I mentioned the red sweater that my impoverished mother gave me sixty years ago and the gifts that the Jones kids gave us. Bill said, “Those are the gifts we never forget.
We’ve been married for so long that we’re running out of ideas for novel gifts. This year I thought that I’d come up with a winner for his December birthday. I made a reservation for dinner followed by a trio singing Christmas songs in the Cabaret Theater at the Columbia Club that serves excellent food.
Bill said nothing for a minute after he opened his card. Finally he said, “Well that’s one gift I’m going to have to cross off my list of gifts for you. I intended to go to the Columbia Club today and get a gift card for the Cabaret performance of your choice next year.” Drat! I really would have liked that!
We fell to reminiscing and remembered the time that his sister, Joyce, and her husband, Bill Drubert, gave each other the same present for Christmas. Even though house cleaning was not one of their passions, they gave each other dust busters!
I still haven’t forgotten nor totally forgiven one gift that Bill gave me many years ago. The note on a prettily wrapped present said, “You always wanted to go on a cruise!” “Hot dog!” I thought. I opened the box. Inside was a gravy boat.
Then there was the Christmas puppy with huge feet that the pet shop said was probably part Pekinese. Vicki named him “Rudolph-the-Red-Nosed-Reindeer-Dog.” Rudolph grew into a stupid galoot of a canine.
Last year’s Christmas gift was a cat. I no longer wanted a cat, but couldn’t refuse since I’d so often moaned, “I want a kitty!” She was small-headed, long and lanky with stripes and patches of black and orange. Her former owner who was allergic and the clerk at PetSmart were so hopeful.
I adopted her out of pity, but she has become the cherished diva of our home. Ms Kalico Kitty, a.k.a. Pusscatkin, has become a plump beauty with huge eyes who considers my lap her personal possession. She follows us around like a loyal dog and “snoopervises” everything that we do. Convinced that something lives in our printer, she obsessively watches it. One paw at a time, she sneaks onto my lap and rests her chin on the edge of my laptop. Bill is her playmate who throws her squeaky mouse with tail feathers for her to fetch like a dog. He chases her through the house, and then she chases him. He bought one of those circles with a battery-operated tail that amuses her. Alas, the little snip refuses to sit on his lap.
I remember a Thanksgiving at the home of Bill’s niece, Laura, and her husband. Bill’s widowed sister, Pat, had little money and shopped year-round for bargains to give as gifts. After her demise, her children discovered several drawers of items. After dinner, her grandchildren were allowed to choose gifts from her hoard to give to others. I’ll bet they never forget that just as I remember that I cried when the twin grandboys gave us $1,000 for a trip the year they got their first jobs as engineers.
Sometimes Christmas doesn’t live up to people’s expectations. I’ve come to understand in the wintertime of my life that Christmas is a mélange of joy and a poignant loss. Our friend, Jean, speaks feelingly of how much she and her husband miss her mother and his father who died in recent years.
My beloved niece, Dee Ann Jones Peredo who was like my sister suddenly died in December. Over the years, she gave us several beautiful or quirky ornaments. My eyes misted over when I hung them on our tree . . .
People pass away . . . red sweaters wear out . . . but memories last forever. wclarke@comcast.net