A bright light on the darkest day

Almost a century ago, in a very small town, my great-grandparents started a family business. They opened an automotive garage where they sold and fixed cars. They also had one of those old fashioned gas stations with two pumps and a wrecker service. They built a house next door to their business and had 4 children. My great-grandma passed away when I was five and my great-grandpa and great uncle passed away before I was born.

After serving in the military, Aunt Grace and Uncle Harold being single moved back into the family house to help run the family business. Their brother, my grandpa, moved down the road within walking distance. I never remember the siblings ever fighting.

Aunt Grace did all of the finance for the family business with some help from my grandma. Uncle Harold and my grandpa worked as mechanics. Today, on the darkest day of the year, was Uncle Harold’s birthday. But there was nothing dark about Uncle Harold. He was a very quiet, friendly man that loved to laugh.

Every year Aunt Grace would throw Uncle Harold a birthday party. It was always the same year after year. She would set the table with the best fiesta dishware that were stored behind the glass cupboard in the pantry. Everyone had a different colored plate that was used only once a year for this special occasion.  She would serve steak, baked potatoes, and a vegetable with coffee to drink, even for the kids. She had an old fashioned stove that she cooked on. It required her to put little pieces of wood into a fire on the left side of the stove. For dessert, we always had pineapple upside down cake. Afterwards, Aunt Grace made me help her do the dishes and clean up.

I didn’t see Uncle Harold a lot growing up. He was always working in the garage. I wasn’t supposed to go inside the garage much because I liked to wear shorts which Aunt Grace said was not proper attire for a young lady. But sometimes I would sneak in to buy a large glass bottle of soda for a quarter. My aunt and uncle were always up at 6 AM. Uncle Harold would eat breakfast then go to work. He would come in for lunch and they would both take a half an hour nap. Aunt Grace slept on her couch and Uncle Harold slept in his chair. Then Uncle Harold would work until 6 PM which was always the time that supper was ready. Most of the time after supper, Uncle Harold would go out to work until 9 or 10 at night. When he came in, he coughed a lot. Working 13 hour days in an unventilated garage did that to him. He usually worked until noon every Saturday and took Sunday off.

Uncle Harold was a generous man both towards his family and his community. He offered a window washing job to an illiterate man who was having a hard time without job skills providing for his family.  He paid for my college tuition. He never wanted anyone to know the good deeds that he did. Money was a topic that I wasn’t even supposed to talk about.  I don’t think I ever thanked him enough for the sacrifice that he made. He paid for my school from stocks that he inherited from his parents that someone gave them when they couldn’t afford to pay their garage bill.

That year I graduated from college in May, got married in August, and was pregnant in October. I remember driving out that fall Saturday to tell the family our news. I never was able to tell Uncle Harold the news personally as he was with a customer that afternoon. Then a month later, he died unexpectedly.

Every year Uncle Harold would take a week off to go hunting with his friends. It was on that trip that he had a heart attack. When he passed away, there was no one left to carry on the family business. Of the four siblings, my dad was the only child born and he wasn’t interested in continuing the family business. In the meantime, Uncle Harold had listed me as heir of that stock which we cashed in to start yet another family business.

So on the darkest day of the year, I will always remember the bright light that was in Uncle Harold. I am sad that he never met my children. Even now, his memory is starting to dim. I hope that in some way through my thoughts today the memory of him will shine on.

Crafty staff party

Tonight Paul and I are taking our employees out for a staff holiday party. Another thing about me, I love to organize and schedule things especially parties. The summer staff parties have always been easy to plan because our staff really seems to love sailing, so that is what we do. The winter staff parties take a little more thought on my part because winter sailing is not an option. Last year we took them to a laser light show and fondue. The year before we saw a comedian and had Irish food. This year we are going to one of those wine drinking and painting classes followed by a Japanese steak house. 

Now I have another confession to make. I think I am a fairly good writer and photographer. It sure helps having a different and interesting story to weave. It also helps to live in a beautiful state to take pictures in with a lovely family. But I absolutely suck at painting, drawing, or anything considered remotely crafty or artsy. I don’t keep anything in my life within the lines. Stick people are a challenge for me. And straight lines, phew, forget about it. I don’t think I could even paint you a picture of how bad I am at it. 

So forget about me posting any pictures. I may hang it up in my office. Unless it really sucks. Then I will adjust the painting a little with a paintball gun and call it abstract art. I know it is not competitive painting. No office awards will be given. It looked like something fun to do. 

So while I won’t share any pictures, if something exciting happens today I’ll be sure to paint a colorful story. 

The darkest days of the darkest years

Isn’t it funny that Christmas comes during the darkest days of the year, the time of the year that we so desperately seek out light. That was all that I wanted those darkest years, to be able to see a ray of light, a glimmer of hope. But all glimmer of light was gone. I had lost my hope. I fell into a time of deep despair. I was angry with God.

Those are the years that I don’t talk about to even the closest of new friends. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. The darkest years happened when I was in middle school. My autistic brother Matt became increasingly violent. So much so that he was not allowed to go to school with other kids. He had to have a teacher come out to our house. When Matt got “kicked out” of school, my mom took my brothers and I out of school too. My parents had us 4 children in less than 5 years, with me being the oldest. I was homeschooled between 8th and 10th grade. While my classmates attended prom and homecoming, I was at home in isolation.

Through the darkest years, my dad totally checked out emotionally and became very depressed. My mom became desperate to find a cure for autism, taking Matt out of state to a hospital that did extreme allergy testing. She thought that if he avoided certain foods and allergens, it would curb some of his violent outbursts. When they came back everything changed for us.

Matt was allergic to everything. My parents got rid of their wood furnace and put purifiers throughout the house. My mom took down her bedroom curtains because they had formaldehyde in them. She used old sheets and blankets as curtains. If the local farmers were spraying their fields with pesticides, she would call them screaming if she didn’t get notified first and Matt would have to wear his charcoal mask. If they did call her to notify us, we had to pack up our car within a half an hour and head up north for a couple of days until things gassed out or it rained. My parents had to park their cars at the bottom of the driveway so exhaust fumes would not come in the house. If my dad snow blowed the driveway, he was not allowed into the house with his snow gear on and had to shower immediately. I wasn’t allowed to wear perfume, hairspray, or nail polish. Those were just a few of the changes that were made in attempts to control Matt’s violent behavior.

It was very hard that year at Christmas. My mom said that Matt was allergic to Christmas trees, even the fake ones. It was at that time that we no longer had a Christmas tree in the house. No decorations. No lights. Nothing. Even my grandma was instructed not to put up a Christmas tree. Instead she put little bows on the wall in the shape of a Christmas tree. It was horrible. Matt had meltdown, after meltdown, after meltdown. Day after day he attacked me. He kicked me, punched me, scratched me, hit me. Ironically, taking away all of the things away from Matt (and the rest of us) did nothing to tame his aggression. It seemed to hurt us more than it helped us.

But how could I be angry at my mom for trying everything she could think of trying? How could I be mad at my brother who wasn’t bright enough to read or write? I fell deeper and deeper into despair like a small flower buried under the cold deep snow.

One last Christmas of magic

I remember one Christmas where my dad played the part of hero. But was he really?

Christmas at my parents house is kind of a blur now. I remember having two or three Christmas trees before it got to the point that my parents didn’t celebrate with a tree in the house anymore. One year I got 2 Cabbage Patch dolls, that was memorable. Another year Luke took a little earring box that I had and put a couple of pennies in it under the tree. I opened it before Christmas and wrapped it back up again. My mom found out and I got in trouble for that. But the most memorable Christmas was the one that my dad played the hero. I don’t think that my brothers will remember ever celebrating Christmas in my parents house. I will have to ask them.

It was Christmas Eve when our dad was a hero to us. My younger brothers and I had our Christmas program at church that evening. My dad stayed home. After we did the Christmas program at church, we received a bag of goodies which consisted of an apple, an orange, and peanuts. We came home that evening to find that my parents bought us an Atari gaming system. My dad had it all hooked up when we got home and was playing on it. He let us play on it too. We thought that it was really cool. Wow!

We thought that my dad was really cool to surprise us with it. But was he really? He didn’t come to our concert and watch us perform. Through  adult eyes, I don’t think that was very cool. He didn’t play the part of hero very often in our eyes, so I will give him that little small moment. On that one magical evening, he was a hero to us. It was the best and last  Christmas memory at my parents house.

Handing over the Christmas baton

After decades of Christmas perfection, little tremors needled away at our  family tree structure creating (gulp) change. The Thanksgiving after Paul and I got married, Uncle Harold passed away. A few years after that my grandpa passed away. My brothers grew up and moved away, with the exception of my autistic brother Matt. I started to have children of my own. Grandma struggled more and more as she aged with doing all of the cooking, cleaning, and decorating involved in having a family Christmas party. We tried to help her as much as we could. Then one year it all ended. My grandma had open heart surgery the summer that I had my third child. It was at this time that my grandma handed the Thanksgiving and Christmas baton to me.

At the time, we were having my in-laws over every Christmas Eve. Year after year it was pretty much the same. My in-laws would show up 2 to 3 hours late. The table would be set. The food would be cold. The kids would eat supper at bedtime. The kids were tired and hungry which made them very crabby. They would cry and have meltdowns. This upset my mother-in-law which resulted in an argument between her and my husband over her being late. At this point, Paul’s stepdad and I would look at each other across the table with a knowing look that said “here we go again”. One of two things either happened. Paul’s mother would disown him and take off for awhile. Or Paul’s mom would scream at my husband and he would kick her out of the house. Eventually she would come back in both scenarios, the gifts were opened, and the kids would go to bed.

After receiving the Christmas baton, Paul and I did what most reasonable people do. We combined our families to make one big happy family Christmas. Insert thoughts of the National Lampoon’s Christmas here. It did go pretty good for quite awhile. Whoever showed up, showed up. We ate at 1:00 PM. If you were late, there were leftovers. Things went pretty well, although after awhile it seemed that my mom and mother-in-law started an unspoken “best grandma” competition. My mom won that one hands down because she could afford nicer gifts and spent more time with the kids. Then my in-laws started to find excuses not to come for Christmas. Either someone was sick, or my personal favorite was that Paul’s stepdad scheduled a colonoscopy the day after Christmas. Priceless.

Oh family, you bring laughter and tears but we love you anyway.

Then a couple of years ago, Luke and his family bought a house that was bigger than mine. I handed him the Christmas baton. All problems solved.

What frozen tundra?

It has been raining a lot since yesterday. Water pools on the green grass and harvested fields. Wait, what? Green grass? Isn’t the tundra supposed to be frozen this time of year in Wisconsin?

The constant dripping of the rain like a tapping on little drums awakens me from my slumber. Yesterday I awoke to the rumble of distant thunder. It was as if my grandpa woke me up on the 15th anniversary of his death to reminisce about summer. Think of the better days…the days when we were all together, not of the dark days that I have been gone..

I have never heard of a thunderstorm here in December. It should’ve been a blizzard. On very rare occasion, I have witnessed snow thunder probably two or three times in my life. Snow storms and thunderstorms usually don’t mix. But we didn’t get any snow yet, just rain. It has been very warm for this time of year. This month we broke some record high temps and are on schedule to have the 5th warmest year ever recorded. Yesterday I even saw geese flying north. The birds seem as confused as we are. I am not complaining. I was able to run outside several times already this December. I have never been able to run outside in December before.

The ice fishermen are complaining though. In about two weeks, the ice should be thick enough to walk on. In January, you should be able to drive a truck on the ice. But this year the ice hasn’t started forming yet. Some people have been desperate enough to get their boats out of storage. It’s a shame, we could’ve gone sailing. I’m sorry, if I’d known that buying cross country skis last year would have this kind of effect on our winters, I wouldn’t have done it. Geez.

On these dreary days, I just want to sleep or curl up next to the fireplace with a good book. Except I don’t have a fireplace. So I will settle with curling up next to the Christmas tree with a good blog.

Tomorrow I’ll get this write

Do you ever have one of those days when you have a lot to say but your words look like indecipherable hieroglyphs? The words clash. I sound like the one person playing a different tune in the orchestra. 

This is crap, I say. I’ll just delete this blog and walk away. I’m going to bed. Maybe tomorrow I’ll get this write. 

Christmas with the in-laws

It is Christmas Eve in the year 2000, my baby and I are sick. I haven’t been able to leave the house. That prompted me to write in this journal even though it has been almost 5 years since the last time I wrote. It has been a hard Christmas this year. Aside from having a 2 year old and a baby, my grandpa passed away a week and a half ago. I haven’t been able to sing in church this year because I lost my voice and ended up changing a lot of plans for the funeral.

Tonight my in-laws came over for a Christmas Eve supper. We made cornish hens, mashed potatoes, corn, stuffing, bread, bars, and cheesecake for the meal. My in-laws arrived over two hours late. They brought their outdoor dog with them because it is very cold outside tonight. While I was eating supper, I found a dead flea like bug in my corn. It made me lose my appetite, but I didn’t say anything. Later I threw out my corn.

After dishes and presents, it was time to put the kids to bed. While I was doing that, their dog peed all over the carpeting in our new house. My in-laws fought about can openers. Then my mother-in-law said she wasn’t going to church for Christmas because she needed to make slippers. Her husband told her that she needed to get her G. damn priorities straight then promptly fell asleep while Paul read the Christmas story out of the book of Matthew.

They finally left around 11:30 PM. We spent a half an hour cleaning up the 2 big piles of dog crap that we found. After this Christmas, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Still the classical music plays

My mom called me in the say that Mr. Smith died today. Tears fall from her eyes but all I want to do is go back outside to play. The snow is over my head and I want to go back to my little hill to sled. My little brothers are busy ants digging underground tunnels in the snow. It is cold and quiet outside. Sometimes I sing a song to hear my voice echo back to me. Then I don’t feel so alone. I am always alone. None of my friends are allowed to come over and play. Matt scares them away.

My mom takes me over to see the really old people in town. She said they like it when little girls come over to play. They don’t have any family and are all alone. I like Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Sometimes Mrs. Smith gives me cookies and one time she took me upstairs to see the dolls she used to play with. The dolls are really old and I can’t play with them. Mr. Smith showed me his card shuffling machine. I really liked it. Mr. Smith is sick. He coughs a lot. Sometimes he doesn’t get out of bed when we visit. Mom said Mr. Smith died today. Maybe I’ll see him tomorrow but right now I really want to play.

Mom keeps crying. It is making Matt upset. We can’t sleep. Matt rocks back and forth in his bed. He rocks until his face bleeds and blood is on his sheets. My little brothers can’t sleep because Matt is making too much noise. My three brothers share the room next to me. Mom cries. The day Mr. Smith died, mom put a record player in the hall at night. She thought that the classical music would soothe us to sleep.

Night after night, the classical music plays. But it doesn’t relax me. Instead I feel afraid.

 

 

Childhood Christmases in a (chest)nut shell

Childhood Christmases in my mind were perfect. Except for that one Christmas that we aren’t going to talk about today. It was as if everyone knew how difficult the rest of the year was so they did everything possible to make two days of the year perfect for my brothers and I, our birthdays and Christmas.

My grandparents had a small Thomas Kincade like house. It was warm and cozy on the inside while cold winter storms raged outside. Icicles hung from the porch and garage roofs dripping droplets of shattered ice onto the walkways, one last obstacle against the warmth that beckoned from within. Upon entrance, steam whisked away into the frigid air from the kettle of boiling potatoes next to the open door. The aroma from the ham cooling on the stove top next to the potatoes was intoxicating. Grandma had a counter full of food, homemade pies and cookies too. Every year grandma had a chest cold. She coughed and coughed though she didn’t seem to mind. Soon Aunt Grace showed up with her brother Harold. Aunt Grace always brought cranberry sauce and the fruitcake that my brothers and I didn’t like to eat.

I was always first to ask if we could open our presents right away. Grandma always said “no”, but we could look inside our stockings that were hung over the fireplace. My brothers and I each had a stocking that contained our favorite candy. There was a tiny stocking for grandpa hanging in the corner that held one peanut. What drew our attention the most though were the boxes of wrapped gifts under the tree. We were always peeking in hopes of finding a big box with our name on it. My grandparents cut their own Christmas tree from their tree farm. It stood on top of a large round end table in front of a big picture window. The tree was always lopsided in some way or another, but we never noticed. Grandma always covered the trees with tinsel and old fashioned ornaments.

After lunch, we all sat in our places that we sat in every year to open gifts. Uncle Harold sat in the rocking chair near the fireplace. He always laughed a lot on Christmas day. We didn’t see him a lot the rest of the year because he was always working. I sat on the love seat near the tree. In my memory, there was always 3 feet of snow on the ground with an inch of playful snow that swirled around in the wind. After we were done opening gifts, we would have a fire in the fireplace. Christmas day was the only day of the year that my grandparents used the fireplace.

We always stayed at my grandparents until it got dark. We played with our new toys. The men slept in their chairs. Aunt Grace always made sure that the dishes were done. Grandma put away the extra food and took down the fancy table with the red tablecloth. It was Christmas perfection in a nutshell. Even if Matt had a meltdown on Christmas day, I never remembered that. I couldn’t remember that. To me it was always perfect and magical.