Stephen
Autumn
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Thursday, December 25, 2014
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Monday, December 24, 2012
Her Last Gift
It was a very small Christmas tree and sat atop an old RCA radio cabinet, one of the fine polished oak models built prior to the war. The radio gave forth Bach. My mother stepped back after she so gently adjusted its volume. She loved Bach. Christmas and Bach she held, were like cream and sugar with afternoon tea.
It was to be our last Christmas together, a fact of which we were both aware.
My mother was so very poor.
The four of us had gathered in the small room and took seats where possible. I remember my brother and sister sat either side of my mother, a small woman of delicate lines with waste length dark brown hair and high fine cheek bones which reflected her American Indian ancestry. Her eyes dark enough to reflect sunlight under still waters. She was beautiful in both soul and outward appearance.
She remained very still had held both my sister and brother's hands and bowed her head. We respected the silence as she cried then composed her thoughts.
I was the older child. Four and five years between myself and my brother and sister. My next step into life would, as a result, take me forever from her home. There was a war. I had taken the oath. We together held fear in our hearts. Life isn't easy.
She began to pray, her voice soft and sincere. Her message to our Father has been lost to the shadows of time but is still recorded in my soul. A simple prayer of love for the season and a gentle request of protection.
As she prayed I remember the warmth of her old oil heater. The flames within so often a comfort to me under the roof of her simple and cleanly organized home built with the few dollars she'd earned from long hard hours at the local hospital.
She said, "Amen."
Then, she rose and took two of three gifts from beneath the tree and placed them in my brother and sister's hands. I watched as they quickly unwrapped their presents. I remember neither. They both smiled as we'd each discussed and agreed prior to this day. They gave thanks and prised her for such wonderful and thoughtful Christmas gifts.
She bent and placed her hands on either side of their faces and gently kissed their foreheads. I waited.
My mother then returned and took the one remaining gift and reached and took my hand in hers. "I'm sorry," she said, "But its all I could afford but the name on the bottle reminded me of you. It seems to describe you so very well."
It was a bottle of cologne. Trouble, by Mennen. I smiled.
I rose and took her into my arms. This small beautiful woman so full of grace. A woman attracted to books and music and art with a heart of pure gold.
It was her last Christmas gift to me. A gift of poverty, given with love.
I never used the cologne. It has traveled the world with me. It sits on a bookshelf in our home. Its contents have grown dark with age, its cap still silver and untarnished. Its lost very little in volume and when its cap is removed, as it was this morning, it still faintly yields a scent of her.
I lost her to heaven not long afterwards. She was so very young.
Ritualistically each Christmas I walk into my office and take down her last gift to me. I hold it, turn it slowly in my hands and remember.
Stephen
It was to be our last Christmas together, a fact of which we were both aware.
My mother was so very poor.
The four of us had gathered in the small room and took seats where possible. I remember my brother and sister sat either side of my mother, a small woman of delicate lines with waste length dark brown hair and high fine cheek bones which reflected her American Indian ancestry. Her eyes dark enough to reflect sunlight under still waters. She was beautiful in both soul and outward appearance.
She remained very still had held both my sister and brother's hands and bowed her head. We respected the silence as she cried then composed her thoughts.
I was the older child. Four and five years between myself and my brother and sister. My next step into life would, as a result, take me forever from her home. There was a war. I had taken the oath. We together held fear in our hearts. Life isn't easy.
She began to pray, her voice soft and sincere. Her message to our Father has been lost to the shadows of time but is still recorded in my soul. A simple prayer of love for the season and a gentle request of protection.
As she prayed I remember the warmth of her old oil heater. The flames within so often a comfort to me under the roof of her simple and cleanly organized home built with the few dollars she'd earned from long hard hours at the local hospital.
She said, "Amen."
Then, she rose and took two of three gifts from beneath the tree and placed them in my brother and sister's hands. I watched as they quickly unwrapped their presents. I remember neither. They both smiled as we'd each discussed and agreed prior to this day. They gave thanks and prised her for such wonderful and thoughtful Christmas gifts.
She bent and placed her hands on either side of their faces and gently kissed their foreheads. I waited.
My mother then returned and took the one remaining gift and reached and took my hand in hers. "I'm sorry," she said, "But its all I could afford but the name on the bottle reminded me of you. It seems to describe you so very well."
It was a bottle of cologne. Trouble, by Mennen. I smiled.
I rose and took her into my arms. This small beautiful woman so full of grace. A woman attracted to books and music and art with a heart of pure gold.
It was her last Christmas gift to me. A gift of poverty, given with love.
I never used the cologne. It has traveled the world with me. It sits on a bookshelf in our home. Its contents have grown dark with age, its cap still silver and untarnished. Its lost very little in volume and when its cap is removed, as it was this morning, it still faintly yields a scent of her.
I lost her to heaven not long afterwards. She was so very young.
Ritualistically each Christmas I walk into my office and take down her last gift to me. I hold it, turn it slowly in my hands and remember.
Stephen
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Update
This is the first opportunity I've had to touch a computer long enough to write. That, and I'm just not in the mood to chit-chat.
Sorry.
I'll try to update this afternoon. At the moment the wife awaits. I hear her toe tapping and she has a stern look on her face...seems a day of Christmas shopping is in my future.
About the tragedy; short and simple - it was awful. God bless the parents. Sadly, we'll pay for the idiots crimes. News coverage this morning, as you well know, is all related to gun control.
It will happen. Count on it, and prepare.
P.S., Charles Schumer can bite my a$$.
Stephen
Sorry.
I'll try to update this afternoon. At the moment the wife awaits. I hear her toe tapping and she has a stern look on her face...seems a day of Christmas shopping is in my future.
About the tragedy; short and simple - it was awful. God bless the parents. Sadly, we'll pay for the idiots crimes. News coverage this morning, as you well know, is all related to gun control.
It will happen. Count on it, and prepare.
Stephen
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Rain
We have gray skies and it's cool and the rain falls hard. Now, it feels like December. I enjoy the soothing sound of rain.
I've less than two weeks to increase the bottom line of my business so please excuse me if my notes are less than frequent.
Time for another cup of coffee. Join me, why don't you.
Later.
Stephen
I've less than two weeks to increase the bottom line of my business so please excuse me if my notes are less than frequent.
Later.
Stephen
Monday, December 10, 2012
The Best Laid Plans
Isn't it interesting how the best laid plans, once declared, slap you back to earth. I believe it was last week I wrote and informed everyone within hailing distance I planned to work six days a week through the month of December. Yeah, right.
Many weeks ago, due to chapped lips, I developed a crack in my lower lip. Sucker wouldn't heal. I applied the wax in a bottle stuff several times a day. I was very careful with the wound. It would partially heal but it seemed each and every time I opened my mouth the upper portion of the wound would re-open. Then, last Friday, I noticed I didn't feel very well and my lip was extremely sore, painful. I applied more of the wax in the bottle.
By Friday evening the whole of my lower jaw was tender to the touch. It hurt. My lower lip had swollen to twice its size. Doctor time.
Long story short it seems my old nemesis, staff infection, had returned and kissed me hello.
At the doc's office the nice nurse told me to drop my trousers. Sweet Wife giggled. I manned up and took the shot like a big boy. Three days later and my butt still hurts. As I write my lip has reduced in size and I feel somewhat better but here I am at home...and my business is closed.
All this to explain my absence and I'm truly sorry for my silence but to tell you the truth I haven't felt well enough to write. Ever tried to eat and drink with a lower lip the size of a baseball.
I swear I thought I heard the nurse giggle when my trousers hit the floor...
*****
Our weather is hot. I hate it. Of course I'm not in a seasonal mood but cool windy weather is best for those out cruising for evergreens.
I do so miss the days when I'd take saw and ax in hand and jump into my truck and ride the logging roads of Western Washington, my lab by my side, in search of our Christmas tree. The sky gray, light rain. We'd ride and climb to the higher elevations where tiny white puffs of snow peppered my trucks windshield. Dixie, my black lab, insisted I lower her window so she'd not miss one trace of grouse scent.
We'd drive for hours. Frequent stops to measure and test each tree. I'd judge the trees on limb spacing, height, and ease of retrieval as most were located on steep hill sides either above or beneath the logging road. Most were Douglas Fir but occasionally I'd opt for the rare Royal Fir with its circular and even spaced branches.
We owned an old Victorian in those days. It had been built high on a hill with an overview of Puget Sound and there was a beautiful clear and cold creek just yards from our back door. From our living room we had views of two mountain ranges, each wore a year round coat of snow.
When I'd arrive home with the tree I carefully measure and remove a small section of the trunk and place it in the old cast iron stand of faded green and red and carry the tree into the living room and next to the window with the best view of the mountains. Afterwards, when the Christmas tree was dressed, we'd lower the lights and silently stand and admire its beauty.
I remember my last Christmas under the mountains. My last Christmas tree of my last season stood freshly dressed as outside the snowfall was reflected by its dance of red and green and orange light. I remember the tree was a Douglas Fir found high in the Cascades and I remember I had shot three Blue grouse and my lab had retrieved each and placed them gently in my hand. I remember we'd eaten our lunch while sitting upon an long ago cut red ceder stump and watched a bear work its way across a canyon as a lone raven circled the thermals. I remember it as a good day.
Sadly, I cannot remember physical gifts of my last Christmas under the mountains. I do, however, remember the gifts of the tree and its lights and the beauty of the snow and the vistas presented from the windows of my old Victorian home and the smell of firewood and fir and the aroma of fresh baked cookies.
Mostly I remember the happiness.
Stephen
Many weeks ago, due to chapped lips, I developed a crack in my lower lip. Sucker wouldn't heal. I applied the wax in a bottle stuff several times a day. I was very careful with the wound. It would partially heal but it seemed each and every time I opened my mouth the upper portion of the wound would re-open. Then, last Friday, I noticed I didn't feel very well and my lip was extremely sore, painful. I applied more of the wax in the bottle.
By Friday evening the whole of my lower jaw was tender to the touch. It hurt. My lower lip had swollen to twice its size. Doctor time.
Long story short it seems my old nemesis, staff infection, had returned and kissed me hello.
At the doc's office the nice nurse told me to drop my trousers. Sweet Wife giggled. I manned up and took the shot like a big boy. Three days later and my butt still hurts. As I write my lip has reduced in size and I feel somewhat better but here I am at home...and my business is closed.
All this to explain my absence and I'm truly sorry for my silence but to tell you the truth I haven't felt well enough to write. Ever tried to eat and drink with a lower lip the size of a baseball.
I swear I thought I heard the nurse giggle when my trousers hit the floor...
*****
Our weather is hot. I hate it. Of course I'm not in a seasonal mood but cool windy weather is best for those out cruising for evergreens.
I do so miss the days when I'd take saw and ax in hand and jump into my truck and ride the logging roads of Western Washington, my lab by my side, in search of our Christmas tree. The sky gray, light rain. We'd ride and climb to the higher elevations where tiny white puffs of snow peppered my trucks windshield. Dixie, my black lab, insisted I lower her window so she'd not miss one trace of grouse scent.
We'd drive for hours. Frequent stops to measure and test each tree. I'd judge the trees on limb spacing, height, and ease of retrieval as most were located on steep hill sides either above or beneath the logging road. Most were Douglas Fir but occasionally I'd opt for the rare Royal Fir with its circular and even spaced branches.
We owned an old Victorian in those days. It had been built high on a hill with an overview of Puget Sound and there was a beautiful clear and cold creek just yards from our back door. From our living room we had views of two mountain ranges, each wore a year round coat of snow.
When I'd arrive home with the tree I carefully measure and remove a small section of the trunk and place it in the old cast iron stand of faded green and red and carry the tree into the living room and next to the window with the best view of the mountains. Afterwards, when the Christmas tree was dressed, we'd lower the lights and silently stand and admire its beauty.
I remember my last Christmas under the mountains. My last Christmas tree of my last season stood freshly dressed as outside the snowfall was reflected by its dance of red and green and orange light. I remember the tree was a Douglas Fir found high in the Cascades and I remember I had shot three Blue grouse and my lab had retrieved each and placed them gently in my hand. I remember we'd eaten our lunch while sitting upon an long ago cut red ceder stump and watched a bear work its way across a canyon as a lone raven circled the thermals. I remember it as a good day.
Sadly, I cannot remember physical gifts of my last Christmas under the mountains. I do, however, remember the gifts of the tree and its lights and the beauty of the snow and the vistas presented from the windows of my old Victorian home and the smell of firewood and fir and the aroma of fresh baked cookies.
Mostly I remember the happiness.
Stephen
Friday, December 23, 2011
'Tis The Season
It's too warm here for the season. I want cold weather. Just glanced out at my thermometer, 63 degrees. Bah, Humbug.
Look what followed me home last night, little booger jumped into my truck and said take me home. I gave her a loving caress and she's now all toasty and snug under the Christmas tree waiting on Sweet Wife.
Here she is while fully dressed.
And naked.
House sure was quiet last night. So I wrapped my few personal gifts to Sweet Wife and placed them under the tree.
Not sure why but when I'm alone I feel little need to cook meals. Stopped at a fish place for take out and found myself reduced to eating fast food fish. Awful isn't worthy of its description.
At one point last evening I noticed my cat, out on the deck, at a fast back and forth pace in front of the French doors. I let her inside. She ran. I followed. She arrived in front of my family room chair and deposited a live baby squirrel on the seat.
Baby squirrel sat up and gave the place a once over. Cat smiled. Baby squirrel, I swear to all that's holy, did a little round about and settled in for the night. Sucker went to sleep. Cat continued to smile and rubbed my leg. Perhaps she felt this my gift for Christmas. I told her good girl but baby squirrels are not in the same class as veal. Then again.
The little squirrel fit into the palm of my hand. Big round eyes, long tail, tiny. I gently took the tiny creature and placed it back outside.
Wish I'd thought to have taken its picture.
We all fall from the nest time to time.
I miss Little Bit.
Stephen
Look what followed me home last night, little booger jumped into my truck and said take me home. I gave her a loving caress and she's now all toasty and snug under the Christmas tree waiting on Sweet Wife.
House sure was quiet last night. So I wrapped my few personal gifts to Sweet Wife and placed them under the tree.
Not sure why but when I'm alone I feel little need to cook meals. Stopped at a fish place for take out and found myself reduced to eating fast food fish. Awful isn't worthy of its description.
At one point last evening I noticed my cat, out on the deck, at a fast back and forth pace in front of the French doors. I let her inside. She ran. I followed. She arrived in front of my family room chair and deposited a live baby squirrel on the seat.
Baby squirrel sat up and gave the place a once over. Cat smiled. Baby squirrel, I swear to all that's holy, did a little round about and settled in for the night. Sucker went to sleep. Cat continued to smile and rubbed my leg. Perhaps she felt this my gift for Christmas. I told her good girl but baby squirrels are not in the same class as veal. Then again.
The little squirrel fit into the palm of my hand. Big round eyes, long tail, tiny. I gently took the tiny creature and placed it back outside.
Wish I'd thought to have taken its picture.
We all fall from the nest time to time.
I miss Little Bit.
Stephen
Thursday, December 22, 2011
It's Early
Very early and I've turned the sign to open on my business door as the sun barely peeks from the clouds. I'm not joking when I say business is good prior to Christmas.
I wanted to post last evening but I had a dinner with my group. We all took over the local Cracker Barrel and made the place safe for normal people. It was nice. I have been privileged to have such good friends. It was necessary for me to leave a bit early and return home as Sweet Wife and Little Bit were making preps to leave early this morning for an out of state visit. My job was to check Sweet Wife's vehicle tires, top her tank, and load gifts for their journey.
Now, I'll sweat until their return, after all, two of the people I love most in this world are on the roads. Rest assured there are two GOB's and protection loaded within that Accura MDX. Still, I'll worry.
Sweet Wife and Little Bit baked for two days, solid. Much of those baked goods are loaded. This morning I stole a half-dozen cookies for the shop. Don't tell on me.
Until later.
Stephen
I wanted to post last evening but I had a dinner with my group. We all took over the local Cracker Barrel and made the place safe for normal people. It was nice. I have been privileged to have such good friends. It was necessary for me to leave a bit early and return home as Sweet Wife and Little Bit were making preps to leave early this morning for an out of state visit. My job was to check Sweet Wife's vehicle tires, top her tank, and load gifts for their journey.
Now, I'll sweat until their return, after all, two of the people I love most in this world are on the roads. Rest assured there are two GOB's and protection loaded within that Accura MDX. Still, I'll worry.
Sweet Wife and Little Bit baked for two days, solid. Much of those baked goods are loaded. This morning I stole a half-dozen cookies for the shop. Don't tell on me.
Until later.
Stephen
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Buy A Gun For Christmas
Friday, December 9, 2011
A Christmas Story
If you'd like to read a well written Christmas story by my friend Flier389, then click here.
Enjoy.
Stephen
Stephen
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Bits and Pieces
First allow me to say thanks and welcome to my new friend and follower, MizzAnonymous. 'Mizz, I promise to always reply to your comments; it might take me a few hours or days, with time and work constraints, but I will reply. You are now among friends.
My days of late are long and not all that restful, please be patient with my single entries here on my humble little blog.
Our weather has turned hot - we should have a high of 80 today - just downright awful weather.
Here comes work, see 'ya later.
(35 minutes later)
Last weekend Sweet Wife and Little Bit came by my shop and spruced it up for Christmas. They hung a few lights on the windows, some glitter and a very small Christmas tree. Little Bit layered the tree with candy canes. Those candy canes are at least twelve years old, really. She wanted to try one and I said they've aged well but don't believe they'd taste good at all....she tried one. Spit, sputter, then - "Ah, Papa, that's awful."
One learns from their mistakes.
My friend, kymber, asked for pictures and as I promised I'd post one or two....here you are Sweet Lady...
See, I always keep my promises.
This morning as Little Bit and Me were having breakfast I again, notice I said again, tipped over my coffee. Those darn McDonald's coffee cups are top heavy. Fluted narrow from bottom to top...it needs a redesign. Heck of a way to begins ones day; wet hot 511's.
Anyway, it just tickled the heck out of Little Bit.
"Papa, you're just like a little kid, always spilling your sippy cup."
Giggles.
Then, "Watch me, Papa. See, you hold it at the bottom and tip the top forward. And, "Where's your straw?"
Takes after her grandmother...
But, I love her.
Stephen
My days of late are long and not all that restful, please be patient with my single entries here on my humble little blog.
Our weather has turned hot - we should have a high of 80 today - just downright awful weather.
Here comes work, see 'ya later.
(35 minutes later)
Last weekend Sweet Wife and Little Bit came by my shop and spruced it up for Christmas. They hung a few lights on the windows, some glitter and a very small Christmas tree. Little Bit layered the tree with candy canes. Those candy canes are at least twelve years old, really. She wanted to try one and I said they've aged well but don't believe they'd taste good at all....she tried one. Spit, sputter, then - "Ah, Papa, that's awful."
One learns from their mistakes.
My friend, kymber, asked for pictures and as I promised I'd post one or two....here you are Sweet Lady...
See, I always keep my promises.
This morning as Little Bit and Me were having breakfast I again, notice I said again, tipped over my coffee. Those darn McDonald's coffee cups are top heavy. Fluted narrow from bottom to top...it needs a redesign. Heck of a way to begins ones day; wet hot 511's.
Anyway, it just tickled the heck out of Little Bit.
"Papa, you're just like a little kid, always spilling your sippy cup."
Giggles.
Then, "Watch me, Papa. See, you hold it at the bottom and tip the top forward. And, "Where's your straw?"
Takes after her grandmother...
But, I love her.
Stephen
Monday, October 3, 2011
If
I were to follow my wants instead of my needs I very well could break the bank from the fliers, catalogs and magazines I receive each week in my mail. My SOG flier arrived yesterday and within five minutes of star gazing I'd spent a few thousand. In my dreams I purchased several cases of ammunition, two sniper rifles and a couple more Nagants, as if I need another.
A sample of this weekends mail.
Lehman's catalog arrives several times a year and gives me a vast void of a headache. I want almost everything listed. Midway, don't even get me started. Shotgun News, I'm like a child in a candy store. Then Cabela's messes with my head with all their great shirts and outdoors gear. I hate that I'm poor.
Christmas is just around the corner.
Stephen
Lehman's catalog arrives several times a year and gives me a vast void of a headache. I want almost everything listed. Midway, don't even get me started. Shotgun News, I'm like a child in a candy store. Then Cabela's messes with my head with all their great shirts and outdoors gear. I hate that I'm poor.
Christmas is just around the corner.
Stephen
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