Monday, December 16, 2013

Good (though very early) morning Cuties.
Tis the season. We are all swamped and from our many conversations, struggling to find a little Christmas cheer this year.  I am unfortunately going to be away until after the first of the year. I know I know... I'm not fond of it either.  I'll try to get back here and visit if I can, but being busy little elves yourselves, you know what it's like.

Be safe. Be healthy and be good to you.
I'll miss you very much but look forward to ringing in the new year with all of you.

Merry Christmas
Love,
Tess

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Take Care

When she was younger, he frightened her with his sneering smile and dismissive wave.  If she got up the nerve to speak to him at all, invariably, he didn't hear her and walked passed with no remark or a dour glance followed by a sharp "What?" that instantly caused a tightening in her chest, a flush in her cheeks and a muttered excuse as she scuttled down the hall to hide.  He didn't like her. She was certain and so she kept her distance though sadly because everyone around her loved him.  With them he was jovial, smiling and always quick with a joke. For more than six years this went on until one day when he had barked at her for the last time.

She was busy; had a lot to do.  Her mind was on forty different things at once as she hustled down the hall.  He was coming out of his office humming Christmas songs as he always did. They stopped and glared at each other as had become their custom. He slowly rocked back on his heels, stepped away and gave her a majestic wave to come ahead.  She squared her shoulders and marched on. She dropped her head and said thank you.

"What?" he snapped.

She felt the flush start in her chest and creep up to her cheeks.  "Thank you." she tried again.

"What are you thanking ME for?" he growled.

Almost in tears she gritted her teeth and snapped her head to meet him in the eye.  "I have no damn clue, Lou. None. So you're right. It's not thank you. It's SCREW YOU and get outta my way I'm busy."

She thought she would vomit. She NEVER spoke to ANYONE this way.  Her heart was thundering inside her ribs and her lips were tingling at the ferocity they had so quickly expulsed.  He smiled sweetly, nodded abruptly and with a sweep of his hand dismissed her, continuing down the hall singing his carols, a little louder.

And so began a friendship.  Instead of the bear down the hall, this man became her "Poppy" ( a nickname shared by many of the younger women in the office and company.  They proudly called themselves his harem)  She saw him every day and spoke to all the time about work, about family and about life.  Each night as she walked out the door, she would say "Have a good night" and he would nod and say "Take care."

Twenty years rolled over them bringing two separate but entangled lives.  They shared many jokes and laughs.  He made fun of her and she yelled at him.  They spoke vulgarly, cruelly and treasured each letter. He was one of the first to hold each of her babies.  She dirty danced with only that man, forty years her senior, at each wedding they attended for coworkers and friends. They drank too much at Christmas parties and ate ice cream in their office instead of working on the hottest summer days.
She loved her "Pop".

Each night he told her to "Take care."

When the diagnosis came, leukemia, her stomach knotted but was reassured by doctors, family, everyone that it wasn't a death sentence. Pop could survive this.  She numbly nodded and watched him undergo treatment.  She watched his hair fall out, the weight come off as the number of days he spent in the office with them grew fewer.  He was tired.  She understood but began to go in early to have a little more selfish time alone with him to talk.  He told her of his mother, how he loved and missed her so very much.  He told her of his job in the war, a medic and how he used to speak to the soldiers to ease their suffering as they died or were being tended. He spoke of his favorite place in the whole world, Savannah. He showed her pictures of his friends and shared stories of his boyhood pranks.  And she hung on every word.  She treasured those times, telling him as she walked out the door. "I'll be back.  I love you Pop"  He always responded with the same nod and two words:  "Take care" 

Then he was too weak to come at all.  He had barred her from coming to his apartment for almost twenty years but now, she ignored his command.  She went to check on him.  She found him frail, unshaven and under nourished.  She had breakfast with him, every morning and then revisited for lunch.  He ate and they talked; about the office, the gang, the weather. Sometimes they just watched TV.  She couldn't stay away, wanting; needing only to be with her friend. It made her feel good to know he'd eaten and they'd had a visit.  "I'll see you in the morning." or "I'll come back for lunch." was her goodbye. 

He answered the same as always.

Christmas was coming.  She put a tiny tree on his table and decorated it for him to see when he got up.  Returning for lunch, he pointed roughly at the table.

"Who the Hell put that there?"

"I did. Like it?" she was grinning.

"No.  It's not all white.  I only like all white trees."

"Well, guess what? I didn't have TIME to make it all white but you can bet your wrinkly old ass I'm gonna get some damn snow and MAKE that little piece of shit white. PEARLY WHITE."

"You should."

"I will."

He nodded sharply and chuffed in satisfaction.  They had lunch and watched a horror movie.

 When the call came that he had been moved to the hospital, she cried.  They told her he would not come home.  Her heart began to crack and ache. She thought maybe if she stayed away, he would live.  That wasn't true and she simply couldn't do it.  She went every day just to hold his hand.  His throat was so dry and his voice too soft to understand or hear. She raised his cup and nearly sobbed to hear he hadn't enough breath to drink from a straw so she dropped water or milk or soda or whatever he wanted in to his mouth. There were a lot of pain meds.  His eyes were cloudy and heavy but one afternoon, he was awake and lucid.

"Can you see this Pop?" She pointed to a white board on the wall at the end of his hospital bed.

"Yeah."

"This far? This white board?"

"YEAH ~ I'm the old sick one. Shame you can't HEAR from over there."

"Yeah...well lookee here Pop..." and with that she drew a Christmas tree on the board. "There's your damn white tree now shut up."

She went over and pulled up his covers, sitting down next to him.

"You bitch." he chuckled and closed his eyes.

There was silence now.  He rested.  She cried quietly wanting him to get better. When she rose to go, she leaned over and kissed him.  "I love you Pop" and wiped the tear she had accidentally given him.

His cool smooth hand clasped hers.
"I love you too.  Take care."

She barely made it out the door.  Her hand fighting desperately to capture the sob and pain kicking in her chest.  Her head throbbed, her eyes slammed shut as she leaned against the railing outside his room. 

The next morning, he left her behind and although she understood and was grateful he had no more pain or sickness, she was left numb and speechless at the hole he'd made in her heart; the empty sad hole.  The services were perfect.  They were what he wanted.  All of his friends and family cried as is the case at funerals.  There was laughter too.  The final ceremony at the mausoleum was the worst for her.  The gaping mouth waiting to swallow her friend forever, leaving only letters on granite as the coldest acknowledgment of this great man.  The Honor Guard played Taps for him.  She found she could comfort no one; not her children or friends not even herself.  The tears soaked her cheeks, her handkerchief and her coat. Grief smothered her. And then it was over.  His life summed up.  And everyone went away ~ off to wakes with drinking and food and laughter.  The memories would be shared and life would begin again.

She stood and glared at his final resting place.  "I love you Pop.  Take care" and she turned to go, humming Christmas carols softly to herself as took her place among the living.


For you, my beloved friend.  I will always love and remember you Pop. I miss your face.

Friday, December 6, 2013

Guest blogger

Good morning my pretties. I wanted to get this up. I have been meaning to do it since last week, but things have been a little crazy around here.

I would like to introduce my friend and daughter. She asked me to post this and when I read it, I really liked it.  She wrote around the song by Better Dig Two by The Band Perry. I hope you like it.

Enjoy.


            She stood over his desk, shaking with fury. In her hands she held letters. Letters she had never written. Her eyes saw red but she calmly placed the letters back in the drawer where she had found them and slid it shut. Then she went downstairs to make dinner.

            It had been a small but joyous wedding. They had grown up together. John was a year older than Cathy, but they were best friends nonetheless. One could almost never be seen without the other. When John had fallen off his dirt bike and broken his arm, Cathy had ridden in the ambulance with him, holding his hand the whole time. When Cathy got the lead in their high school's production, it was John who had reserved the whole front row just to see his best friend perform. John had brought Cathy to his senior prom, and vice versa, so it was no surprise to the small town of Averdale that the two best friends started dating.

            The relationship was perfect to the eyes of onlookers. John would surprise Cathy at work with bouquets of blood red roses, and she would always eat with him on her lunch break. It wasn't long before they were engaged to be married. The wedding was set for a quiet date in April.
           
            John stood proudly at the alter as his beautiful bride walked toward him, her dress a pale snowy white. Her brown hair curled and pinned up in a flawless crown around her head. Her veil  had no faults, and onlookers swore that she seemed to glow. Her ivy green eyes sparkled as she read her vows. John looked like the happiest man on the planet as he in turn read his vows to his wife. Once the wedding was over, John had carried his new bride to their honeymoon suite at the only hotel in Averdale, where they spent their night sealing their vows with each other.
           
            The newly weds never fought to the public eye. It seemed a match made in Heaven. But behind closed doors the spark of love that held the two together was slowly dying. What the townspeople saw as John working late to support his wife and prepare for a baby, was really John working on seducing his secretary. What the town folk saw as Cathy tired from cleaning, was actually Cathy silently waiting for her husband to come home smelling of another woman.

            Cathy now had proof that the one man she loved with all her heart did not feel the same way. As she fervently stirred the pasta for her husband's favorite meal, tears stung at the backs of her eyes. what had she done to deserve this? She had never abandoned her husband. She never looked at another man, so why had her husband done it?

            She reached for the remaining ingredients for her husband's favorite, seafood pasta. As she put the finishing touches on the  dish, she ladled it into two plates; one for her and one for her cheating, lying, backstabbing, jackass of a husband. She would show him.
           
            She sat at the table, candles lit, the lights dimmed. Cathy watched as their anniversary dinner grew cold, waiting for her husband to come home. Finally he stumbled in the door, his breath thick with alcohol. She could smell it on him from her seat at the table. Still, she smiled and rose to kiss him hello and lead him over to the table so they could eat together.

            The police came a few days later, for John had not shown up to work and his secretary had grown worried. The scene they found was quite disturbing for a small town such as Averdale. John and Cathy sat at the kitchen table, their heads leaning forward, almost as if in prayer. They were dead.
            Upon examination of the seafood pasta in both of their plates, the lab technicians came to realized it was poisoned. The news of the murder homicide spread like wild fire through out the town. By that spreading, so did the news off John's affair. All sympathy went out toward Cathy. Poor girl, she only loved one man just a little too much. Their graves were side by side. They would be together forever.

            Only the police captain knew the truth behind the murder. He had found the note written and hidden under Cathy's napkin.

            I'll go to heaven or I'll go to hell before I see him with someone else.

Sunday, December 1, 2013

The Start of the Season

It's been really bleak and dark in my neck of the woods lately; full of sadness and general malady.  So I thought I would try to brighten it up just a little around here and decorate for Christmas.

-It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas

Well that began by hauling out all the boxes. I took half of my stuff up to Promises and STILL had about thirty trips up the steps to make.  Of course each box felt like it weighed seventy pounds, sounding frighteningly as if full of tiny shards. I tried to think back to last year when the kids surprised me and de-Santa Claused.  I was a little nervous but make the trips and revved up the sleigh anyway. I also called the elves.

-Deck the Halls

One thing I have learned is to allow the elves to do it how they want it.  I got out the general themes for different areas; whether snowmen, Santas, the village, the goofy things and  keep them together but where they go is up for grabs.  Somehow in my lil head, it keeps it from getting stale and the kids still want to help because it is their decision. Then of course while they sleep, my OCD takes over and I begin to fix. but I'm getting better. Yes, the meds are nice and help me get better. *she said no less than three times. ;)

-Oh Come All Ye Faithful

But then? The fun runs out. I need to get the outside done. I look and see no elves. Even the toddlers have decided that under blankets is where they should be. That's funny. I thought last year went pretty well.  Only one kid cried, and the silent treatment went on for about two days but was over by Sunday night. I summon said elves and we venture to the store with the sale items I want.

-What Child is This

I should have taken only one elf to the store.  With two I got :"You're touching me." "No I'm nooooot" and "You smell like butt" and "I'll tell Mom you stole it" of course while leaning on either side of the buggy with all my festive happy new toys inside: new snowmen lights, new decorations so I could make the small window wreaths, new candles... but I have this warm vicious wind of accusation, teasing and bad humor blowing my hair and my good will toward men (and elves) right out the window. Ho Ho -

"If you don't stop, RIGHT NOW I'm hauling you BOTH home and will devise such a punishment that you will wish you had been orphaned in a fire"

-I'll Have a Blue Christmas

We head home, mimicking "Silent Night"  and begin crafting; glue guns ready at the aim, tinsel, cranberries, drums, ribbon....you name it; I strung it together and made it. Then came the hanging of it and the plugging in. I was pleased overall with few blown bulbs and twinkles where they belonged. The windows look pretty especially after all the work we've had done on the house in the last months and then of course I stepped out to light up the yard; tiny snowmen with little hats, teeny birds on their shoulders waited patiently to pop out and light up my holiday nights. So I pulled them out, lined them up, stuck sticks up their butts and planted them in the ground, fished cords all over and waited much like Clark Griswold.

-Joy to the World

I had done it. I had succeeded. Christmas belonged to me and it would be wonderful. Enter Mother Nature. She decided to be a Scrooge and assault my Christmas miracle in the form of wind and rain.  The following morning, I stepped out to see my tiny new friends laying face down in the mud; dirty broken twig arms, limp lonely teeny birds, smudgy faces and soggy hats. Wreaths were crooked or spun, one was perched precariously atop my gutter.

-Mr. Grinch

But I waded in in my work clothes this bright chilly morning to save the tiny army of holiday cheer drowning in my flowerbed.  Like a festive M*A*S*H* unit, I used my glue gun to triage and save the group of Frostys.  I stepped back and admired my holiday Florence Nightengale-ish work. Proud of my efforts, I turned to leave, tripping on the bright orange electrical cord in my favorite black high-heeled boots.  I managed to fall to my knees but skidded in the mud aaaaall the way out to the walk dragging a wobbly chorus line of what looked like drunk, barely dressed snowballs throwing spears at my shins.

-Ave Maria

Dazed, I looked up wanting nothing more than dry clothes and an end to the holiday season.  I glared at the filthy smiling white globes. I wanted to burn their little "wood" arms or at least see them melt and quiver under a really bright bulb.  I tasted defeat but picked myself up, wiped off and silently replaced my mud battered buddies.  I changed my clothes got into my  car and drove to work.

I turned on the radio

-We Wish You a Merry Christmas

My Arse. And you can put THAT Away in a Manger.

;)

Not the best but it was cute to me. Made me smile which was difficult this weekend. I am glad to share it with you and happy you shared your time with me. It's nice to see you.  Thanks for stopping by.  I hope to hang out with you soon.

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