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Through the years, Tom’s parents have sent us ornaments from their earliest Christmas trees as well as ornaments Tom might remember from his childhood. Two of my favorites to hang each year are from these mementos of their family history–and also happen to be two from among my favorite characters of all time. There are a lot of good life lessons to be learned from the Peanuts gang.
The Famous World War 1 Flying Ace.
Linus playing the saxophone.
In mid May of 2008, I’d committed to go to the Saints and Sinners Literary Festival in New Orleans, where I’d agreed to moderate a panel. As it has on so many years, S&S fell on Mother’s Day weekend, and that year in particular, I struggled about being away and was on the verge of canceling. There were no particular new developments with Mother’s health. I was seeing her every day, and she’d been getting increasingly frail, and her memory might come and go, but she’d entered a new phase, one I was familiar with from the trajectory of my father’s illness, in which she was less engaged, more docile, more resigned.
Everyone told me I should go to New Orleans; Mother wasn’t going to know that it was Mother’s Day anyway. But I still wavered. I talked to her home healthcare nurse and her hospice liaison. If I wanted to, I could consider my weekend away respite care, and she could be moved into hospice for those few days. But they felt like she was doing well in her residential care home and thought the move to and from the hospice facility might confuse her. I knew Tom would be in Houston to visit her and let me know if I needed to come home, but my decision was ultimately made when I received a call from Aaron’s mother, Lisa. Lisa said she’d bring Aaron to see his grandmother for Mother’s Day weekend.
That provided instant relaxation and made my decision for me. Not only did Mother and Lisa have a great relationship, but Lisa was especially sensitive to her health challenges, and seeing Aaron always delighted my mother. I knew I was leaving her in capable, loving hands with all of them.
After their visit, Lisa and I talked by phone. We discussed the changes from the last time they’d seen my mother, but mostly we talked about the special relationship between Aaron and his grandmother. Aaron was only fourteen then; I well remember what an awkward age that can be, and dealing with someone who’s in the last stages of her life must be particularly daunting. Not for Aaron, though. He was never shy about showing his grandmother affection, and Lisa said on that Mother’s Day, he climbed right into bed next to Mother and talked to her, laughed with her, and listened to her. The two of them had a great visit–I think it was probably their last one before she died on June 1.
At the beginning of this year, when I anticipated these legacy writing posts, I knew December 19 would be a special one. It’s Aaron’s birthday; he’d have been nineteen today. I had stories planned to tell about him, including that last Mother’s Day with his grandmother. I never imagined that he wouldn’t be with his family, that we wouldn’t be talking on the phone or texting or exchanging Tweets today. It’s been almost eight months since he died, and it still doesn’t seem real.
Mother was with Lisa and David the December day when Aaron was born. I wasn’t there, but they sent me lots of photos.
Mother holding her fifth grandchild.
Baby Aaron with his fingers wrapped around David’s finger.
A few days later, Aaron had his first Christmas.
David holding Bailey the dog, Mother holding Aaron’s older sister Heather, and Lisa holding Aaron. His big brother Daniel hadn’t moved to SLC with his family yet. His little brother Alex would be born a few years later.
Aaron the littlest baseball player.
These are the days I want to remember. That first birthday and every other day we were privileged to share with him. Aaron has always been given so much love, and he reflected it right back to everyone who knew him. I want to think of him laughing with his grandmother, teasing his mother, telling stories with his brothers and cousins, having conversations with his father, speaking with love of his sister, getting to know all of his extended family and our friends, especially Tim, Lynne, Lindsey, and Rhonda.
Tonight, Lindsey and Rhonda brought Starbucks, and we had a cookie feast, thanks to Marika and Puterbaugh, to celebrate Aaron’s birthday.
We miss you, Aaron, and we remember your beautiful spirit, your compassion, your humor, and your gentleness. We love you. Always.
“Lynne’s spending a day over here later this week,” I said to Tim. “Let’s go to Spec’s so I can stock up on liquor.” While there, I channeled Jimmy Buffett and Billy Idol and bought this.
Don’t let me fool you. Lynne’s not going to drink this stuff. Nobody is. We have our annual BAKING DAY coming up! I also stocked up on these things:
Tucked into this collage: Thirty-three years* of cheese straw, cookie, brownie, divinity, fruit cake, rum ball, bourbon ball, brandy ball, and sausage ball culinary traditions. Let’s eat!
*We are Southern. Of course we began baking at age two.
OH. Also, in that top photo: Notice Tom’s Star Trek birthday tree in the background.
OH, again! WTH is on that Bacardi bottle? A bat? Is Bacardi the choice of vampires everywhere? No need to answer. I already Googled.
Mother lived in Houston three different times. During one of the Christmases following her last move here in 2004, we went to Green Acres to have Christmas dinner with Lynne’s family, including Craig’s daughter April, son-in-law Nick, and their two sons. It had been probably ten years since the last time Mother saw Trey and Tyler. Tyler was either a teenager or about to be. When Mother said to him, “Do you remember that I used to hold you on my lap when you were a baby?” he gave her that look that means (1) I never saw you before in my life and (2) I hope you don’t think I’m going to sit on your lap now, Crazy Lady.
At the time, I couldn’t remember if she was mixing up the boys–because it was hard for me to keep up with her many moves and what years they happened. But today, going through photos, I found her proof.
Mother with Tyler in 1995.
Too bad I didn’t remember this photo at the time. I’d have coerced him into sacrificing his dignity and letting me reshoot the two of them all those years later. I think his expression would have been the same.
What is more smile-worthy than a handsome man on his way to shower a princess with lots of pink-wrapped presents? Tim was kind enough to let me get a quick photo before he left for Hanley’s fourth birthday party. Throughout the event, he Tweeted photos and showed me a few more when he returned to The Compound. Life looked pretty good at Hanley, Inc. on Sunday.
There was another birthday party happening this weekend, a little more to the northeast of us. My beautiful grand-niece Morgan turned eleven on Sunday. My sister was able to be there for the event. She called me Saturday night sounding just a bit exhausted. I think it’s because she’s not thirty-five anymore–she can’t keep up with a posse of partying ‘tweens. I was able to snag this photo from Morgan’s mom’s Facebook page.
I remember the first time I saw Morgan. She was the last baby born to our family in 2001 after Abby in April, Camden in August, and Steven in September. They gave us so many reasons to celebrate in a hard year, and being able to snuggle a baby at Christmas again was the best gift I could have received.
Cherish the children in your life, and if you’re child-free, try to help create a safe place where they can be children. Sometimes it isn’t an easy planet.
“You mean this is all for ME?”
I’m not sure how old Daniel is in this Christmas photo. He’s sitting on the hearth in my parents’ house, and yes, probably most of those presents were for him. And that’s the way it should be.
The stocking hanging behind him is mine, and I still use it. It’s hanging from my own mantel right now. Some of those ornaments pictured are hanging on The Compound tree.
These are the things I need to think about right now. The wonderful memories. The traditions. The familiar. The children in our family–the ones grown and the ones still kids–and all the joys they’ve brought our family through the years. I have to remember the laughter to make more laughter. To cherish those good times to create more. To hold those I love close to my heart, even if I can’t hold them close in a hug.
I think it’s interesting when I look at photos of my mother’s that were taken the same time as photos in my own collection. I have a photo from the day featured below of my father looking very frail in his wheelchair. She doesn’t have anything like that.
It was the last Christmas Daddy was alive. Mother spent all day, every day, at the nursing home where he was a resident. She left at dusk only because her vision didn’t allow her to drive at night. I’m sure that time was nightmarish for her, so when her grandkids came to visit, they are who she needed to focus on, and I don’t blame her at all.
The first photo is cut because she had it in a circular frame.
Daniel, Mother, Josh
Gina, Sarah
The boys look so solemn. Probably we’d all threatened their lives if anyone did the bunny ears thing.
Debby, Mother, and me with weirdly similar hairstyles.
Josh looks like he’s up to something. I’ll bet bunny ears were creeping up behind his mother’s back, and Mother just took the photo before he was ready.
These last two are from my photos, and I rest my case.
‘Nathan, Anna, and John–all booksellers–decided to read A Coventry Christmas again this season, a chapter a day. They’ve Tweeted back and forth to one another about it, and ‘Nathan has been blogging it–the book has actually found new readers thanks to this–as well as enticing some former readers back. I think it has something to do with the retail storyline in the book, but regardless, I’m beyond flattered. Also, though it’s been years since I’ve read any book I had a hand in writing, there were times I didn’t remember plot points they were discussing, so I spent a few hours reading it again. That led me to reread A Coventry Wedding. I don’t think I ever read it after publication other than a quick survey to check for errors. There’s a sadness that runs through that book, and through its character Jandy, even though it’s a romance. It was where I put some of the sadness of things going on in my life during that time. I do find that I still love Keelie and Jandy, but Jandy hurts my heart a little.
‘Nathan and I play Draw Something on our phones. Well, HE plays on his iPad, and I pretend that it’s his larger drawing surface that enables him to send me masterpieces while I send him stick figures. The other night, he had the word “book” to draw for me, and he did this:
Not bad, huh? By comparison, I once had to draw “novel” in Draw Something for Timmy. I don’t think ‘Nathan has much competition, frankly.
To get back on topic: On ‘Nathan’s most recent blog entry about ACC, he shared his cover drawing, and Lisa in Iowa decided to poke me with a stick and tell him she thought that cover would have been better if the author name were “Betsy Cochrane.” Of course, she’s referring to the panel I moderated at Saints and Sinners, when this happened:
Now y’all know I’m accustomed to being called Betsy, Betty, Peggy, and Debby. But at least I always knew one thing would be right. When we were asked to come up with a single author pseudonym for the four writers who collaborate on the TJB novels–Timothy, Timothy, Jim, and Becky–the name Timothy James Beck made perfect sense. We were all included. It was an easy name, and lots of authors use three names, so it wasn’t weird to say or remember.
Or you wouldn’t think so. When we received the ARC (advance reader copy) of He’s the One, our second novel, we all loved the cover. And then we turned it over…
Notice anything wrong?
Fortunately, the real cover was fine, and I was no longer Black (for no apparent reason).
Wednesday night I couldn’t stop laughing when reading the feeds for the Twitter trending topics while the 121212 concert for Hurricane Sandy relief was being shown live worldwide. No one would call a lot of the talent hot and happening, and there seemed to be a universal consensus that Roger Daltry needed to button his shirt. But I think classic rock and roll transcends generations, plus I suspect the organizers were aiming for a demographic who’d be willing and able to donate. I had no complaints because I saw some of my favorite performers and heard some of my favorite music. I even forgave them for including Roger Waters because Eddie Vedder sang “Comfortably Numb” with him. (This is no judgment against the music of Pink Floyd. That music just happens to be irrevocably tied to a bad time in my life.)
I relished every bit of Sir Paul McCartney’s performance, and dang, he and the reunited Nirvana sounded kickass together. Plus Michael Stipe made a surprise appearance to sing with Chris Martin, and I love R.E.M. and don’t hate Coldplay, so that was cool.
But really, what will always make me giddy is seeing that no matter how old the Rolling Stones get, Mick Jagger still struts like it’s 19-sixty-something, and good on him. I’ve seen the Rolling Stones live twice. The first time was in 1989 for the Steel Wheels Tour. Here’s the ticket, and forget everything else except THAT TICKET PRICE!
Just for the sake of comparison, if you’d been able to buy a ticket directly from New Jersey’s Prudential Center for the Stones’ December 13, 2012, show there, you possibly could have gotten it for $95, if all those tickets hadn’t already been purchased by resellers. If you tried to buy one right now, the cheapest seat in a section similar to my seat is $373.
Sure, my seat was “limited view,” and by limited view, they meant, “You will be sitting so high in the Astrodome that you’ll be required to shoot a beam from the top of your head to warn away aircraft approaching Hobby Airport. But whatever, it was the ROLLING STONES, and they had huge screens so I never missed a minute of Charlie Watts looking dapper and cool, Ron Wood looking like Rod Stewart with dark hair, Bill Wyman looking like Bill Wyman, Keith Richards looking–yep, still dead–and Mick looking like a rooster on speed.
I don’t remember when we bought our tickets, but we already had them when I began working at the bookstore that fall. I was sitting in the office with our manager, Tim W, and the other assistant, Christine, and they were telling me horror stories about what the holiday retail season would be like and how we’d be working all the time, etc., and I said, “I don’t care. I can work as much as you want me to, but I have to be off the night of November 8 because that’s the Rolling Stones concert.”
Up to that point, Christine and I had gotten along like gangbusters, but at that moment, fire came to her eyes. See, I liked the Rolling Stones, but what I didn’t know was that Christine and her husband John LOVED the Rolling Stones, probably more than I ever loved any band, maybe even the Beatles. They probably did NOT have limited view seats, and they probably paid a lot more for their tickets than we did. And here was this new assistant manager asking for the one night off that Christine had counted on getting.
For a few moments, I feared for my life, then Tim W said, “No problem. I’ll work that night and do the turnaround.” (Turnaround being our term for what ‘Nathan calls “clopen”: close that night, open the next morning.)
“I’ll be glad to work the morning shift on the eighth so Christine can be scheduled off!” I hastened to say.
So it all worked out, and Christine and John remain in our lives all these years later, and I still adore them, and I still poke Christine with a stick about Keith Richards being dead every chance I get.
This is me, sitting at the desk in the bookstore office. Christine is in red, and the girl in green–or is it blue?–is Alison, who was in high school then and working part time. Alison was British but had no accent unless I begged her to, and I used to call her my daughter, even though I’d have had to have given birth to her very young. I wish I had photos of all my favorite people from Bookstop, but those were the days before digital cameras, film was expensive, and if you knew what my salary was then, you’d wonder why no one put on a concert called Becky Aid.
I didn’t ask my nephew if I could steal this photo from him, but I think my family expects such larcenous behavior from me now.
Daniel was thrilled to get this early Christmas gift from his mom. I’m serious; he loves it! So do I, and probably so would anyone who grew up seeing the Peanuts Christmas special every year. I see this tree and I hear the Snoopy dance music and can visualize the scenes from the show as if I’d just watched it.
Back at the beginning of April, I told the story of the little Christmas tree I put in our house in Tuscaloosa to surprise my roommates. I was going for the Charlie Brown effect.
Except Joe came over for dinner, and it made him sad for us, so a few hours later, he showed up with a tree that filled half of our dining room. We had no ornaments. So we had a tree decorating party and made some of our own. And do you know, I only have a couple of photos where you can almost see that tree in the background, because I was taking photos of all of us–I forgot to immortalize the tree!
You can see the top of it behind Carreme, me, Debbie, and Pat. Looks like the Pink Panther became the tree topper.
Mary Ann may not look happy in this photo, but I don’t think I ever saw her in a bad mood.
Eat it, string it, put it on the tree, or wear it; whatever works!
Here’s Joe with Debbie, who’s striking a pose and eating a graham cracker. Traditional holiday fare of students everywhere.