Anny Cook's Blog, page 55

Deck the Halls

If someone came to our apartment, they would have no clue Christmas was just two weeks away. At times during my past, I spent hours decorating the house, hanging wreaths, putting up the Christmas tree, stringing lights.

I'm not particularly in the mood this year to do all that--and I'm not sure why that is so. The idea of putting everything away after the holiday just makes me tired. Am I depressed? Not particularly. Mostly, I just want a bit of peace and quiet.

My idea of decorating centers around small things. A candle tart shaped like Santa. The ceramic nativity we've had for at least thirty five years (wasn't that a good buy?) We have a Rudolph hanging a friend made for us about thirty years ago when we first moved to New York. That's about it. Just enough to remind us it's Christmas. Not enough to engender hauling out boxes and boxes of stuff.

It's the same for cooking and baking. To be brutally practical, the hunk and I are not supposed to eat most of the goodies people look forward to gorging on during the holidays. Cookies, pies, fudge, and all that other stuff just upsets our innards and makes us grumpy. Why make it, then? Oh, maybe one batch of cookies, but after that...well, I'd rather read a book or knit.

Shopping at our house is a non-event. I mail my kids money to shop for the grandkids. And I send my folks a giftcard. And that's it. Retirement is not a time of life where you can afford to spend widely. We have sufficient to live frugally, but that's it. Fortunately, our kids understand.

I think this year's watchword is contentment. This year I'm content with less instead of more. Not only content, but at peace. There were times in the past when I was not. Perhaps as I get older, I'm finally understanding the truth.

Christmas isn't about things. It's love for our family and friends and thankfulness for what we have.

I have to go now. There's a candle tart to light and music to play and memories to share.

anny

Christmas 1963

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.

anny

Bits and Pieces

This is my first grade picture. My mother and grandmother made the dress...back when women sewed. I attended first grade at age five in Pima, Arizona, a small crossroad with one blinking light. If you yawned as you approached it, you missed it.

I have shaky memories of turkeys, cows, picking cotton, cranking the phone to make it work, learning how to count in school using pinto beans and tongue depressors, helping my mother to do the laundry with an old wringer washer, and the night the mountain lion tried to get in our small house. This was also the year my grandmother from Indiana came to visit and we were caught in a tropical storm while camping out on Mt. Graham. Oh, yeah. That was also the year I met "Dick and Jane".

My memories from this period were either vivid or misty with no apparent in between. It's surprising what we remember from our childhood--memories that linger for no particular reason.

Today is the day we commemorate all those lost in the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941. That was seventy-one years ago and an astonishing number of people have no idea why we have Pearl Harbor Day. If you're one of those people, click HERE and find out about an important piece of American and world history.

For those of you patiently tolerating my knitting socks shenanigans, I finished the first sock while on vacation and started the second one. When I have TWO finished socks, I'll post a picture. Actually, the first one came out pretty good!

Currently, I'm in a writing doldrums. Not sure why, but I seem to spend a lot of time staring at a blank screen. Perhaps it's the approaching holidays. Or maybe simply the steady creeping winter. Hopefully, I'll move past it really soon.

In the meantime, blessings on anyone who read this. I hope you have a wonderful day.

anny

Sunbeams

When the sun is shining, day after day, we tend to take it for granted. Sunshine. Maybe we even wish for rain or clouds or some small relief from the heat.

The true value of the sun is only understood when it goes away for an extended period of time. Darkness descends on the Earth. With ancient instinct we withdraw to our burrows, carefully hoarding our bit of fire--both heat and light--until the sun reappears.

Even in the desert where the sun generates terrible heat and barren land, we understand the true value of the sun. It might be hot. It might dry up the streams of water. But the sun brings life.

Winter is approaching in the northern hemisphere. The days are growing shorter. And true to our heritage, we're closing the night out, lighting our snug burrows, and getting ready to wait out the darkness.

anny

Twinkle, Twinkle

Last week we were in Arkansas. The week before, in Texas. I had a hard time accepting the reality of Christmas lights while wearing shorts and tee-shirt.

After spending my early years in desert Arizona and an addition eleven years in Houston, Texas, I'm more than aware holidays--particularly the Christmas spirit isn't dependent on weather. But there was a certain sense of disconnect.

We were talking to my folks about Christmas decorations and my dad went over to the wall and flicked a switch. Now over the previous few days, I had noticed a rope of lights looped across the front porch, but I admit I hadn't paid much attention to it. Quite a few folks use such ropes to light their patios and back porches all year long.

But when he flicked the switch, he declared, "There now. Our Christmas decorating is done."

I peeked out through the front windows--and sure enough the rope of lights was a multi-colored string of Christmas lights.

I've been thinking about it since then. How much of our decorating fury is "self-invented"? And how much less would we be content with? For the hunk and I, putting up a tree and scattering holiday decorations around our apartment is a less attractive notion every year. I envy my parents being able to "flick a switch" and be finished.

Perhaps deep in my heart, I feel we are focusing too much on the form and not enough on the substance of the season. In any case, we will no doubt do some moderate decorating, if nothing else to remind us just why we celebrate this holiday.

May you be blessed this season.

anny

Writer's Sights

My son, the Pied Piper of birds, talking turkey...
Ducks rushing to join the parade.
Black rooster, raising the dawn. Guinea Hens.
Gaudy rooster with headdress.
D.O.G. (pronounced Dee OH' Gee), Guardian of the Chickens
Red, #1 rooster.
Red with his harem.

Goat across the road.
Elephant fountain in front of one of our hotels.
Beautiful trees at a roadside rest.
Majestic mountains in Virginia.A few of the sights from our trip that I'll incorporate in a book--now or in the future.

anny

'Tis the Season

I'm not ready for Christmas yet. Surely, I'm not the only one feeling this way? What's the rush?

It's not a matter of shopping or feeling "bah, humbug". I'm just not ready. Thanksgiving was just over. Now everybody is on this jingling race to Christmas. And then? A week later it will be New Years with the ringing in of 2013. Where did the year go?

Am I the only one who feels the frantic feverishness around me? I want to call a halt to the rush, urge people to slow down, have something hot to drink, and curl up with a good book or movie. Maybe just stop the merry-go-round.

Every year the race is more out of control. What if we stopped giving presents (MANY of us don't need them), and started serving those around us who quietly, desperately struggle through each day? What are we really celebrating, anyway?

Over the last few days I've read numerous lists from children demanding all manner of electronic media. Not one doll. Not one board game. Not one baseball glove or bicycle. I have to wonder why we need more electronics. And I worry about the Me, Me, Me, Me generation we're rearing.

There are people living in the dark and cold still. People who are homeless, people who are hopeless. Isn't this season--whether pagan or christian--about hope?

Or is it?

anny 

When the Cock Crows

The hunk and I returned from our "visiting" vacation yesterday. It was lovely to sleep in my own bed last night. Not that my hosts weren't gracious to point of giving us their bed, but there's nothing like sleeping in your own bed.

For those of my readers who live in the country, I'm sure the ambiance of animals--and trains passing in the night--is nothing new. I am an urban dweller, far enough from the countryside so my night sounds are sirens and screeching tires.

While staying with my son, we were alerted to the approach of the new day--every day--by one of his roosters who apparently felt compelled to sound the alarm around four-thirty A.M. Once he was satisfied everyone was awake, he settled down. Then around six A.M. a different rooster took up the job of notifying us daybreak was imminent.

In case we missed that, the surrounding animal life began calling out in a cacophony of noise--hens, roosters, dogs, turkeys, hounds, birds in the trees, all punctuated by the long mournful horn from the train. Arise! A new day has begun!

anny

Secession Puzzlement

In the days since the USA elections, there have been numerous posts on the social media about secession. Apparently, there are petitions on a website that some folks have signed, believing their signatures will lead to the United States government giving them permission to secede from the union.

Interesting. I wonder if the petitioners truly understand what they're asking for?

If they were successful...

How would all the older folks living on Social Security exist? After all, Social Security is a federal program that would not be available to citizens of a "foreign" country. The same can be said for all those other despised government programs... Medicare, Disability, federally funded infrastructure, the Post Office, military bases/hardware, federal prisons, and federal law enforcement. Secession isn't the same as going to live in a foreign country while remaining a US citizen. When you secede, you give up your citizenship-- and your rights.

Of course, any employee of the federal government who lived in the seceded state would immediately lose his/her job. They might hold on to it if they moved into one of the "united" states. But maybe not. There are enough folks in those states who need jobs already. Naturally, that job loss would apply to the congressmen from those states and that might not be a bad thing.

It's true a seceded state would no longer be constrained by federal regulations and laws. That might pose difficulties for some of the citizens. As we saw in the past election, there is much hatred and bigotry roiling beneath the surface. If the majority of a state was in that category, some of the citizens could be in danger without the federal laws. I can easily envision a state with multiple classes where "minorities" (even if they were actually a majority) would become citizens with no rights. And yes, that would likely include women.

I wonder what the new country would use for a monetary system? It can't be dollars as that's the USA currency. And what about all those folks with dollars in the banks? What will they be worth after secession?

If the federal government totally withdrew from any given state, I suspect the state's economy would crash. Some of the states on the petition list are already bordering on bankruptcy. How would they manage when they had to deal with excise taxes on their exports and pay higher prices for their imports?

There would be new costs to police their borders. I suspect the USA would go to a passport requirement for entry at their borders. Yep, I can see long lines in some places--especially those towns that straddle state lines.

And the new state would have to deal with foreign countries on their own. Those states the currently sit on our borders might be vulnerable to invasion from neighboring countries. Border wars would probably be common.

I expect a lot of corporate America would withdraw to safer locations where their assets wouldn't be threatened. And that would put some more folks out of work.

There don't seem to be many advantages, off hand. The only ones I can think of are kind of puny.

A) Everyone that wanted a gun could have one. That seems to be one of the biggies among the petitioners. Of course, that's true in most places in the USA, except for felons, but I guess there wouldn't be any registration, maybe.

B) The state could/would have a state "Christian" religion. As far as I can tell, there's no exact definition of what that would be so that might require some sorting out. And since most folks professing Christianity seem to be pretty bullheaded about being the only right way, well, I can see how some of the sorting might be done with a gun. 

C) Ditto for folks that are out there on the edge of what's acceptable. See B). Once a bunch of people start deciding what's acceptable for their neighbors and family, all sorts of problems crop up.

D) A lot of the city folks would learn how to garden. And sew. And all those other old-timey crafts that have been abandoned in the pursuit of the Wal-Marts. Or maybe Wal-Marts would become the new religion. That's a thought.

Yep, it would be a whole new world for that country after secession. I want to wish y'all the best of luck. You'll need it.

anny

Under the Gun

First of all--Thank you to all veterans for your service! We appreciate the sacrifices you've made in the past and the ones you and your families continue to make in the present!

I was exchanging posts with a friend on Facebook and for some reason got involved in a story from my younger days. One thing led to another and I promised to blog about a particular incident. So here it is...

The first time I ever fired a weapon, I was fourteen. My dad and I were out on my Uncle Bill's ranch in Texas. My memory says it was a shotgun, but reason argues for a rifle. Whatever is was, when I fired it, the kick from it landed me on my butt about six feet away from where I started. That didn't deter me. Over the years, I've had occasion to fire other guns. After all, target shooting can be fun and competitive.

Not so when the weapon is pointed at you.

When I was twenty seven, I worked at a fast food joint, closing the place six nights out of seven. The hunk and I had been married nine years, had three kids and a continually mounting pile of bills. He worked days plus the breakfast rush at the fast food place on the weekends. I worked nights. It's a schedule a lot of young couples go with because childcare is too expensive.

Our store closed at eleven p.m. on the dot. The manager ran around locking all the doors while the rest of us starting taking the bins apart and carrying them back to the crew person in charge of washing dishes. In the back storage room we had a washing machine we used to wash our cotton clean up towels. After dumping off my bins, I snagged the keys to the storage room from the manager's desk and went to empty the washer.

When I unlocked the door and flipped on the light, a guy jumped out at me, waving a shotgun. He had on a rubber Halloween mask with a sheet draped over him.

We never know how we'll react in a crisis until it happens to us. I just backed up and slammed the door shut. It didn't occur to me that I was the one locked out--not him. He jerked the door open, pointed the gun at my belly, and yelled, "This is a hold-up!"

The mind freezes up. I just stood there until he poked me in the gut and told me to sit on the floor under our time clock. He rounded everyone else up by telling them he would shoot me if they didn't come. When everyone was sitting on the floor except the manager, he demanded she dump the money in the drawers in a pillowcase he was carrying. And then he left.

Time started. Stopped. Started. The manager called the police and then the head store manager. The crew went back to work in the close down cleaning.

I remember the plain clothes cops kept trying to talk to me but I was cleaning. Finally, one gently removed the towel I was using from my hands and directed me to sit down.

Then I started shaking.

The head manager called in extra crew to close down and sent the night manager and me to a diner to unwind over coffee because clearly we weren't going to be able to just go home and sleep.

Overall, I thought I was handling the incident pretty well until about two weeks later. All the crew members except the grill guy and me were in the back for a quick crew meeting. Two fellows came in and walked up to the counter, but they were acting weird and my inner alarm were screaming. In my best cheery voice, I welcomed them to the store and asked how I could help them.

"This is a stick-up."

Maybe they were screwing around. I never saw a gun. But I walked away, heading for the crew room. By the time I got there, I was crying and howling.

The two guys ran out to their car and were peeling out of the parking lot when the manager made it to the front counter. The manager called the cops and the same two plain-clothes cops interviewed me again. By then, I was feeling really stupid and sure I'd over-reacted.

When I shared my thoughts with the officers, they just shook their heads. One of them scolded me about discounting my instincts. Then they told me they were pretty sure the same two guys had hit another fast food store after they left ours.

They killed three teenaged crew members there.

Because of the first robbery I didn't react the way I might have otherwise and that had thrown them off their plan. I worked a couple more weeks. And then I quit. The hunk and I decided we'd find some way to make things work without my job. Things were really hard. Not long after that we found out I was pregnant at the time of the first robbery.

I've talked to officers since then over the years. Every single one has told me to never ignore my instincts. If something about an individual sets off my alarms, get the heck away from them. There's a reason that radar is screaming.

And I can tell you firsthand--the real deal is nothing like television or movies or books. Nothing like it.

anny