Steve and I reached a compromise. After he requested ham for Thanksgiving in addition to my stuffing muffins, definitely made to accompany turkey and not in any way compatable with ham, he agreed to turkey in November and ham in December. He'd get to (have to) cook the ham. Grandiose menu plans quickly were reduced to four simple items. He glazed a spiral-cut ham, provided a can of cranberry jelly (with unexpected texture this year - hooray!), and cornbread mix was baked as muffins. Desert was a choice of two varieties of ice cream. All was delicious, and nobody overextended so much the holiday became a work day. (Why did nobody think of this before?)
II: Under The Tree:
Presents were opened after lunch. Anybody familiar with me as a child will be impressed with my restraint. Not only were all the mailed items not opened on the spot, but I never peeked to see what Steve got me. There was a lovely bag stuffed with colorful tissue paper. No taping fancy wrapping paper around a gift to seal it from view. Just restraint. I'd had to relocate it a couple feet as the collection of presents grew, so I knew there was some kind of heft to whatever the bag contained. It would have been so-o-o-o simple....
The wait was worth it. Inside were two books, both ones I had considered getting these last few months but decided against due to budget stretching. The first was "Whose Boat Is This Boat?", offered through Steven Colbert with proceeds going to hurricane relief. It's a simple little thing, quoting statements by Trump that are "unhelpful" after such a disaster. It's also hilarious, the full combination of text, illustrations, and commentary on the dust jacket. Not a word is to be missed.
The second book was Rachel Maddow's newest book, "Blowout". Signed, even. Now I had heard "a" story after a shopping trip Steve and Rich had made. "Somebody" had seen the stack on a table and "a" customer had just taken the last signed copy as they had gone past. I never dreamed who that somebody had been. As soon as things slow down a bit, it'll be read cover to cover, then treasured in the library. (FYI, the library is what most folks would have called the 3rd bedroom, before it got converted with floor-to-ceiling shelves on 3 walls by Paul. And yes, they're nearly full already.)
Not all the presents were as unpredictable. The annual family calendar was there. Krystal has again made a photo calendar where each month features a collection of family - both sides - photos from the previous year. So not only are Steve's kids and grands depicted, but mine also, along with some where we appear from summer visits. The most head-scratching one was a selfie Steph had taken. Rich identified the background as her bathroom, both by what decorated the walls and by the bottom edge of the mirror. She had something dark and long hanging from her mouth, and it took a X-mas phone call to finally figure out that it was a barrette and she'd been fixing her hair.
There were less predictable presents there. A sister-in-law, Alta, had sent us kitchen towels, somehow knowing this was the year where I was finally ready to throw out the old ones... once I could finally locate something I could stand to have in the kitchen! These will do beautifully. Steve got flannel jammy bottoms which he loves in this cool house, and I got a cozy nightshirt with a holiday theme. I surprised the guys with chocolate oranges. We'd discussed how they hadn't been on store shelves in recent years and how much we missed them. So I went online. When the box arrived, it sat unopened behind my chair for weeks before I opened it and wrapped the individual oranges.
Much of Christmas wasn't something that could be wrapped. There was being able to talk to each of my kids, some of which are extraordinarily hard to connect with. There was the help in the kitchen, or just all those small moments of appreciation for one another. And we mustn't forget the promise to get the big tree out of the house for good! Next year's presents will include procuring a tiny tree, just big enough to hold the three strings of Steve's bubble lights.
III: The Less Fortunate:
Speaking of trees, it's going to be donated and picked up for somebody needing one. While Steve's been sleeping, the lights and ornaments have been removed. Once I post this, branches will be detached and compacted, loaded up into their container, and set outside. Help may be needed for that last bit, of course, along with moving the dining table back into its usual spot.
I've had the opportunity to pass by a "tent city" of the homeless this year, and gotten details of how life is lived outside of, as well as inside of, a homeless shelter. Tents - simple camping tents for whatever they're worth - are lined up along the spaces between sidewalks and curbs. Often a wheelchair, walker, or purloined shopping cart sits outside, even in the rain. This area stretches for several blocks in both directions. These are the people locked out - by a gate controlled by a guard inside one of the buildings - of the shelter compound. For whatever reason, they don't qualify for entry. It may be a combination of lack of space and a waiting list, unwillingness to abandon smoking, alcohol or other drugs for even long enough to sleep in a cot, mental illness, or other reasons.
Trash is an ongoing problem, ironically exacerbated by the holiday giving that picks up this time of year. Whether it's the food that is distributed, or necessities like backpacks with toiletries and space for other items, or new shoes, socks, or whatevers, they all produce trash. There are occasional garbage cans overflowing along the streets, and dumpsters near the buildings. The need to wait in a line for an hour or more to get your handouts regardless of weather conditions does not negate the casual disregard for wrapping, paper plates with whatever food remains, even when there may be a freshly emptied container for waste.
Once one has whatever one wishes to keep, there is always the battle to keep it from being stolen. Those inside shelters are not immune. Space is provided for larger bags of clothing and personal items on shelves inside a room accessed through security personnel. Unfortunately, this is no guarantee it will be there when next one visits. The backpack may be fastened to a spot under the cot one sleeps on, but this is also no guarantee. Once one rises through the system, using system resources to prepare resumes and secure a job, and continuing during that time when the job does still not equate to housing access, more private locked space is available, a last step to - hopefully - economic independence.
Rising through the system has other advantages. No longer are you kicked out by 7:00 AM and required to return before 8:30 PM or forfeit your bed. They recognize many first jobs are shift work and relax the rules to encourage that. While two meals a day are given to "all," this translates to those who manage to get in line both before the clock runs out and while food still lasts. Whatever the current AZ term for food stamps is, those are also part of the system, and Phoenix downtown is no longer part of the "food desert" now that Fry's grocery has just opened a store there.
Laundry is a challenge. Machines are on site, but with 800 people accessing them within 2 hour designated slots, personal hygiene is a challenge. Some part of that trash buildup outside the gates includes socks worn until the stench drives the most inured to tossing them, likely because they have finally been given a second pair. At least there is access to wardrobe items suitable for job interviews, and longer if needed for the actual job.
IV: Feeding The Birds:
Understand that this was not the original intent, this particular brand of charity. This had been planned long before for the unrealized event of having a friend with celiac disease over for a meal. Rummaging through the freezer I came across a loaf of gluten free bread. Ah-Ha! I had brats in the fridge in need of eating while still safe. This was X-mas Eve, mind you, and I had actually dressed up a bit for the occasion, even though it was just Steve and myself to impress. My outer layer was a pink shirt. It turns out, predictably, that gluten is what holds bread together when you bend it around, well, anything. I bit, the brat squirted, and mustard- and ketchup-coated chunks of bread decorated my sleeve and shoulder along with the grease splatters.
Imagine my delight. So, stop everything, toss out the rest of what I'd thought was going to be my supper, and locate something grease-free big enough to hold the shirt covered in soapy hot water. I might have thrown it in the washer but I'd spent the day doing 3 loads of laundry already and there was nothing to go in with it.
While it soaked, I took out my frustrations by mangling the rest of the loaf while it was still inside its bag, than taking it outside and dumping it next to the patio. I didn't care that rain was scheduled. Checking the next morning, I found that the birds hadn't cared either. Only the teeniest of crumbs remained, and they didn't last long. For those who think feeding bread to birds is a bad idea, take comfort in the fact that this loaf was chock full of whole grains and seeds. As for the shirt, all but one grease stain came out, and I dried and wore it the next day.
Where I promptly spilled something else on it! Seems that delicious ham glaze was also a bit runny.
V: An Unexpected Gift:
Thursday found me back in the club. This is my obligatory day to be there, as an officer, to assist where needed as not all those who volunteer actually show. Life happens. My project of the day was trying my hand on making tree-of-life pendants. I'd made one in a workshop months before and, having organized 50 pounds of beads the days before our formal celebration, I'd gotten the itch to use some of my beads this way. Both were sterling wire - I'm getting more confidant - and one used tiger eye nuggets, the second turquoise. I still haven't located the amethyst or malachite nuggets, but I'm sure once I finally finish organizing the rest of my two tables of supplies, I'll locate them. I'd taken garnet nuggets as well, only to find out they had never actually been drilled! RIP OFF!
Hey, anybody want some?
Meanwhile, our incoming club president breezed in with her projects, and passing me asked if I had gotten my phone messages. Did she mean texts? Since she did, I gave the the spiel about how my flip phone didn't do those, and either actually call me or email me, please. Turned out she had a reason for wanting to get a hold of me. She had a present for me, if I wanted it. She's a painter, among her artistic talents, and we'd been emailing about our respective blogs and how much I loved her work and wished for the budget to more substantially appreciate it.
She offered me a painting! Now she stressed that it was a copy, using some (jargon jargon bad memory jargon) kind of printer that produced them as if they had been actual paintings. She'd sold a bunch of copies of this one, but was no longer doing all those shows, and this copy had just been sitting in her garage. Did I want it? OMG YES! We headed to the parking lot, and switched it into my car. Following is an excerpt of my morning email to her, a more elaborate thank you than the hug from yesterday:
"Just wanted to let you know how much we both love your
picture. The second Steve saw it, he answered my question of where to
hang it. Did he like it enough to put in the living room? Or should I go
to my bedroom where a lot of my favorite art hangs? DEFINITELY the
living room, on the wall behind our chairs.
This
means we have to find the excuses for studs they put in the walls back
in '61. Building codes were ... uh ... less stringent than I'm used to.
Studs aren't necessarily 2x4s, and why bother with 16" centers? We've
found variability up to 21" spacing, especially in the outer walls where
they are backed by bricks. We absolutely want it secure once it goes
up, so it's sitting in the living room in front of some display
cabinets.
This gives us an
added bonus: we can see and study the picture this way, since those
parental eyes-in-the-back-of-our-heads have quite atrophied from disuse.
In addition to its beauty, we have a perfect vantage point to how its
colors change in the light. Natural light, whether sunny or various
stages of cloudy/rainy, or various combinations of interior lighting,
all bring out different colors and emphasize different parts of the
picture. Right now it's emerging from light and dark shadows and the
yellow is beginning to wake up, while blues and greens still hide. The
peach/tan/orange dance has begun, and as the sky outside brightens we'll
see the blue of the upper right corner emerge. The purples will be
last, I think, as they were the first to hide last night.
Right
now we are still fascinated by this spectacle. In a few weeks I'm sure
it will become background, as all things new must, and we'll be less
reluctant to actually locate those studs and hang it. But for now, I
just wanted you to know how much we both appreciate your gift."
By the way, for those curious, it's a Sonoran desert landscape.
VI: A Lost Relative:
We got an invitation to dinner for last night. A couple years ago I met them both, driving to a middle-distance spot in California for lunch. Robb - well, only Steve tells me about his background, though he could well spend hours bragging about it and all the famous people he knew and worked with. Robb is secure in who he is and was, and appears to greet people on who, not what, they are. The reason Robb reached out to Steve via Facebook back then was that he was fostering a very young Brundy who needed better parenting. I won't go into details. A lot of effort and research turned up the relationship to Steve (beyond just a fairly rare last name) through a distant uncle. Generations later there is a very sweet kid named William. We're trying to get beyond "Little William" now that he's old enough to speak his preference. Steve is simply "Uncle Steve" rather than "whichever cousin how many times removed." Robb is currently working on adopting William, and going to the effort of connecting him with lost branches of the family. I have to say, Steve is an excellent choice, that big heart of his being why I married him.
Speaking of Steve and choices, we of course arranged to meet in his favorite local Mexican restaurant. It was supposed to be a slightly late lunch at 1:00, good both for us and, we presumed, someone coming out of California and a different time zone. A short call informed us that it would be more of an early supper. This wasn't just the worst travel day where everybody was clogging roads to get home after X-mas. This was also the day of heavy snowfall over southern California. Freeways weren't just clogged, many were shut down. At the time scheduled for lunch they hadn't gotten near to clearing the state yet, and their route was "just" impeded by pouring rain. We finally connected a little before 5:00 PM. The delay did nothing to dampen the occasion when it finally happened, except that William had stayed up late the night before they left, and had a little trouble keeping his head off the table once it was cleared.
Pictures were taken, including full group shots graciously done by a fellow diner on his way out, texted to Steve, and emailed to me, so we can all enjoy reliving the experience. I mean, besides the required workouts for removing a few gratuitous bulges here and there.
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