It’s December. That hurried, yet celebratory time for family, giving, and receiving. We honor this month in a myriad of love, thoughts and actions. Christmas,Yuletide, Noel, Hanukkah and Festival of Lights, to name a few. However we celebrate, memories are likely to be readied, shared, and treasured. Over and over, this season of giving has accomplished that for me. 

First and foremost are those with my ever-present family of seven siblings. As children, we were poor in finances. Regardless of the circumstances, however, we put to use our rich spirited imaginations and giving to each other. Homemade or some trinket that cost a dime or two were often exchanged and treasured. A new pencil, candy cane, or perhaps a fresh orange. The best of times.

Years have passed since those childhood rememberings, however, our holiday lovefests have not.  With a vow of “No gifts other than a ‘White Elephant”’ (either homemade or less than $10.00 in value), we find more memories in our annual feasting and jabberfests. Sibs are now accompanied with children, grands, and a friend or three.  All in good fun, we keep our spirited love well nurtured. 

I would be amiss if I didn’t include my holiday memories while teaching. One of the most vivid of thoughts occurred during my first year. Nineteen young teens of varying disabilities had become my charge. Combine these youths with individual personalities and unpredictable hormone levels, anything was possible.  In addition, a full moon, and/or change in weather patterns aided and abetted in making our class of gaga fun. Upcoming holiday jitters made for the perfect scene of energized anxiety.

The usual simple construction paper chains of red and green adorned our room. Chatter of Christmas hopes consumed these teens. Hunting gear, cassette recorders, and the coolest of jeans were requested as a few of them mentioned “Santa”. Decorum and conversations were controlled and limited in an effort to keep a lid on frenzy. 

I reminded students that I did not desire gifts.  Repeatedly stressing, “No gifts, please. I ask for nothing.  All of you have shown positive efforts with your classwork and personal growth. That is your gift to me!” (After all, I did not become a teacher to receive boxes of Whitman’s Sampler, essence of Musk, or an endless supply of hand lotion.)

My efforts to convince them otherwise were not taken seriously. First and foremost was sweet, shy, Babbette. Her momma had recently died and she was in tight family love with her father and two older sisters.  A few days short of holiday break, she presented me with a small, hand wrapped bottle. I graciously accepted her act of love as I opened the gift.

Inside was a well-worn bottle of Avon’s Topaz. Out of the box, complete with a chip in the cap, I was aware of this gift’s origin. Broadly smiling, Babs could not contain her excitement. 

“I hope you like the perfume Mrs. S. It was my mom’s favorite. She used some of it before she died, but I just filled the bottle with water, so you couldn’t tell.”  

Classic giving of love and honesty! I was touched by Babbette’s sincerity and respect for her momma and me. I rose from my chair, opened my arms for a hug, and Babs took to me like a kitten. I was truly smitten.

Next with her holiday cheer was sophomore, Anne Marie. She proudly emphasized, “Mrs. S. I never gave one teacher a Christmas gift. You are my first. My mom and dad love you so much and wanted you to have this.”  Hiding her smirk, she presented a brown paper sack.  

As she pulled out the brightly wrapped and ribboned gift, I began to speculate. Its elongated boxish shape had me awonder. Afterall, this family owned a local party store and libations were a popular holiday item. I whispered to self,  “Do not go there. It’s chocolate covered cherries.”

Once again, gratefully thanking Anne Marie, I gently tugged at the wrapping. To my great surprise and awe, I gulped, “Oh my!”

Before my 19 cherubs, a 750ml bottle of Drambuie Liqueur had been revealed!  Appropriate oohs and aahs from the girls were in equal competition to the boys’ hopeful imaginations. No one commented except, of course, Miss Anne.

“My Dad, especially wanted you to have this Mrs. S. It’s so expensive and he only gives this to his best friends. We have Drambuie with my family every Christmas too.  My parents think of you as family. They love you Mrs. S.”

Gift of gifts! I was in a no-win situation. A Catch-22 of sorts. A most loving gift of thankfulness, yet one filled with illegalities in the public school, with minors nonetheless!  Ever polite, I thanked Anne Marie and her family. Making quick of rewrapping, I bagged up my endowment and placed it snugly in the locked closet. 

Just like yesterday, I continue to recall the real love of my family and many students. These priceless giving and receiving moments continue to leave me warm and appreciative. I ask for nothing more than their personal success with life. As they soak up self love and pride, I have received so much more. 

Lessons Learned:

Grateful, I ask for nothing more. In family and profession, I have had more days of gratefulness and satisfaction than heartache and pain. I continue to be ever blessed! 

Children are truly God’s greatest gift. Taken from Psalms 127:3, my life with children have been gifts that keep giving. Large, small, intimate, and silly. I ask for nothing more.

May you find gratefulness and love in this season of giving and receiving.

And as always, Thanks for reading!

Of all the writings I have penned in the last year, my greatest joy and ease have been those of family. A childhood of farm life sprinkled by the multiple personalities of seven siblings invariably led to adventuresome antics with a sense of secure well-being. Great memories, great satisfaction of a life well prepared. 

To lead and keep this show of shows operating smoothly, a consistent guide had to be present.  Who was most responsible for our many positive, character building, and loving memories? Once again my readers, I introduce you to the Chief Executive Producer and Director of “Eight Chicklets Strong”, sweet Momma.  

With the support of Daddy, Momma was most often the person in charge, manager of all things that made our house a home. As countless pennings have included her abilities to nurture, discipline, and empower family, Momma had to be resourceful is so many ways. Family first was her life objective and model for success. Second, were her many shortcuts. 

As previously composed, life on our small farm was work-filled, often tedious, with little time for boredom. If we weren’t playing outside, Momma seemed to invent odd jobs to keep our idleness busied. Planting, weeding, and picking gardens of vegetables seemed never-ending.  Fruit trees aplenty had our cellar filled with preserved jams, jellies, and applesauce. Enough butchered beef, pork and poultry added to the healthy food on the table. Yes, homemade everything. 

Momma kept farm and family humming with her many shortcuts of survival. One well-sharpened butcher knife, a pair of tin snips, and one long sewing needle were tools of her trade. The seasoned knife cut meats, scraped old wax from the floors, and served as a handy pair of scissors. No one touched that knife but Momma! 

Tin snips taken from Daddy’s tool box also served her well. Most often they cut up whole chickens in little time. Cut, snip, and ready for baking. In addition, Momma made good of the many fruit blossoms and pussy willows that we often plucked and presented her. Setting the chicken aside, she readied all twigs for a perfect bouquet! Tin snips ruled!

A simple sewing needle provided Momma with many a shortcut. First and foremost was her ability to create just about anything. With a swatch of fabric and her trusty Singer Sewing Machine, Momma whipped up clothing, comforters, pillows, and curtains. Us girls often had matching jumpers, skirts, and flannel nightgowns readied for fall and winter. Oversized comforters and bed pillows kept us sleeping like royalty as she feather stuffed and needled them together. In addition, she festively decorated windows with holiday themed curtains. Creative abundance while shortcutting the catalogs. 

Momma’s first aid was also a shortcut to the doctor. We did not frequent the medical experts as she kept ample doses of Merthiolate (that creepy, burning, orange stuff), Vicks, Bag Balm, and the one very long sewing needle in her first aid stash. The needle, often wiped clean with a dish towel, served as sliver remover and quick pimple popper. With a pinch, a slip with the needle, the sliver removed scar was dabbed with antiseptic, and we were back to playing. Seldom did we develop infection. 

Last but not least, Momma’s sewing needle served another shortcut of sorts. As a young teen, I so wanted pierced ears. Keeping the almighty dollar in her pocket, Momma secured my desire to be ear lobe decorated. Calling her sister, arrangements were made for the expense free service. 

Momma gathered up her chicks and headed to Aunt Mary’s.  Arriving, we found her kitchen table readied with towels, scissors, ice cubes, a rather large sewing needle, and a few cans of cold beer. My courage was challenged, however, outweighed by the coolness I would acquire with my piercings.

To begin my lesson in shortcuts, Aunt Mary and Momma made initiation and calm with a beer. School haircuts to cousins and my sibs followed as they were standard procedure. We giggled and gossiped while they were completed.  Tenseness began to build.

“Ok, Francie, you’re up,” cheered Momma. “Let’s get those ears froze so you won’t feel anything.”  Yikes, no turning back now!

With a large ice cube wrapped in cheesecloth, Aunt Mary pressed it firmly to my right earlobe. Sipping on her second brew, she became more relaxed as she continued to assure me that all would be fine. Deep breaths consoled me as the audience of siblings stared in awe. 

Once the lobe appeared to lose its feel, Aunt Mary centered an ink dot for the mark. With needle alcohol sterilized, she showed confidence and ready.

“Ok, Francie, here we go. I will push this needle through your lobe and at the same time Momma will follow through with the earring. Here, take a sip of beer and a deep breath. This will be quick and you won’t feel a thing.”

With a slow breath and a quick slug I pinched my eyes as the women made quick of their task. One lobe completed, one remaining. Applause as the surrounding kiddos approved. Whew, this was easy as I felt no pain.

The second lobe took a little longer. With an increase of beer, giggles, and confidence, Momma iced and marked the spot while Aunt Mary readied the needle. The task was not as quick, the feeling a little more evident, however, the piercing was complete! I was a rock starlette in the making thanks to these women of wonder and The Needle! 

All in all, shortcuts by Momma led to numerous memories and lessons in survival. Funny how the power of one strong family and a sewing needle can stitch the best of true gifts.

Lessons Learned:

Homemade and/or shortcuts do not equal poor. Often embarrassed as a child to give Momma’s homemade bread and jam as teacher gifts, I now realize the praises I received were genuine and sincere. As an adult, I so appreciate these lessons in homespun.

Always trust a good butcher knife and a well-appointed sewing needle.  Momma did this best. And no one messed with Momma!

Thanks for reading! 

The Tree of Life. A general term representing our personal development, beauty and uniqueness. Just as a tree takes root to strengthen and grow, we too, grow in stature.  Striving for greater knowledge, wisdom, and purpose during our time on this earthly planet (online dictionary). 

People, places, things, events; our Tree of Life. The good, the bad, and the ugly. It encompasses the many facets we weave and stitch to produce quality, quantity and fulfillment in our being. A lifetime of creating, our tree of living can only be as strong as we feed and nurture its roots and soul. 

Listening to a recent Sunday sermon of this very topic has caused me to reflect on my Tree of Life. How have I fared? Tall and mighty with roots deeply planted? Short, stubby, yet a bounty of lush green? Waif like with uncertain, fragile, fingered branches that take the flow of any and all winds? What has been watered, fed and pruned to produce in this short lifetime? 

Regardless of the size, shape, or health, my Tree of Life has been nourished with the gifts of others’ support. Yes, gifts. An overabundance of feeders and nurturers have sustained and assisted my development as a human soul.

First and foremost to my humble beginnings has been family. My greatest gift. Rich in the nutrients of love, I grew up with positive and courageous strokes of guidance and support. Parents of committed Christian values, seven additional siblings, and the richness of farm-fed experiences have all made their claim on my early roots. 

A most appreciated college education also added to my firm root system of life and living. What did not seem financially feasible, became a reality with the support and guidance of those teachers that continued to “water” my growth and strength as a future teacher. A college education:  the gift that kept giving. 

My Tree of Life would not have been as tall or strong without the gifts of new growth. Two dearly loved and admired branches of life: daughters Ruthie and Elli. These two sustainers have fed my mountaintop experiences time and time again. They each share and support a strength within me that give my life purpose and meaning.  Daily, I am ever grateful to my God for these young women of intense capability and self-worth.

How strong is your Tree of Life? Are you in the wilderness of loss and regret or are you strong and alive from having to nurture, tend, and water your personal growth? Whatever your present state, know that in order to grow, one must risk and seek. We must continually seek out to rejuvenate, replenish, and renew ourselves in order to witness and bear growth.  

Identify and “open” those gifts that have fed your tree. Whether they open to forward thinking, positive experiences or the negative, low valleys of life, take and accept. Continue to feed your tree with positives by stepping out of your comfort zone. Put those worries and negatives to sleep. Prune the worthless as to make way for the new growth of personal rewards.  Afterall, it only took one tiny acorn to produce a mighty oak. Continue to replant, resprout, and replenish! It’s never too late.

Lessons Learned:

One cannot climb and experience a mountaintop without first beginning in a valley. Our greatest rewards come from humble, often times, uncertain circumstance. Whisper these truths to give you comfort and peace as you climb. 

Fear of failure is our strongest guarantee of cowardice. It can also be an impetus to stepping out of our comfort zone to reroot and grow. Ultimately, we make the choice. 

In this season of rebirth, renewal, and life, take time to appreciate all that you are. Open and enjoy your gifts of self. And as always, Thanks for reading!

Coffee hour seemed the perfect place to start. Yes, Dunkers 2017. My initial community meet and greet here in the sunny south. With this being my maiden voyage of winter solstice in Florida, I opened myself to meeting new acquaintances of similar like. Some refer to this meet up as “Monday Morning Mugs”, “Tuesday Toasts”, and such. You get it. Whatever the call, we show, smile, greet and share. We are all retired, relieved, relaxed, and ready for another new chapter of happy.

Gathering at the clubhouse, Dunkers hugged, welcomed, and chattered their 100-plus souls. Immediately I was gladly greeted and received by several of the regulars. A most  welcome initiation to my slight anxiety. My cup was coffeed up and smiles shared accordingly. 

Sensing my newness to the meetup, I was offered a seat at a table of well-seasoned seniors. Thankful for name tags, we made eye contact and introductions. Podium centered.  Microphones checked. Peeps with beverage and sweets, seated, name tags in place, Dunkers was geared up and called to order. 

Sharing the mike were married couple, Max and Mary. A generous greet for the winter newbies and the seasoned. Adding to the festiveness of new, Max dryly read, “Welcome one and all. We’ve got a good crowd for our first gathering so let’s get started.  A man boarded a plane with six children. As he was helping them get seated, an elderly woman spoke, ‘Sir, are all of these children yours?’ Piped the man, ‘Well, you see, I work for a condom company and these, these are some of the recalls.”  Max in deadpan, searched the crowd.

Light chuckles gathered as Max continued, “A skunk, a deer, and a duck went out to dinner. The skunk had no cents. The deer had no bucks. The duck said, ‘I’ve got the bill’”. Again, light laughter followed by gentle groans. Regardless of the humor, I was liking this drama free initiation of sunny south sentiments. 

Mary kindly overtook the mike and added, “He’s got more, but I won’t let him share them. You all know why.”  Once again, Dunkers laughter sprouted. 

Two new ladies joined the podium. Rita shared those of the Dunker community who had passed during the recent summer. A few gasps as heads lowered in silent remembrance. Partner Rose replaced her friend as she took the mike while cheerfully changing up the tone, “Good morning all!  Who among us is having a birthday?”

As she traversed the crowd, a few celebrants proudly admitted their maturing ages of late 70’s and 80’s.  Oohs and Ahhs were joined with applause. Rose made an abrupt stop and added, “For those of you who don’t know, this here is Tony, our orchestra of one! Did you bring your harmonica today Tony?”

With pride and expertise, Tony retrieved an ever-worn, mouth organ from his pocket and waved it proudly.  Applause erupted. 

“Everyone, let’s sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to our celebrated bunch!”, shouted Rose. And just like that, everyone was singing to Tony’s rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. Gaiety had been restored as applause broke out once again.

Max and Mary returned to the podium with a parade of followers. Again, Max took the lead.  With tongue in cheek, “ Hey folks, here are a few one liners for those of us over 60…’People call you at 9 p.m. and ask, ‘Did I wake you?’ ‘Things you buy now won’t wear out.’ And this last one, ‘At our age, our eyes won’t get much worse!’”  Mary held out her arms as the audience chuckled with applause. Smiling, Max graciously handed the mike over as she calmly introduced the various committee chairpersons.

Each member shared the meet up for the week regarding their interest. Surprisingly, I was awed by the variety and extensiveness of activities. Puter Nerds met Tuesdays to troubleshoot and share any and all technology concerns. Mah-jongg, Dominoes, Euchre, Pinochle, Bridge, and Canasta had their set dates and times. Toys for Tots, Special Olympics fundraisers sprang to life. The usual pool aerobics, shuffleboard, tennis, and pickleball meetups took center stage to those of athletic mind and body. Activities and clubs overwhelmed as much as welcomed me. 

All in all, Dunkers was not as I had envisioned. It was not the weak coffee, stale donuts, community gossip with a weekly dose of BINGO I had imagined. Far from it!  This group of happy, well-rounded, eclectic, and truly welcoming souls had me. The perfect antidote for my anxious winter sojourn. Let a new chapter begin in my book of living! Welcome to new peeps, pause, and paradise! 

Lessons Learned:

Age is not how old you are, but how many years of fun you’ve had. M. Maldre. Reflecting on my life of over 60+ years, fun has been a frequent staple. I feel just as lively today on the inside regardless of my body’s endurance on the outside! 

Happy is my mantra. The alternative is much too difficult to live with or overcome.  Everyday, my friends, live your best. Onward and forward. 

Thanks for reading!