Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Christmas was Senior Pastor Henry O’Donnell’s busy season. Sure, Easter was the more important holiday from a religious standpoint, but Christmas brought with it all the cultural demands of decorations and gifts and social events as well. So by Christmas Eve, Henry was even more worn down than the average American. And the average American didn’t have to perform two candlelight services like the good pastor did.
Every year Henry promised himself he would get a jump on the season by finishing chores like gift buying in November. And every year Henry failed. This year he had purchased his gift for his wife Jennifer the afternoon of December 24th. He would have preferred that Jennifer just tell him specifically what she wanted for Christmas, but she liked to be surprised. Because she knew his holiday season was stressful, she did always try to make it easier on him by insisting anything he got her would be fine
However after eighteen years of watching Jennifer attempting to fake delight at some sweater or kitchen appliance she clearly didn’t want, Henry had concluded “anything he got her” was not fine. And he’d spent an enormous amount of time this year wandering the four malls in Normal seeking out something that would elicit genuine joy from his wife.
He finally settled on a pair of diamond earrings. Which, he thought, should not have been such a hard gift to come up with. Diamonds, after all, were a girl’s best friend. True, they had cost about six times what he’d planned to spend, but his normal thriftiness had been beaten into submission during the many hours trekking through the malls. With that annoying trait in a coma, picking a gift had been much easier.
Henry had accepted the bubbly young saleswoman’s offer of free gift wrapping since he was not very adept with tape and scissors. She had done a beautiful job, but had taken longer than he’d anticipated because there was a line of men in front of him waiting for their gifts to be wrapped. It seemed Henry wasn’t the only husband picking up a last minute present for his wife at the mall jewelry store.
Henry finally reached the church less than half an hour before the 7:30 pm service. Despite his rush, he paused at the church’s nativity scene on the way in. The display’s life sized figures were dusted with snow from a storm the previous evening. The baby Jesus was nearly buried in his manger. That would never do for Christmas Eve, so Henry carefully brushed off each of the figures and dumped the snow out of the manger. He re-wrapped the swaddling clothes around the plastic doll standing in for baby Jesus and set it back in place.
“There you are!” It was his wife’s voice. Henry quickly grabbed the beautifully wrapped present from where he’d set it by the manger and slid it into his coat pocket. When he turned around, Jennifer gave him a kiss. “I brought your dinner,” she said.
Henry looked at his watch. “I’m afraid I’ll have to eat it between services.” He rushed to his office, stuck the earrings in his desk drawer, and changed into his vestments.
The 7:30 service went off reasonably well. The sanctuary looked festive in its Christmas décor, a “tree” made of poinsettia plants crowning the chancel. The choir performed beautifully. And Henry summoned the energy to deliver a moving sermon reminding the congregation of the original impetus for the holiday.
Afterward, Jennifer sat with Henry in his office while he ate the dinner she’d brought. He was so grateful for the lukewarm ham and mashed potatoes that he began to wonder if he should have gotten her a diamond necklace as well as the earrings. He wasn’t even bothered when she told him she wouldn’t be staying for the later service as she still had some gift-wrapping to do back at the house.
A full tummy did not help Henry fight his exhaustion. At the 11 pm service, he fell asleep twice during hymns. Organist Walter Tibble had to kick him to wake him up for the sermon, which was a little less energetic than his earlier performance. And Henry almost lit his stole on fire during the candlelight procession out of the church at midnight. He decided he’d better make himself a cup of coffee before attempting to drive home.
Rejuvenated by the caffeine, Henry stuck the earrings in his coat pocket and turned out the lights. But when he went to lock his office door, he discovered his keys were not in his pocket. He searched his desk and the floor of his office, but no luck.
He went to the sanctuary to see if perhaps the keys had fallen out of his pocket there. And while he was crawling around on the floor of the chancel, he bumped the stand holding the poinsettia plants. Half a dozen pots fell, spilling black soil across the carpet. Henry felt like crying. He knew he couldn’t leave things in that state, so he took off his coat, got the vacuum and cleaned up the mess.
But he still didn’t have his keys. He checked the coffee room, even digging through the old grounds in the trash. Nothing. He sat in the middle of the floor and tried to focus his sleep-deprived brain.
“Maybe I left them in the car!” he exclaimed.
He ran outside. The brisk air quickly reminded him he had left his coat in the sanctuary. He jogged over to his car and peered through the window. The ignition was empty. Henry cursed and dashed back toward the church, rubbing his arms to keep warm. But he made the poor decision to take a shortcut across the lawn and slipped on a patch of wet snow, his feet shooting out from under him. He landed on his back, his head slamming painfully into the frozen ground.
Despite the overcast sky, he saw a roiling constellation of stars. They soon dissipated, except for one bright star in the East. Henry rolled on to his hands and knees dizzily. The star seemed to be beckoning him. He crawled through the snow toward it. It led him in the direction of a clutch of shadowy figures. As he crawled closer, he realized it was the nativity display.
Henry kneeled in front of the Christmas scene. A warm feeling of spirituality washed over him. Henry chose to believe it was the Holy Spirit, though a piece of him worried it might be the onset of hypothermia. He smiled as he looked at the baby Jesus and thought about the true meaning of the holiday.
And that’s when he saw his keys lying in the manger. He must have dropped them when he was cleaning the snow out. He looked up at the star that had guided him and realized it was actually a streetlight. This discovery didn’t dampen his Christmas spirit in the least. God worked in mysterious ways. He said a little prayer of gratitude.
Keys in hand, Henry retrieved his coat from the sanctuary and headed home. There he deposited Jennifer’s gift under the tree. It was after two when he finally crawled into bed.
Their daughter Katie roused them a mere five hours later. Though she was fifteen, she was still very much a small child when it came to opening presents on Christmas morning. Henry managed to stumble downstairs to the couch, where he promptly fell back asleep amidst the gift opening frenzy. So he missed the look of true delight on Jennifer’s face when she unwrapped the earrings. But Katie got a picture of it on her cell phone.
After breakfast, Henry went back to bad and slept until noon. It was a very merry Christmas in the O’Donnell household.
Merry Christmas!
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Sunday, December 26, 2010
The Un-Decorating
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Each year, a few days after Christmas, a small group gathers in the sanctuary to take down the Christmas decorations. Senior Pastor Henry O’Donnell always has mixed feelings about this day. On the one hand, he loves the Christmas season and this final annual ritual makes him melancholy. On the other hand, church secretary Tammy Billings always brings Christmas leftovers – including plenty of pie and cookies. Tammy is an excellent cook but a light eater. And her husband Ralph is a bit of a health nut, which means O’Donnell traditionally gets to overindulge to his heart’s content.
Every year the church has asked for volunteers to help with the project, but invariably the only people who show up are Tammy, Ralph, and Pastor O’Donnell. Normally this was fine with the pastor. It meant more of Tammy’s goodies for him. Last year the church brought on a new young Associate Pastor named Michelle Tellum who felt obliged to help with the un-decorating as well, but O’Donnell didn’t mind because she didn’t eat much. Unfortunately this year she also brought her boyfriend, Ian, and he could eat quite a bit.
To everyone’s surprise one other volunteer showed up as well: Missy Moore, a heavyset woman in her forties. As she dug into a piece of Tammy’s pumpkin pie, she explained that she thought the clean up project would help her burn off all those Christmas calories.
“With so many hands we’ll be done in no time,” Tammy said.
O’Donnell agreed that was a plus, but he was concerned because there were only two pieces of pumpkin pie left. O’Donnell loved Tammy’s pumpkin pie, but wanted to save a slice for when they had finished with the work. And the way Ian was digging into a hunk of leftover fruitcake, O’Donnell didn’t think he could count on the pie lasting that long. So while Tammy was assigning duties to the others, O’Donnell slipped a slice of pie onto a paper plate and stuck it under a pew on the left side of the church.
Tammy was determined to keep the decorations organized this year. She’d listed each type of decoration and assigned it a box, which she had numbered. As things were packed away, she would check them off on her chart. Hopefully that chart would allow her to quickly find things when it came time to decorate next year.
Most of the others tried to follow Tammy’s instructions diligently, but she was usually unsatisfied with the way they folded this or coiled that. However she was too polite to criticize so she would often just surreptitiously repack the items when nobody was looking. After all, everything had to be just so or it wouldn’t fit neatly in the designated boxes.
Ralph was the most rebellious of the volunteers. When he saw something that needed done, he tended to just do it rather than waiting for directions. So he frequently brought things to Tammy that she wanted at the top of a box before the things that belonged on the bottom were packed.
About twenty minutes into the project, O’Donnell saw Ralph carrying a twenty-foot ladder into the sanctuary. “What are you going to do with that?” O’Donnell asked.
“Take down the Advent wall hangings,” Ralph replied.
“That’s a two man job,” O’Donnell said. “I don’t want you climbing up there yourself.”
“Fine,” Ralph grumbled. “You can climb the ladder while I hold it steady. Then you can pass the hangings down to me. Okay?”
“Okay,” O’Donnell said, not quite sure how he’d volunteered to climb a twenty foot ladder. He wasn’t good with heights.
Meanwhile, Michelle, Ian and Missy were taking down the decorations on the two trees that had been put up in the chancel. What they didn’t know was that Bart, a bat who usually lived in the church’s bell tower, had taken up temporary residence in the left tree and was currently fast asleep on one of the inside branches near the top.
Michelle climbed up on a step stool to reach the string of lights wrapped around the top of the tree. As she started unwinding them, she woke Bart up. Startled at the unexpected disturbance, he flew out right in front of her face.
“A bat!” Michelle screeched. It was her first encounter with Bart. She instinctively vaulted backwards, spun in midair, cleared the railing at the edge of the chancel and landed on the front pew. Ian, who was watching from under the piano where he’d dived when Michelle had yelled, thought his girlfriend might have broken some kind of long jump record. As she leaped from pew to pew, her hands fluttering about her ears, he wondered if she was planning to go for a hurdles record as well.
If she was, she failed. On her third jump her toes caught the back of a pew, tripping her. She flew through the air toward Ralph and the ladder. Ralph caught her, preventing a disaster.
Unfortunately disaster turned out to be only delayed. O’Donnell had turned at the commotion and discovered the panicked bat was flying straight toward him. He ducked instinctively, throwing the ladder off balance. Without Ralph steadying it, it began to lean.
O’Donnell realized the ladder was going to fall. He reached out and grabbed the nearest handhold – a light fixture hanging from the rafter beams by a three foot chain. He clung to it as the ladder fell out from under him.
O’Donnell was almost as surprised to find himself uninjured as he was to find himself hanging from a light fixture twenty feet in the air. Then a creaking sound drew his attention upward. He could see the three screws attaching the chain to the rafter slowly pulling loose from the wood.
Fortunately, Tammy had kept her head in the chaos. She tossed aside her chart and sprinted over to the ladder. Meanwhile, O’Donnell’s eyes were fixed on those screws working their way millimeter by millimeter out of the beam. He wasn’t even aware that Tammy had righted the ladder under him until she called his name.
O’Donnell stepped onto the ladder with indescribable relief. He made his way down, step by step, his hands trembling. He was greeted by Michelle. “I’m so, so sorry,” she said. “I guess I have a little phobia about bats.”
“Don’t worry about it,” O’Donnell said, just happy to be back on solid ground.
“Did anybody see where it went?” Ian called from under the piano.
They all looked around but Bart the bat seemed to have vanished.
O’Donnell decided it was time for his pie. But when he crouched down to get it, he was startled to discover Bart had beaten him to it. The little bat was lapping at the pumpkin filling curiously. Bart ultimately decided it paled in comparison to a good housefly and took off, planning to relocate back to the belfry. The humans were causing too much of a ruckus in the sanctuary.
O’Donnell thought about what kind of germs bat saliva might contain, then thought about how those screws had been the only thing between him and a painful fall. He decided maybe he didn’t need the piece of pie after all and tossed it in the trash.
He rejoined the others who were excitedly analyzing every second of the brief adventure. Suddenly there was a loud crack above them. O’Donnell looked up and realized the light fixture screws had finally escaped from the rafter beam. Worse, Tammy was standing directly under the fixture. He grabbed her and pulled her aside just as the lamp plunged to the floor and shattered.
“Thank you,” Tammy gasped.
“One good rescue deserves another,” O’Donnell said.
The group finished their chores without further incident and Ian and Ralph took the boxes down to the storage room under the social hall. The following day, Tammy dropped by the O’Donnell residence with a fresh pumpkin pie as a reward for his gallant rescue.
A bit after that, Jose the janitor went into the sanctuary to clean up the broken glass from the fallen lamp. He discovered someone had left a piece of paper on one of the pews. It was full of itemized lists and codes. He didn’t really understand what it was referring to, but it looked important so he put it on Pastor O’Donnell’s desk. Over the next few months it became buried under mounds of paper.
When it came time to decorate the church for Christmas the following year the volunteers had to struggle through without Tammy’s chart. But at least there were no bat encounters.
Every year the church has asked for volunteers to help with the project, but invariably the only people who show up are Tammy, Ralph, and Pastor O’Donnell. Normally this was fine with the pastor. It meant more of Tammy’s goodies for him. Last year the church brought on a new young Associate Pastor named Michelle Tellum who felt obliged to help with the un-decorating as well, but O’Donnell didn’t mind because she didn’t eat much. Unfortunately this year she also brought her boyfriend, Ian, and he could eat quite a bit.
To everyone’s surprise one other volunteer showed up as well: Missy Moore, a heavyset woman in her forties. As she dug into a piece of Tammy’s pumpkin pie, she explained that she thought the clean up project would help her burn off all those Christmas calories.
“With so many hands we’ll be done in no time,” Tammy said.
O’Donnell agreed that was a plus, but he was concerned because there were only two pieces of pumpkin pie left. O’Donnell loved Tammy’s pumpkin pie, but wanted to save a slice for when they had finished with the work. And the way Ian was digging into a hunk of leftover fruitcake, O’Donnell didn’t think he could count on the pie lasting that long. So while Tammy was assigning duties to the others, O’Donnell slipped a slice of pie onto a paper plate and stuck it under a pew on the left side of the church.
Tammy was determined to keep the decorations organized this year. She’d listed each type of decoration and assigned it a box, which she had numbered. As things were packed away, she would check them off on her chart. Hopefully that chart would allow her to quickly find things when it came time to decorate next year.
Most of the others tried to follow Tammy’s instructions diligently, but she was usually unsatisfied with the way they folded this or coiled that. However she was too polite to criticize so she would often just surreptitiously repack the items when nobody was looking. After all, everything had to be just so or it wouldn’t fit neatly in the designated boxes.
Ralph was the most rebellious of the volunteers. When he saw something that needed done, he tended to just do it rather than waiting for directions. So he frequently brought things to Tammy that she wanted at the top of a box before the things that belonged on the bottom were packed.
About twenty minutes into the project, O’Donnell saw Ralph carrying a twenty-foot ladder into the sanctuary. “What are you going to do with that?” O’Donnell asked.
“Take down the Advent wall hangings,” Ralph replied.
“That’s a two man job,” O’Donnell said. “I don’t want you climbing up there yourself.”
“Fine,” Ralph grumbled. “You can climb the ladder while I hold it steady. Then you can pass the hangings down to me. Okay?”
“Okay,” O’Donnell said, not quite sure how he’d volunteered to climb a twenty foot ladder. He wasn’t good with heights.
Meanwhile, Michelle, Ian and Missy were taking down the decorations on the two trees that had been put up in the chancel. What they didn’t know was that Bart, a bat who usually lived in the church’s bell tower, had taken up temporary residence in the left tree and was currently fast asleep on one of the inside branches near the top.
Michelle climbed up on a step stool to reach the string of lights wrapped around the top of the tree. As she started unwinding them, she woke Bart up. Startled at the unexpected disturbance, he flew out right in front of her face.
“A bat!” Michelle screeched. It was her first encounter with Bart. She instinctively vaulted backwards, spun in midair, cleared the railing at the edge of the chancel and landed on the front pew. Ian, who was watching from under the piano where he’d dived when Michelle had yelled, thought his girlfriend might have broken some kind of long jump record. As she leaped from pew to pew, her hands fluttering about her ears, he wondered if she was planning to go for a hurdles record as well.
If she was, she failed. On her third jump her toes caught the back of a pew, tripping her. She flew through the air toward Ralph and the ladder. Ralph caught her, preventing a disaster.
Unfortunately disaster turned out to be only delayed. O’Donnell had turned at the commotion and discovered the panicked bat was flying straight toward him. He ducked instinctively, throwing the ladder off balance. Without Ralph steadying it, it began to lean.
O’Donnell realized the ladder was going to fall. He reached out and grabbed the nearest handhold – a light fixture hanging from the rafter beams by a three foot chain. He clung to it as the ladder fell out from under him.
O’Donnell was almost as surprised to find himself uninjured as he was to find himself hanging from a light fixture twenty feet in the air. Then a creaking sound drew his attention upward. He could see the three screws attaching the chain to the rafter slowly pulling loose from the wood.
Fortunately, Tammy had kept her head in the chaos. She tossed aside her chart and sprinted over to the ladder. Meanwhile, O’Donnell’s eyes were fixed on those screws working their way millimeter by millimeter out of the beam. He wasn’t even aware that Tammy had righted the ladder under him until she called his name.
O’Donnell stepped onto the ladder with indescribable relief. He made his way down, step by step, his hands trembling. He was greeted by Michelle. “I’m so, so sorry,” she said. “I guess I have a little phobia about bats.”
“Don’t worry about it,” O’Donnell said, just happy to be back on solid ground.
“Did anybody see where it went?” Ian called from under the piano.
They all looked around but Bart the bat seemed to have vanished.
O’Donnell decided it was time for his pie. But when he crouched down to get it, he was startled to discover Bart had beaten him to it. The little bat was lapping at the pumpkin filling curiously. Bart ultimately decided it paled in comparison to a good housefly and took off, planning to relocate back to the belfry. The humans were causing too much of a ruckus in the sanctuary.
O’Donnell thought about what kind of germs bat saliva might contain, then thought about how those screws had been the only thing between him and a painful fall. He decided maybe he didn’t need the piece of pie after all and tossed it in the trash.
He rejoined the others who were excitedly analyzing every second of the brief adventure. Suddenly there was a loud crack above them. O’Donnell looked up and realized the light fixture screws had finally escaped from the rafter beam. Worse, Tammy was standing directly under the fixture. He grabbed her and pulled her aside just as the lamp plunged to the floor and shattered.
“Thank you,” Tammy gasped.
“One good rescue deserves another,” O’Donnell said.
The group finished their chores without further incident and Ian and Ralph took the boxes down to the storage room under the social hall. The following day, Tammy dropped by the O’Donnell residence with a fresh pumpkin pie as a reward for his gallant rescue.
A bit after that, Jose the janitor went into the sanctuary to clean up the broken glass from the fallen lamp. He discovered someone had left a piece of paper on one of the pews. It was full of itemized lists and codes. He didn’t really understand what it was referring to, but it looked important so he put it on Pastor O’Donnell’s desk. Over the next few months it became buried under mounds of paper.
When it came time to decorate the church for Christmas the following year the volunteers had to struggle through without Tammy’s chart. But at least there were no bat encounters.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Scott's First Christmas
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Carrie Winslow and her husband Carlos Lopez moved in with Carrie’s parents, church members Del and Karen Winslow, a year and a half ago when the company they worked for went under. In that time, Carrie gave birth to her first child, Scott.
In early December, Carrie and Carlos sat Del and Karen down to deliver some big news. They were planning to go to Carlos’s parents’ house in Cincinnati for Scott’s first Christmas. The other set of grandparents was eager to get a little time with the lad.
Karen went pale at this announcement. It would be the first time Carrie had not spent Christmas with her parents since she was born. Taking Scott away as well just added salt to the wound. Carlos…well, Karen liked Carlos but he wasn’t quite in the same league as her daughter and grandson. Karen put on a brave smile, but the tear that ran down her cheek gave her away.
Carrie saw her mom’s face and quickly assured her they would all partake in every Christmas activity Normal had to offer until time for the young family to depart. And she was true to her word. She posted a special holiday calendar on the fridge to keep track of all the once-in-a-lifetime family Christmas events.
The truth was Carrie’s plan to fill the month with holiday activities was not just for Karen’s benefit. Carrie wanted Scott’s first Christmas to be perfect. She had some deep-seated fear that somehow he would miss out on a defining holiday experience that would haunt him for life. However, at ten months old, Scott did not always grasp what all the fuss was about.
So Del and Karen went along when Carrie and Carlos took Scott to the mall to sit on Santa’s lap. Scott cried the entire time.
And Del and Karen went along when Carrie and Carlos took Scott to a local farm that was offering Christmas hayrides. Scott spent the ride trying to eat the hay.
Del and Karen also went along when Carrie and Carlos took Scott on a drive to see Christmas decorations. Scott never looked out the window, absorbed as he was by a talking teddy bear.
Then Carrie and Carlos purchased a seven-foot tall Christmas tree that they decorated with Del and Karen in the living room on a Saturday afternoon. Scott slept through the whole activity.
Karen dutifully recorded each of these events with her digital camera. Among the thousand or so pictures she took, she managed to find a dozen where it appeared that Scott was actually in the Christmas spirit. Those were printed and added to his baby book.
Carrie, Carlos and Scott were scheduled to leave three days before Christmas. Two days before their departure, Karen set a couple of presents under the tree for Scott. She sighed and looked at Carrie. “I guess we won’t get to see him open these. Take pictures for us.”
“I have an idea,” Carrie said. “Why don’t we have our Christmas morning right before we leave. Scott can open his presents from you and Dad then so you won’t miss out. He can open some of ours, too…we bought him over a dozen things. There’ll still be plenty of gifts for him to open in Cincinnati.”
So bright and early on December 22nd Del and Karen and Carrie and Carlos and Scott gathered around the Christmas tree to open presents. For Karen and Carrie it was a bittersweet experience. Del mostly struggled to stay awake. The intense schedule of activities had worn him out. Scott seemed to have a good time opening the gifts, though he was more interested in the wrapping paper than the contents. And then Carrie and Carlos and Scott left for Cincinnati.
On Christmas Day Del and Karen woke up a bit after nine. “It’s been a long time since we got to sleep in this late,” Del noted.
“Not since Scott was born,” Karen said with a sigh.
They ate breakfast and opened their gifts to each other. About that time, Carrie and Carlos called from Cincinnati. Karen did an admirable job of feigning cheerfulness.
Del may not have been the most sensitive guy in the world but he’d been married to Karen a long time and knew how she was really feeling. When they hung up he offered to go make her some hot chocolate. It seemed to help.
About midmorning Karen went into the kitchen to make their traditional Christmas feast of standing rib roast and rhubarb pie. It was more than the two of them really needed, but both felt the custom especially important this year. When it was ready she asked Del to set the table.
“Use the good china,” she said.
“Huh,” Del said. “Another thing we haven’t done since Scott was born. While we’re at it, maybe we should open a bottle of red wine.”
That elicited the first real smile from Karen all day.
During the meal they found themselves talking about literature and current events. By the time they finished their pie, Del could tell Karen was actually beginning to appreciate a day with just the two of them, even if it was Christmas.
Then a jazzy song came on the radio. “Would you like to dance?” Del asked.
“Really?” Karen said.
“There’s nobody to stop us.” Del stood and extended his hand. Karen took it and they danced, Del spinning and dipping her through three songs. She laughed so hard she cried.
“Enough,” she finally gasped. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”
“You look plenty young to me,” Del said with a lascivious wink. “Why don’t you rest up while I clear the table.”
Del was loading the dishwasher when Karen called to him from the family room where the computer was. “Carrie emailed photos of Scott opening his presents this morning.”
Del peeked in and saw Karen’s wet eyes as she clicked through the pictures.
“Someone needs to teach Carlos’s parents how to use a camera,” she muttered. “These are terrible.”
Oh well, Del thought. Grown up Christmas was good while it lasted.
---
Don’t forget to order your copy of The Christmas Tree Lot and Other Holiday Tales from the Little Church Stories. Get a discount code at www.douglasjeboch.com/LCS.htm
Sunday, November 28, 2010
The Boyers Buy A Tree
The following is based on an excerpt from the novellette "The Christmas Tree Lot" available in the book, "The Christmas Tree Lot and Other Holiday Tales from the Little Church Stories" now available at: http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/deboch
(Hear the story read by the author.)
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there's a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm. This year the church decided to start a Christmas Tree lot to raise money. Ralph Billings was in charge of running the lot and Henrietta Miggins was in charge of recruiting volunteers. So far Henrietta’s recruitment efforts had been quite successful. When the lot officially opened for business on the Sunday afternoon after Thanksgiving, she had Ralph, Pastor O’Donnell, Walter Tibble, Thad Wheeling and Missy Moore scheduled to work – though Walter didn’t show up, sending word that his back was hurting and he thought he better go home and lay down.
Missy arrived wearing jingle bell earrings and a sweater featuring a picture of a reindeer with a jingle bell sewn to its nose. “I love Christmas!” she announced as she jingled up to the card table that served as the lot’s base of operations.
“Apparently,” O’Donnell mumbled.
“I brought Christmas music,” Missy continued, her bells tinkling merrily as she set a small boom box on the table, “And Christmas cookies.”
She opened a tin full of brightly decorated sugar cookies. O’Donnell decided Missy’s Christmas mania definitely had its benefits as he helped himself to a tree shaped cookie.
And then he took a bite. It seemed what he had thought was a sugar cookie was actually made of granite with cement frosting. He managed to chew and swallow that first bite but feared it might have cost him a visit to the dentist the next day.
While Missy went to find an extension cord for her boom box, O’Donnell ditched the cookie in some bushes. He noticed the other volunteers were finding similar hiding places for their cookies as well.
When Missy returned they all complimented her on her baking skills. She put on her first CD. It was an album of fifteen different versions of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. “Isn’t that clever,” Missy asked as a calypso version played. “Who would have thought that song could be done in so many different ways?”
Certainly not Pastor O’Donnell.
Ralph declared the lot open for business at noon. Their first customers were the Boyer family: Kevin, Jill and their daughters Mary, age four, and Susie, age two. Jill was hosting the Women's Group Christmas Party this year. It was a big responsibility so she determined to get everything done as early as possible for the holiday season. Her plan included getting her tree as soon as she could.
Unfortunately the members of the Boyer family all had different criteria when evaluating the trees. Jill wanted a perfectly formed tree. Mary and Susie wanted the biggest tree on the lot so Santa could fit lots of presents under it. Kevin just didn’t want to spend a bunch of money on something they’d throw away in a month. It turned out to be quite difficult to find a tree that fulfilled all of those requirements.
The trees were arranged in rows organized by height and type. Mary and Susie immediately ran to the back row where the eight-foot and over trees were kept. “Those won’t fit in our living room,” Kevin called as he moved to the four and five foot Douglas firs.
“I think Nobles are prettier,” Jill said, heading toward the other side of the lot.
“But they’re more expensive,” Kevin replied. “Let’s see if we can find a Douglas that you like first.”
Ralph and Thad were in back making fresh cuts to the bottoms of trees waiting to be mounted in stands, while Missy filled the stands of the trees already on display with a hose. That left Pastor O’Donnell to assist the customers. “Do you have any questions?” he asked Kevin.
“Not yet,” Kevin replied. “I have a feeling this might take a while,”
“Just let me know if there’s anything I can do,” O’Donnell said and returned to the card table.
Jill had Kevin bring likely candidates out into the aisle so she could observe them from every angle. Whenever she seemed to be fixating on a particularly expensive tree, he would note that it appeared to be leaning one way or another and urge her to keep looking. The girls pouted whenever the adults considered anything that was less than seven feet.
After about forty-five minutes Jill had found a tree she thought was just about perfect. It was a more expensive Noble fir, but Kevin was pleased it was only five feet tall. The girls wailed and cried but Kevin assured them Santa would figure out a way to stuff plenty of presents under it. Jill had Kevin turn the tree this way and that as she did a final inspection to make sure there were no holes or bent branches.
Mary sat on the ground pouting and debating whether a bicycle would fit under the tree if Santa laid it on its side. Then she noticed something moving on one of the branches. She jumped to her feet and yelled, “Spider!”
“Where?” Kevin screamed in a high-pitched voice. He leapt back, releasing his grip on the tree. It fell backwards, striking the row of trees behind it. One by one they tipped over like dominos. One of them bumped Missy, causing her to stumble and lose control of the hose. The icy stream of water arced into the air and hit O’Donnell in the back of the head. O’Donnell’s screams were even higher pitched than Kevin’s as the water ran down the back of his shirt.
Missy stepped on the spider, thereby completely destroying any remaining semblance of Kevin’s manliness. He picked the tree back up and apologized for the mess.
“No problem,” Missy said brightly and proceeded to right the other fallen trees.
“Oh no,” Jill whispered to her husband. “When you dropped the tree, the branches on that side kind of got crushed. We better find another one.”
Kevin moaned.
Thirty minutes later Jill had settled on a new tree. It was seven feet tall, which pleased the girls. By that time Kevin would have happily paid a hundred dollars for a potted begonia. Since O’Donnell was still inside drying off, Ralph made the transaction. He offered to put a fresh cut on the tree, but Kevin just wanted to pay and get out of there.
Ralph happily entered the sale in the brand new ledger he’d bought for the lot. For the next several hours that was the only entry in that lovely ledger.
“Don’t worry,” Missy Moore said, wiping her brow. The day was turning out to be a little warm for her reindeer sweater. “I’m sure sales will pick up as Christmas gets closer!”
O’Donnell hoped she was right, though he wasn’t sure he would live to find out. The last version of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on Missy’s album, a novelty take done with synthesized bird tweets, was making him a bit suicidal.
Read what happens next at the Christmas Tree Lot in the book available on Lulu.com!
(Hear the story read by the author.)
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there's a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm. This year the church decided to start a Christmas Tree lot to raise money. Ralph Billings was in charge of running the lot and Henrietta Miggins was in charge of recruiting volunteers. So far Henrietta’s recruitment efforts had been quite successful. When the lot officially opened for business on the Sunday afternoon after Thanksgiving, she had Ralph, Pastor O’Donnell, Walter Tibble, Thad Wheeling and Missy Moore scheduled to work – though Walter didn’t show up, sending word that his back was hurting and he thought he better go home and lay down.
Missy arrived wearing jingle bell earrings and a sweater featuring a picture of a reindeer with a jingle bell sewn to its nose. “I love Christmas!” she announced as she jingled up to the card table that served as the lot’s base of operations.
“Apparently,” O’Donnell mumbled.
“I brought Christmas music,” Missy continued, her bells tinkling merrily as she set a small boom box on the table, “And Christmas cookies.”
She opened a tin full of brightly decorated sugar cookies. O’Donnell decided Missy’s Christmas mania definitely had its benefits as he helped himself to a tree shaped cookie.
And then he took a bite. It seemed what he had thought was a sugar cookie was actually made of granite with cement frosting. He managed to chew and swallow that first bite but feared it might have cost him a visit to the dentist the next day.
While Missy went to find an extension cord for her boom box, O’Donnell ditched the cookie in some bushes. He noticed the other volunteers were finding similar hiding places for their cookies as well.
When Missy returned they all complimented her on her baking skills. She put on her first CD. It was an album of fifteen different versions of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. “Isn’t that clever,” Missy asked as a calypso version played. “Who would have thought that song could be done in so many different ways?”
Certainly not Pastor O’Donnell.
Ralph declared the lot open for business at noon. Their first customers were the Boyer family: Kevin, Jill and their daughters Mary, age four, and Susie, age two. Jill was hosting the Women's Group Christmas Party this year. It was a big responsibility so she determined to get everything done as early as possible for the holiday season. Her plan included getting her tree as soon as she could.
Unfortunately the members of the Boyer family all had different criteria when evaluating the trees. Jill wanted a perfectly formed tree. Mary and Susie wanted the biggest tree on the lot so Santa could fit lots of presents under it. Kevin just didn’t want to spend a bunch of money on something they’d throw away in a month. It turned out to be quite difficult to find a tree that fulfilled all of those requirements.
The trees were arranged in rows organized by height and type. Mary and Susie immediately ran to the back row where the eight-foot and over trees were kept. “Those won’t fit in our living room,” Kevin called as he moved to the four and five foot Douglas firs.
“I think Nobles are prettier,” Jill said, heading toward the other side of the lot.
“But they’re more expensive,” Kevin replied. “Let’s see if we can find a Douglas that you like first.”
Ralph and Thad were in back making fresh cuts to the bottoms of trees waiting to be mounted in stands, while Missy filled the stands of the trees already on display with a hose. That left Pastor O’Donnell to assist the customers. “Do you have any questions?” he asked Kevin.
“Not yet,” Kevin replied. “I have a feeling this might take a while,”
“Just let me know if there’s anything I can do,” O’Donnell said and returned to the card table.
Jill had Kevin bring likely candidates out into the aisle so she could observe them from every angle. Whenever she seemed to be fixating on a particularly expensive tree, he would note that it appeared to be leaning one way or another and urge her to keep looking. The girls pouted whenever the adults considered anything that was less than seven feet.
After about forty-five minutes Jill had found a tree she thought was just about perfect. It was a more expensive Noble fir, but Kevin was pleased it was only five feet tall. The girls wailed and cried but Kevin assured them Santa would figure out a way to stuff plenty of presents under it. Jill had Kevin turn the tree this way and that as she did a final inspection to make sure there were no holes or bent branches.
Mary sat on the ground pouting and debating whether a bicycle would fit under the tree if Santa laid it on its side. Then she noticed something moving on one of the branches. She jumped to her feet and yelled, “Spider!”
“Where?” Kevin screamed in a high-pitched voice. He leapt back, releasing his grip on the tree. It fell backwards, striking the row of trees behind it. One by one they tipped over like dominos. One of them bumped Missy, causing her to stumble and lose control of the hose. The icy stream of water arced into the air and hit O’Donnell in the back of the head. O’Donnell’s screams were even higher pitched than Kevin’s as the water ran down the back of his shirt.
Missy stepped on the spider, thereby completely destroying any remaining semblance of Kevin’s manliness. He picked the tree back up and apologized for the mess.
“No problem,” Missy said brightly and proceeded to right the other fallen trees.
“Oh no,” Jill whispered to her husband. “When you dropped the tree, the branches on that side kind of got crushed. We better find another one.”
Kevin moaned.
Thirty minutes later Jill had settled on a new tree. It was seven feet tall, which pleased the girls. By that time Kevin would have happily paid a hundred dollars for a potted begonia. Since O’Donnell was still inside drying off, Ralph made the transaction. He offered to put a fresh cut on the tree, but Kevin just wanted to pay and get out of there.
Ralph happily entered the sale in the brand new ledger he’d bought for the lot. For the next several hours that was the only entry in that lovely ledger.
“Don’t worry,” Missy Moore said, wiping her brow. The day was turning out to be a little warm for her reindeer sweater. “I’m sure sales will pick up as Christmas gets closer!”
O’Donnell hoped she was right, though he wasn’t sure he would live to find out. The last version of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on Missy’s album, a novelty take done with synthesized bird tweets, was making him a bit suicidal.
Read what happens next at the Christmas Tree Lot in the book available on Lulu.com!
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Christmas Turkeys
Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Earlier this year the church brought on an Associate Pastor, 28-year-old Michelle Tellum, fresh out of seminary. As the holiday season approached, Michelle was asked to lead the Christmas Eve Service. Jennifer O’Donnell, wife of Senior Pastor Henry O’Donnell, promoted the idea. With Michelle handling Christmas Eve, the O’Donnells could spend the holidays with Jennifer’s family in Denver for the first time in years.
Then, a few days before Christmas Eve, Ian broke the news that he would not be attending Michelle’s Christmas Eve service.
“Why not,” she demanded.
“My family has a little Christmas Party every Christmas Eve. It won’t be over until after your service starts.”
“Can’t you leave early or even skip it?”
“My Mom would be heartbroken,” Ian said.
“Well, I’ll be heartbroken if you don’t come to my service,” Michelle replied.
“Come on, it’s not that big of a deal,” Ian said. “You’re going to be doing your thing up at the front of the church. You won’t even know I’m not there.”
“I’ll know,” Michelle responded.
“I’m sorry,” Ian said. “But it’s family. You understand.”
“Oh, I understand,” Michelle told him. “But if you’re not coming to my service, then I don’t think I’ll come to your family’s house for Christmas. It would be too awkward.”
“Don’t be like that,” Ian replied. “You don’t want to spend Christmas by yourself.”
“I won’t be by myself,” Michelle assured him. Not that she had any idea with whom she would spend Christmas instead, but she wasn’t about to appear needy when Ian was being so inconsiderate.
The solution presented itself a few minutes before the start of the Christmas Eve service. She was sitting with choir director Shane Reed who was divorced and also away from his family. As they waited for the congregation to file in, he asked, “So, what are you doing for Christmas?”
“I have no idea,” Michelle admitted. “Spending it by myself, I guess. How about you?”
“I’m going to help serve dinner at the food pantry,” Shane said. “You could come along if you want. They could use the help.”
Michelle perked up. “That’s a great idea, thanks!”
The next morning Michelle woke up in her empty apartment. She sat beside the sparsely decorated three-foot tree she had bought and opened the presents her family had sent. When it was late enough she called home. The noise of a crowded house enjoying the holiday did not cheer her up.
A bit later Ian called. He tried to apologize for missing her service but she was in no mood to make up. “I have to go,” she told him. “I’m due to help prepare dinner at the food pantry.”
Arriving into the hustle and bustle of the food pantry was something of a relief. It may not have been the way she usually spent Christmas, but it was better than sitting in her lonely apartment. Shane was already there and got her set up chopping ingredients next to him. A big meal like this required lots of chopping.
As they worked their knives, Shane told wacky holiday stories about his crazy drunk uncle that soon had Michelle in tears of laughter. Or maybe the tears were from the onions she was chopping. Still, her mood had improved a lot.
Then she heard Ian’s voice say, “Hi, I’d like to volunteer.”
She turned around and saw him standing in the doorway. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“My family got me last night,” he told her. “Today I want to spend with you.”
Michelle gave him a non-committal nod. She was touched but not quite ready to forgive him. The pantry’s volunteer coordinator, a small but energetic woman named Helen, assigned Ian to mash potatoes on the other side of the kitchen. Michelle made sure to laugh extra loudly at Shane’s stories so Ian could hear how much fun she was having.
And then a minor disaster struck. One of the two ovens demonstrated a devious knack for bad timing by choosing now to break down. Getting a repairman to come out on Christmas was not likely in Normal. They had two enormous twenty-five pound turkeys that had to cook. Only one could fit in the remaining oven and doing them consecutively would add almost five hours to the prep time. They’d be eating at 10 p.m.
“What about the church,” Michelle asked. “We have an industrial oven.”
Helen ran over and gave Michelle a big hug. “You’ve saved the day!” she cried.
Michelle, Shane and Ian hauled one of the monster turkeys over to the church and got it started cooking. “I don’t want to leave it unattended,” Michelle said. “One of us will have to stay with it. Ian?”
Ian opened his mouth to protest, but then paused. Michelle was watching him carefully. He realized this was his punishment. “Sure,” he said.
“Good,” Michelle replied. “Shane and I will go back and help get the rest of the meal ready. We’ll come get you and the turkey in four and a half hours.”
By the time people started arriving two hours later Michelle was feeling pretty guilty leaving Ian by himself in the church kitchen. Most of the side dishes were prepared, but dinner was still an hour behind schedule due to the transportation time taking the turkey to and from the church.
“We’re going to have to do something to entertain people,” Helen said as she watched the growing crowd.
“Let’s sing Christmas carols,” Shane suggested. “I’ll play piano. Michelle, you can lead the singing.”
“I can’t sing,” Michelle said.
“Everyone can sing Christmas carols,” Shane scoffed. He wouldn’t have said that if he had ever heard Michelle try.
Then a little voice wafted up to them. “My Mommy can sing.” They looked over and saw a tiny Asian boy of about six peeking in through the kitchen door.
“Who’s your Mommy?” Helen asked. Then his Mom appeared. She was pretty, in her late twenties, slim with long black hair.
“Tyler, stay out of there,” she said, “I’m sorry. Is he bothering you?”
“Not at all,” Shane replied. “In fact, he’s just volunteered you to lead everyone singing Christmas carols.”
“Thanks a lot,” the woman said, playfully rubbing Tyler’s head. Then she held out her hand, “My name’s Audra.”
Shane shook her hand, “Nice to meet you.” He turned to Michelle and gave her a wink. “I guess you’re off the hook.”
“Good,” she replied. “I think I’ll go give Ian a break.”
Ian was dozing on a counter top when Michelle arrived. “Do you have your guitar with you?” she asked.
“Actually, it’s in the trunk,” he said. Ian played jazz guitar in a local band.
“Go back to the food pantry,” Michelle instructed. “They need some entertainment.”
“What about you?” Ian asked.
“I’ll be fine,” she said.
Michelle amused herself with a book of Sudoku puzzles she had in her office until Helen picked her and the turkey up an hour later. “Is everyone starving?” Michelle asked.
“They’ve forgotten all about dinner,” Helen laughed.
When they arrived at the pantry Michelle saw why. Ian, Shane and Audra were rocking a jazzy version of “We Three Kings.” Michelle had not realized that particular carol could rock. And Tyler wasn’t lying when he said his Mom could sing.
When they finished the song Helen announced dinner was ready.
As the volunteers headed to serve and the guests queued up with their trays, Michelle snuck a kiss on Ian’s cheek.
“Am I forgiven?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said.
After all the guests had their food, Helen told the volunteers they should grab dinner as well. Michelle, Ian and Shane loaded up plates and joined Audra and Tyler at one of the long tables.
“That was awesome,” Michelle told them. “You have a great voice, Audra.”
“Thanks,” Audra replied. “I used to sing professionally, but, well, times are tough. Obviously.”
“We can’t pay you anything but we’d love to have a voice like yours in the choir on Sunday,” Shane said.
“Sounds like fun,” Audra replied.
And in fact she did one better. The following week Shane, Ian and Audra reprised their performance from the food pantry as special music for the church service. When they finished the congregation burst into enthusiastic applause.
Pastor O’Donnell leaned over to Michelle. “You must have had quite a Christmas,” he said.
“Oh yeah,” she replied smiling. “It was actually pretty cool.”
Note: I posted this story early this week so it would be up in time for Christmas. I’ll return to my every-other-Sunday schedule with the next story, which will appear January 10, 2010. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Some Like Hot Tamales
Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. The Winslow family are cornerstone members of the church. Del Winslow sings in the choir, Karen Winslow teaches the Guppies pre-school Sunday school class, and their daughter Carrie recently married her husband Carlos in the church.
Every Christmas since she and Del were first married Karen has made a special meal for the family – standing rib roast and rhubarb pie. But this year that tradition was threatened when Karen was diagnosed with leukemia. She had been in the hospital for a month for chemotherapy and wasn’t scheduled to be released until Christmas Eve.
That month was rough on Del. The holiday season was always a busy time of year, of course, and with his wife in the hospital Del had to add a considerable amount of housework to his usual chores. Then there were the hours he spent each day by Karen’s bedside and more hours on the phone arguing with an uncooperative insurance company…not to mention the emotional toll. As Christmas approached Del was nearly as exhausted as Karen.
The entire Winslow family was gathered in Karen’s hospital room playing a game of Hearts on a Sunday afternoon when the subject of Christmas dinner came up.
“I’m so glad you’ll be home for Christmas, Mom,” Carrie said as she returned from the bathroom. Carrie was seven months pregnant and it seemed like she was always either coming or going from the bathroom.
“Yeah,” Dell added, “It’ll be nice to have the whole family around our dining table again enjoying your famous rib roast.”
The room got quiet. “I don’t think I’m going to be well enough to make dinner this year, dear,” Karen said.
“Oh,” Del replied, his face reddening. “No, of course not. Well, maybe Carrie and I can do it then.”
Karen laughed. Del’s occasional ventures into the kitchen usually proved disastrous and had even summoned the fire department on two occasions. And Carrie had given up trying to cook anything that didn’t come from a can or a take-out container long ago.
“What if I made dinner,” Carlos said. It was not a crazy idea. He had cooked regularly for Carrie and himself before they were forced to move in with Del and Karen after the younger couple were both laid off.
“Do you know how to make a standing rib roast?” Del asked hopefully.
“No,” Carlos replied, “but my family has a traditional Christmas dinner as well. Tamales.”
“Tamales,” Del repeated. It didn’t sound very Christmas-y to him.
“It’s actually the custom in Mexico,” Carlos explained. “At Christmas time the women of the family spend several days sitting around making tamales and talking. My family continued the tradition when I was growing up in Cincinnati and I often helped. It’s easy. We can make them together.”
“That’s a great idea!” Carrie exclaimed. “You’re part of our family now. This will be an opportunity to combine our traditions.”
Del sat quietly. He knew Karen couldn’t cook a big dinner her first day out of the hospital. He certainly didn’t want to stress her out in her fragile condition. But his tradition was standing rib roast and rhubarb pie and with everything going on he really craved something traditional. He didn’t think Tamales were going to cut it.
It was an especially joyous Christmas Eve morning when Del brought Karen home from the hospital. Carlos and Carrie had decorated the living room with a “welcome home” banner and bouquets of flowers. And Carlos had prepared the kitchen and dining room table for a tamale making assembly line.
Karen was delighted. She watched eagerly as Carlos explained the process. First, they would cook the filling. Carlos had purchased a variety of meats and spices. He and Carrie thought it would be fun to experiment so they included many non-traditional ingredients such as hoison sauce for Asian flavored tamales.
Once the fillings were ready they would spread Masa on cornhusks, put the filling into it, and fold the tamale. They would then steam the tamales on Christmas day just before eating.
“This looks fun,” Karen said. “Let’s get started!”
“You guys enjoy,” Del said. “I’m a little tired. I think I’m just going to read a book.”
“But Daddy,” Carrie pleaded, “It’s supposed to be a family activity.”
“If he doesn’t want to participate he doesn’t have to,” Karen said. “Go read your book, Sweetie. You’ve been doing a lot for us lately. You deserve some time to yourself.”
Del settled into his recliner in the living room with the latest spy novel he’d gotten from the library while Carrie and Carlos set about cooking the meat. Karen mostly sat on a stool and observed, just happy to be back in her own kitchen.
After they finished cooking the fillings they moved to the dining room table for the assembly process. They talked and laughed and listened to Christmas carols on the radio as they made their tamales with all the creative seasonings they could think of.
About ten minutes into the process Del passed through. “Just getting something to drink,” he said. He filled a glass of water in the kitchen and then stopped to observe for a few minutes.
“That’s a lot of tamale stuff you’ve got there. It’s going to take you hours to make them all.”
“That’s part of the fun,” Carlos said. “You want to try a couple?”
“No, no. I’m enjoying my book,” Del replied and returned to the living room.
A bit later a roar of laughter erupted from the dining room. Del popped in again.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Carlos was just telling us a story about when he got a fishing pole for Christmas and hooked his own ear the first time he used it,” Carrie explained.
“Sounds hilarious,” Del said.
“Did you finish your book?” Karen asked.
“No, just taking a bathroom break.”
About ten minutes later he poked his head in a third time. “How’s it going,” he asked.
“I keep tearing the husks,” Carrie grumbled as she tried to carefully fold a tamale filled with shredded beef and marinara sauce.
“Maybe it would help if you used a little less filling,” Del suggested.
“They’re just so fragile,” Carrie said.
“Let me try one.” Del sat down. Carlos demonstrated the process for him. Del picked up a husk, spread the Masa on it, plopped in a little shredded chicken with honey mustard and a sprinkling of cayenne pepper and folded it up.
“Nicely done,” Carlos said. Carrie made a face at him.
Del grabbed another husk.
“I thought you wanted to read your book,” Carrie muttered.
“If you want to get all these assembled before Christmas Eve service at church I think I better help,” Del replied.
He made a barbecue pork tamale next, singing along with “Christmas Blues” playing on the radio. Karen watched him with a little smile.
Two hours later the four of them surveyed the mass of tamales they’d made. They were grouped into a dozen bowls by filling. It wasn’t quite enough to feed an army but it might have satisfied a small platoon.
“We’ll never eat all that,” Del said.
“I’m sure they’ll be put to good use,” Carlos replied.
That use became apparent the next day when visitor after visitor stopped by to welcome Karen home. Each was given a couple of hot tamales. Most asked for seconds.
During a quiet moment in the middle of the afternoon Karen sidled up to Del and took his hand. “I know tamales aren’t our tradition,” she said. “But I think we have to get used to the idea that things are changing for our family. Next Christmas there’s going to be a little baby dining with us.”
“I know I wasn’t on the tamale band wagon at first,” Del said, “But I’m beginning to see the advantages of that custom.”
Then the doorbell rang. It was Ralph and Tammy Billings. Tammy brought a gift – a homemade rhubarb pie.
“How did you know?” Del asked, delighted.
“A little birdie,” Tammy replied. Then Carlos handed Tammy a large bag of tamales that he had set aside earlier.
“Your son-in-law is a very thoughtful young man,” Tammy told Del.
“Yes he is,” Del said. He slid his arm around Karen. This was very possibly the best Christmas of his life, Del decided.
Want to make your own unusual tamales? Check out http://www.douglasjeboch.com/Tamales.htm for recipes and ideas.
And watch for a special Christmas Day Little Church story next! Happy Holidays!!
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Boxing Day
Hear the poem read by the author
‘Twas the day after Christmas
And in the little church
All the bats in the belfry
Were asleep on their perch.
Christmas Eve service had ended
Thirty hours before
But the ashes from the fire
Still dusted the floor.
Jose the janitor
Was on a vacation.
A perk from the church to show
Its appreciation
His rest and relaxation
Would have gone quite off track
If he knew the mess that awaited
Him when he got back.
Kevin Boyer was giving
His wife Jill a massage
And later that day planned to
Organize their garage.
It was penance for allowing
Their four-year-old, Mary,
To play with toys during church
And not staying wary.
And little Mary was grounded
Upstairs in her room,
With only twenty new presents
To lighten her gloom.
Poor Mary pouted and felt
Quite misunderstood.
Since it was her toy car with
The dent in the hood.
Pastor O’Donnell was home
Putting ice on his knee
Which was bruised and swollen
To an alarming degree
He twisted it badly while
Lighting a candle aglow
And tripped when a small car crashed
Straight into his toe.
Henrietta Miggins was
Writing a letter
Demanding the little church
Pay for her sweater.
Who would have guessed when she
Wore it that night
A flying candle would
Set it alight.
She added a paragraph of
Advice for the pastor
Suggesting some rules to avert
A future disaster.
The most important, she said,
Was perfectly clear
Toys should be banned from Christmas
Eve service next year.
Happy Boxing Day!
‘Twas the day after Christmas
And in the little church
All the bats in the belfry
Were asleep on their perch.
Christmas Eve service had ended
Thirty hours before
But the ashes from the fire
Still dusted the floor.
Jose the janitor
Was on a vacation.
A perk from the church to show
Its appreciation
His rest and relaxation
Would have gone quite off track
If he knew the mess that awaited
Him when he got back.
Kevin Boyer was giving
His wife Jill a massage
And later that day planned to
Organize their garage.
It was penance for allowing
Their four-year-old, Mary,
To play with toys during church
And not staying wary.
And little Mary was grounded
Upstairs in her room,
With only twenty new presents
To lighten her gloom.
Poor Mary pouted and felt
Quite misunderstood.
Since it was her toy car with
The dent in the hood.
Pastor O’Donnell was home
Putting ice on his knee
Which was bruised and swollen
To an alarming degree
He twisted it badly while
Lighting a candle aglow
And tripped when a small car crashed
Straight into his toe.
Henrietta Miggins was
Writing a letter
Demanding the little church
Pay for her sweater.
Who would have guessed when she
Wore it that night
A flying candle would
Set it alight.
She added a paragraph of
Advice for the pastor
Suggesting some rules to avert
A future disaster.
The most important, she said,
Was perfectly clear
Toys should be banned from Christmas
Eve service next year.
Happy Boxing Day!
Sunday, November 30, 2008
A Bleak Midwinter Afternoon
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. This year, choir director Shane Reed thought it would be nice for members of the choir to sing Christmas Carols at a local retirement home one Sunday after church.
When Shane asked for volunteers, Del Winslow quickly signed up. He was frequently the choir’s featured soloist and Del feared they just wouldn’t be up to snuff without him. He certainly didn’t want the good folks at the retirement home to hear a sub-par choir. On the day in question, however, he was regretting his decision. A freezing storm was coming in and it had started to snow. Del would have much rather spent the afternoon at home reading by the fire. But, a commitment was a commitment.
At 1 p.m. Shane herded his ten volunteer carolers into the church’s van. Del asked if Shane would like Del to drive as he had grown up in Pennsylvania and Shane was from the West Coast. Shane pointed out that he was from Seattle which did in fact get quite a bit of snow. Shane took the wheel, trying to ignore the ten back seat drivers.
The staff of the retirement home had set up an all-purpose room for the performance. It was to be kind of a mini-party. There was a brightly decorated tree, a table of sugar cookies and even a big bowl of eggnog. Chairs had been set up in a semi-circle facing one end of the room where Shane and his singers could perform.
The visitors chatted with the staff and enjoyed some cookies as residents of the home shuffled in. Del was a connoisseur of Christmas cookies and graded these a “B.” He was going back for his fourth cookie when a wiry little man with leathery skin elbowed him in the bicep harder than Del would have thought the fellow capable.
“Leave some for the geezers, kid,” the man said.
Del flushed. “Sorry. Do you want this one?”
The old guy cackled and smacked Del on the shoulder. Del almost dropped the cookie. “Nah,” the man said, “I’m watching my weight. Name’s Herman Vankowitz. I’m Jewish. I’m mainly here for the eggnog. I love eggnog.”
“I’m Del Winslow.”
“Good to meet you, Del. Hey, you know the hymn ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’?”
“Yes.”
“You guys going to sing it?”
“It wasn’t on our list, but I could see if our director has the music.”
“Ah, don’t bother. That hymn annoys me.”
Del shrugged and rejoined the other choir members. He nibbled his cookie slowly so he wouldn’t be tempted to go back for another.
A few minutes later, his attention was drawn to a commotion near the reception table. A staff member was arguing with Herman.
“You’ve had two cups of eggnog already, Herman,” the staff member said. “Give me that one.”
“It’s not for me,” Herman protested. “It’s for my new friend, Del.”
Herman scurried over to Del and handed him the cup. “Here you go, buddy,” Herman said. “Just like you asked.” Then Herman gave the staff member a big, suspiciously innocent grin.
The staff member raised an eyebrow. Herman elbowed Del again. “Drink up, buddy,” Herman said through his grin.
Del decided to help the old guy out. He took a big gulp of the eggnog.
And almost choked. It was very liberally spiked with brandy.
“Good stuff, eh?” Herman said.
Del nodded, his eyes watering. The staff member didn’t look entirely convinced, but she returned to her post anyway.
Herman punched Del playfully in the arm. “Thanks. You saved my bacon.”
“Here’s your eggnog,” Del said.
“You keep it. I wouldn’t want to get your germs. Us geezers have to be careful of stuff like that.”
“It’s a little heavy for me,” Del said with a meaningful look.
“Ah, I get it. You’re a lightweight. Okay, give it here. We learned to hold our booze in the Navy.”
Del bristled. He’d been in the Army and wasn’t about to let some pint-sized sailor show him up. Del downed the eggnog in a single gulp and handed Herman the empty cup.
“Well, well. Maybe you’re not as soft as you look,” Herman said. “Care for another?”
“Bring it on,” Del replied.
“Okay, but you better get it this time.”
Del retrieved two more cups of eggnog and met Herman in a corner behind a knot of people out of view of the staff members. Herman drained off about an inch of his eggnog, then topped it off from a small flask he had tucked in his pocket. Del followed suit, but drained off an inch and a half of his eggnog before spiking it.
“Your eyes are watering,” Herman commented after they’d downed their beverages.
“I think I inhaled some nutmeg,” Del told him, wiping at his eyes with one hand while using the other to steady himself against the wall.
And then it was time to sing. The choir went through a medley of songs, ending with Del doing his classic solo on “Silent Night,” accompanied by Shane on the piano. Del was feeling a little buzzed from the brandy, but he knew the song inside and out.
Then, in the middle of the second verse, the tender mood was interrupted by a noise like a chainsaw cutting through scrap metal. Del raised his voice in a vain attempt to drown out the racket while trying to determine where it was coming from. When he finally located the source, he was not surprised to see that it was Herman Vankowitz snoring in the back row.
The event finished up around 4:00 and the choir members headed out to the van. A good two inches of new snow had fallen while they were inside. As Shane tried to back the van out of its parking place, he accidentally went off the edge of the asphalt. The tires spun in the snow, kicking up rooster tails of mud.
“Put it in low,” one of the back seat drivers said.
“Don’t give it so much gas,” another instructed.
“Back up, then go forward,” a third offered.
The collective wisdom from the rear of the van was of no use. They were stuck. “Someone’s going to have to get out and push,” Shane said.
Del’s head was spinning a little but he dutifully took a spot at the right corner of the van. Missy Moore moved to the driver’s seat so Shane could add his muscle to the effort. “Give it a little gas,” Shane called out.
Missy did, and mud sprayed up into Del’s face.
“A little less gas,” Del said as he spat out wet gravel.
Missy tried again. The pushers strained. Del leaned into the van giving it all he could.
And the next thing he knew he was flat on his back, looking up at Shane and the other choir members. And Herman.
“What happened,” Del asked.
“You passed out,” Shane told him. “Are you okay? Maybe we should see if there’s a doctor inside.”
“I think it was just the eggnog,” Del said.
Herman coughed loudly and gave Del a pointed look.
“I’m lactose intolerant,” Del lied.
“Oh. Well, just stay there and catch your breath while we get the van out,” Shane said.
“Let me help,” Herman said.
“That’s okay, we’ve got it,” Shane replied, running his eyes over Herman’s skinny body.
Del and Herman watched as Shane and the other men pushed at the back of the van. It was only digging in deeper. Finally, Herman could take it no more. He strode up and put his shoulder against the back doors. Veins bulged out ominously in his neck.
But the van popped free almost immediately.
“Thanks,” Shane said to Herman and shook his hand.
“My pleasure,” Herman replied. “Hey, before you go, let me take Del inside and get him cleaned up. He’s soaked.”
Shane agreed and Herman led Del in through a side door and to his room. It was a double room. Herman’s roommate lay in the bed by the window hooked up to a bunch of machines. “He’s in a coma,” Herman told Del, as he opened the door to the small private bathroom.
When Del was finished cleaning up, he came out and thanked Herman for his hospitality. “Could I ask you a favor?” Herman said. “My roommate’s a Christian. His favorite carol is ‘In the Bleak Midwinter.’ He used to hum it constantly during the holidays. Drove me nuts. Would you mind singing it for him? You said you know it.”
Del was taken aback, but he readily agreed. He sang the hymn in his deep, creamy baritone to the comatose gentleman as a tear worked its way down Herman’s right cheek.
When Del was finished, Herman thanked him and shook his hand. “See you next year,” Herman said.
“Have some of that special eggnog ready for me,” Del replied with a wink. Then he headed out to join the others for the ride back to the church. It had been a pretty good way to spend a wintry afternoon, Del thought.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. This year, choir director Shane Reed thought it would be nice for members of the choir to sing Christmas Carols at a local retirement home one Sunday after church.
When Shane asked for volunteers, Del Winslow quickly signed up. He was frequently the choir’s featured soloist and Del feared they just wouldn’t be up to snuff without him. He certainly didn’t want the good folks at the retirement home to hear a sub-par choir. On the day in question, however, he was regretting his decision. A freezing storm was coming in and it had started to snow. Del would have much rather spent the afternoon at home reading by the fire. But, a commitment was a commitment.
At 1 p.m. Shane herded his ten volunteer carolers into the church’s van. Del asked if Shane would like Del to drive as he had grown up in Pennsylvania and Shane was from the West Coast. Shane pointed out that he was from Seattle which did in fact get quite a bit of snow. Shane took the wheel, trying to ignore the ten back seat drivers.
The staff of the retirement home had set up an all-purpose room for the performance. It was to be kind of a mini-party. There was a brightly decorated tree, a table of sugar cookies and even a big bowl of eggnog. Chairs had been set up in a semi-circle facing one end of the room where Shane and his singers could perform.
The visitors chatted with the staff and enjoyed some cookies as residents of the home shuffled in. Del was a connoisseur of Christmas cookies and graded these a “B.” He was going back for his fourth cookie when a wiry little man with leathery skin elbowed him in the bicep harder than Del would have thought the fellow capable.
“Leave some for the geezers, kid,” the man said.
Del flushed. “Sorry. Do you want this one?”
The old guy cackled and smacked Del on the shoulder. Del almost dropped the cookie. “Nah,” the man said, “I’m watching my weight. Name’s Herman Vankowitz. I’m Jewish. I’m mainly here for the eggnog. I love eggnog.”
“I’m Del Winslow.”
“Good to meet you, Del. Hey, you know the hymn ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’?”
“Yes.”
“You guys going to sing it?”
“It wasn’t on our list, but I could see if our director has the music.”
“Ah, don’t bother. That hymn annoys me.”
Del shrugged and rejoined the other choir members. He nibbled his cookie slowly so he wouldn’t be tempted to go back for another.
A few minutes later, his attention was drawn to a commotion near the reception table. A staff member was arguing with Herman.
“You’ve had two cups of eggnog already, Herman,” the staff member said. “Give me that one.”
“It’s not for me,” Herman protested. “It’s for my new friend, Del.”
Herman scurried over to Del and handed him the cup. “Here you go, buddy,” Herman said. “Just like you asked.” Then Herman gave the staff member a big, suspiciously innocent grin.
The staff member raised an eyebrow. Herman elbowed Del again. “Drink up, buddy,” Herman said through his grin.
Del decided to help the old guy out. He took a big gulp of the eggnog.
And almost choked. It was very liberally spiked with brandy.
“Good stuff, eh?” Herman said.
Del nodded, his eyes watering. The staff member didn’t look entirely convinced, but she returned to her post anyway.
Herman punched Del playfully in the arm. “Thanks. You saved my bacon.”
“Here’s your eggnog,” Del said.
“You keep it. I wouldn’t want to get your germs. Us geezers have to be careful of stuff like that.”
“It’s a little heavy for me,” Del said with a meaningful look.
“Ah, I get it. You’re a lightweight. Okay, give it here. We learned to hold our booze in the Navy.”
Del bristled. He’d been in the Army and wasn’t about to let some pint-sized sailor show him up. Del downed the eggnog in a single gulp and handed Herman the empty cup.
“Well, well. Maybe you’re not as soft as you look,” Herman said. “Care for another?”
“Bring it on,” Del replied.
“Okay, but you better get it this time.”
Del retrieved two more cups of eggnog and met Herman in a corner behind a knot of people out of view of the staff members. Herman drained off about an inch of his eggnog, then topped it off from a small flask he had tucked in his pocket. Del followed suit, but drained off an inch and a half of his eggnog before spiking it.
“Your eyes are watering,” Herman commented after they’d downed their beverages.
“I think I inhaled some nutmeg,” Del told him, wiping at his eyes with one hand while using the other to steady himself against the wall.
And then it was time to sing. The choir went through a medley of songs, ending with Del doing his classic solo on “Silent Night,” accompanied by Shane on the piano. Del was feeling a little buzzed from the brandy, but he knew the song inside and out.
Then, in the middle of the second verse, the tender mood was interrupted by a noise like a chainsaw cutting through scrap metal. Del raised his voice in a vain attempt to drown out the racket while trying to determine where it was coming from. When he finally located the source, he was not surprised to see that it was Herman Vankowitz snoring in the back row.
The event finished up around 4:00 and the choir members headed out to the van. A good two inches of new snow had fallen while they were inside. As Shane tried to back the van out of its parking place, he accidentally went off the edge of the asphalt. The tires spun in the snow, kicking up rooster tails of mud.
“Put it in low,” one of the back seat drivers said.
“Don’t give it so much gas,” another instructed.
“Back up, then go forward,” a third offered.
The collective wisdom from the rear of the van was of no use. They were stuck. “Someone’s going to have to get out and push,” Shane said.
Del’s head was spinning a little but he dutifully took a spot at the right corner of the van. Missy Moore moved to the driver’s seat so Shane could add his muscle to the effort. “Give it a little gas,” Shane called out.
Missy did, and mud sprayed up into Del’s face.
“A little less gas,” Del said as he spat out wet gravel.
Missy tried again. The pushers strained. Del leaned into the van giving it all he could.
And the next thing he knew he was flat on his back, looking up at Shane and the other choir members. And Herman.
“What happened,” Del asked.
“You passed out,” Shane told him. “Are you okay? Maybe we should see if there’s a doctor inside.”
“I think it was just the eggnog,” Del said.
Herman coughed loudly and gave Del a pointed look.
“I’m lactose intolerant,” Del lied.
“Oh. Well, just stay there and catch your breath while we get the van out,” Shane said.
“Let me help,” Herman said.
“That’s okay, we’ve got it,” Shane replied, running his eyes over Herman’s skinny body.
Del and Herman watched as Shane and the other men pushed at the back of the van. It was only digging in deeper. Finally, Herman could take it no more. He strode up and put his shoulder against the back doors. Veins bulged out ominously in his neck.
But the van popped free almost immediately.
“Thanks,” Shane said to Herman and shook his hand.
“My pleasure,” Herman replied. “Hey, before you go, let me take Del inside and get him cleaned up. He’s soaked.”
Shane agreed and Herman led Del in through a side door and to his room. It was a double room. Herman’s roommate lay in the bed by the window hooked up to a bunch of machines. “He’s in a coma,” Herman told Del, as he opened the door to the small private bathroom.
When Del was finished cleaning up, he came out and thanked Herman for his hospitality. “Could I ask you a favor?” Herman said. “My roommate’s a Christian. His favorite carol is ‘In the Bleak Midwinter.’ He used to hum it constantly during the holidays. Drove me nuts. Would you mind singing it for him? You said you know it.”
Del was taken aback, but he readily agreed. He sang the hymn in his deep, creamy baritone to the comatose gentleman as a tear worked its way down Herman’s right cheek.
When Del was finished, Herman thanked him and shook his hand. “See you next year,” Herman said.
“Have some of that special eggnog ready for me,” Del replied with a wink. Then he headed out to join the others for the ride back to the church. It had been a pretty good way to spend a wintry afternoon, Del thought.
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