She was nearly three months old and changing almost by the hour.
Back in my more arrogant days, among the many silly things I said, was one particular gem—that none of my children would be allowed to move back in with me once they were on their own. I’ve been forced to eat my words several times. That Christmas both of my daughters were living with us! In any case, I have found that God generally gets what he wills, one way or the other. That June, in a matter of twenty minutes, he simply removed all other options. God was determined to give me a blessing I didn’t want.
Tough times can shrivel the soul. On the outside, I carried on, but on the inside, like the Grinch, my heart was several sizes too small. And then, God sent a gift into my life. Life was still tough. There was little income and large out-go. But when I came home from work and held my granddaughter, things were okay. I forgot how precious the little children are. I harbored resentments and bitterness because of my own failures with my children. With this tiny baby, I was able at last to forgive myself for my failures and simply allow myself to love her without expectations or conditions. When I watched her young parent's faces when they held her and cared for her, then I knew that I did something right.  Talitha is twenty-two now. Life has whizzed by, but when I look back, she was still a miracle. Merry Christmas. Anny

The Christmas Surprise

The Christmas Surprise
The end of that year was an incredibly turbulent time. In November on my fourteenth birthday, President Kennedy was assassinated. It was in the beginning years of the Vietnam War. The Cuban Missile crisis was not long before that. Uncertainty was everywhere. So herewith, the story of Christmas 1963.


Christmas 1963 . That was the year that Christmas wasn’t going to bring even one gift…we thought. It was a poor financial year. I didn’t exactly know that we were poor. We had plenty to eat. We had clean, warm clothes. We had a warm, sheltering apartment in Chicago that my stepmother, Maxine, worked hard to make a haven for us.
Now that I am a parent and grandparent I realize how difficult it must have been for her to sit us down a few weeks before Christmas and explain that there wasn’t any money for gifts. If all the money she had managed to save was pooled, we could have a special Christmas dinner. Back then there were no such things as food banks or church assistance.
Soberly, we considered the dilemma, and then one by one, we agreed that a special dinner was the best use for the money we had. Once that was settled, we put it behind us and life went on.
Then, a couple weeks before Christmas, Mum told all of us to hurry home immediately after school, as there would be a surprise. Friends of the family planned to bring each of us a gift and wished to be present when we opened them. So on this day, I slung my books into my locker at school and rushed home. Pounding up the stairs to our second floor apartment, I eagerly flung open the door—and froze in my tracks.
Every level surface in both the dining and living rooms was covered with gifts. Piles of beautifully, lovingly decorated boxes with bows and trinkets. A tree twinkled merrily in the corner. The melodies of familiar Christmas carols filled the air. Unexpectedly, Christmas had come to our home.
As I stood in the open doorway, I could not imagine what had happened. Certainly, we didn't get rich overnight. I shut the door before walking around the rooms gently touching the lovely boxes. Mum, more excited than I had ever seen her, urged me to look in the kitchen where two boxes of groceries, a ten-pound ham, fifty pounds of potatoes, and a five pound box of chocolates sat on the table. A special Christmas dinner indeed!
In a little while, when my brothers came home from school and my dad arrived from work, we opened the gifts. Of all the Christmases in my life, this is the one I can remember every single thing I received--not because I was a greedy kid, but because they were all gifts of sacrifice from strangers.

Our family friends were a minister and his wife with a church in Indiana. One of their church families approached them, seeking a family that wasn’t going to have any gifts for Christmas. The parents and children of this church family voted to give up their Christmas gifts so that a family, unknown to them, would have a special Christmas.
The minister and his wife undertook the responsibility of obtaining clothing sizes and special needs, plus transportation and delivery of the gifts. And they delivered our heartfelt thank you letter to the anonymous family.
As Christmas grows closer, whether we are rich or poor, I look back on that Christmas and know that we are blessed because we are together. Every year I remember the blessing of being loved unconditionally by strangers.
A miracle.

Reflections

Traditionally, the new year is the time when folks pause to reflect on the past year and set goals for the future. I'm a little odd I suppose as I take that pause on my birthday. Today I turned seventy. For some reason, that just doesn't compute for me. In my heart I don't feel like I'm seventy. Seventy is for old people.

Anyway, one of the things I ponder is how the world around me is changing. The last few years have been tough out there. If one only based our neighbors' attitudes on the things on the news or social media, one would believe our civilization is doomed.

This morning I had to be up and about very early for some bloodwork. Then, after a celebratory bagel and coffee, the hunk wanted to make a quick pass at the grocery store. I sat in the car people watching while he did his thing. And this is what I observed. I watched people smiling at total strangers and offering help. I saw people greeting each other. It didn't matter what color or ethnicity they were. It didn't matter what age or gender they were.

The truth is out there. In the microcosm of one-on-one interaction, we are all human. Maybe in the larger arenas, people show hatred and anger. There always has been--and will always be--those who believe they are better than everyone else, based on the skin color or gender or sexual orientation. But in the people-to-people spaces, the good, the friendly, the compassionate prevail.

I think it's important to observe this. It's important to celebrate our commonalities. We are one. Those others out there only prevail if we forget this. Smile at someone today. Greet someone today. We are more alike than we are different.

Reader Wish List

Every reader has something they would like if they had their 'druthers'. We enjoy the stories. We faithfully follow the authors. And yet...well there are a couple extra things we could wish for. Since Christmas is just around the corner, here's my list.

1. Title your series on the cover. This isn't a difficult thing to do. What's the overriding theme? Or maybe it's about a specific group of characters. Some authors have fifty or sixty books with multiple series and there's no clue to say which books go together. I'm too short on time to try to sort it out. There are so many others out there to read.

2. Number your books on the cover. Instead of scrolling through pages and pages of book covers on Amazon or Kobo or...well, I'm sure you get the idea...and then having to read every synopsis to figure out where it belongs in which series, just do this simple thing. If you normally write series, even if you're not sure every book will end up being part of a series, slap a number on the cover. If the book never makes it to a series, it will always be book #1, so that's no lie.

3. If possible--and if you're an Indie writer, you make the ultimate choice--try to settle on a specific 'look' (font, color, cover art) for your series. A few notable series authors do this and it makes it so much easier to group the books together at a glance.

The point is sales, folks. I have a busy life and if it's too hard to find your books, or figure out which ones go together, then I'll lose interest and move on. And that would be a shame.

Behold!

I was searching for inspiration for my blog and I found this pic. It speaks to me. Behold! Isn't that a great word? It demands our attention. It expresses wonder and dares us to join in. It begins one of the significant greetings in the New Testament, "Behold! I bring you tidings of great joy!"

Language is a living, changing thing. Every day we add new words and discard others. Behold is one of those losses and that saddens me. What if we woke every morning with the word? This elegant word promises excitement and new beginnings and grabs our consciousness, urging us to seek out the future.

Behold! Seize the opportunities and possibilities!

Queen-ager in Progress

Went to the doc today for my 'six month' checkup...just like a toddler. He checked all the usual things, asked me about any new stuff, gently reminded me I could/should do my exercises while lying in bed, and broached that scary discussion about anemia and iron deficiency.

In a couple weeks I'll roll out of bed on my 70th birthday to visit the morning vamps at 8 AM. Mostly, it's normal stuff, but one test to determine if high cortisol is why I'm sprouting a handsome beard has to be done early, early in the morning.

Sometimes I feel like Lucy in the candy factory episode--never quite getting all the pieces sorted. The creator seems to have speeded up the line so whenever I get one thing under control, something else pops out.

Never the less, I persist! That's what life is about. Keep on going.

I have to go for x-rays on the spine. The hunk 'mentioned' I don't do stuff because my back hurts. So, of course we had to have a discussion about that. The doc explained--very patiently--that the back, my back, was not going to get better or improve or magically be alright. It is what it is, but I'll be seeing the specialist about better pain management. Won't that be fun. However, he also told the hunk to lay off...since I'd no doubt spent the better part of our marriage doing the stuff.

Apparently, I have more new experiences in front of me. When I look back and remember how terrified I was at the prospect of insulin injections, I have to laugh. I do them everyday without a thought. If I can do that, then I can do the next thing, whatever it is.

My friend, Amarinda, assures me age is just a number. I believe I'll call it a level. Level 70 sounds more positive.

Do-Over

In every author's life there is one book they have regrets about. For many of them, the book was never published. For others...well, let's just say I'm going for a do-over.

I've spent a couple years mully-grubbing about what to do with it. A couple days ago I finally started working on it. The book was supposed to tell Traveller and Wrenna's story. Instead it was an awful mish-mash of everyone else with very little left over for the primary couple.

I wrote an entirely new beginning, took the time to type it in the book file and then edited that short piece. This morning I sat at my desk with scissors, sticky notes, and a stapler. After a couple deep breaths, a short interlude where I checked my e-mail, and quick cup of coffee, I dove in.

On the first pass, I literally cut everything out of the story that didn't apply to Trav or Wrenna. With scissors. That was about a quarter of the book. Then I arranged what was left in chronological order. Next I did a quick pass with my pad of stickies, making notes of things to change, check, or add to the story.

Hah. I never felt so great! Finally, I think this book will have a chance. It won't be today or next week, or even possibly next month, but when it's finished, it will finally be the book I should have written in the first place. And it will give Trav and Wrenna their story at last.

Sometimes, do-overs are the best thing!