CHRISTMAS FROM SEDONA

The temperature was well below zero and snow was coming down in large white powdery flakes that stuck in the corners of the windows. I lay there on the rug in my pajamas, staring out the second story of the living room window that faced Lake Minnetonka. A fire was crackling, and empty stockings hung limp from the mantel waiting to be filled with goodies Santa was about to bring. The snow was so thick, it ran all the way down to the lake, then across to the tiny island in the Lagoon and it was difficult to see where the shoreline began. Skaters were beginning to congregate because the neighbors participated every year in shoveling a large donut shaped skating rink off the end of our dock. They played music and ice-skated late into the night, romancing one another in the comfort of layers of clothing. Thick fur lined mittens and Eskimo headwear to keep the ears from freezing in sub zero temperatures. Regardless how cold it was, this was a ritual the locals somehow managed to find good reason to partake. I noticed the hole in the side of the huge Maple tree in front of the window that a flying squirrel used as its nest. We would turn the floodlights on at night to spy on its nocturnal activities, gliding from limb to limb like a circus performer. Like Peter Pan on a quest to recruit me, I was fixated. One summer, I got stuck like a bat upside down while attempting to climb that tree to get a better look at his home. Mom had to rescue me from breaking my neck. Always loved high spots. She ran down the slope with a ladder over her shoulder in order to get up to where I was, grabbed me under one arm and lowered me to the ground. That was the last time she would be able to grab me under the arm like that. I grew like a weed and weighed like bag of bricks after that year.

Christmas was a very important Holiday to us. Not that we were religious. My father was a proud Atheist. This was fun time for adults as well as for children who awaited the delivery of presents. Some, of which would have better use in the spring or summer. As I lay there, I thought of my one-piece pajamas. The kind you slid into, complete with mittens and feet and a snap flap in the rear. Mine had little Teddy Bears printed all over. The warm colors of red, brown and green made me feel the distance from what I was watching going on outside down by the lake. A psychological trick with colors, this 5 year-old kid didn’t mind a window with a view, all toasty warm on a thick cushy rug while everyone else must have been freezing out there. I rolled over to take a look at the pine tree in the living room. It must have been 10 feet tall. The beautiful multi-colored glass ornaments hung with reflections coming in from the windows. Shining like little jewels, or better yet, Jelly Bean candy. When I pressed my face up close to one of those delicate, thin glass ornaments it was like looking into a funny mirror at a carnival. Huge bug eyes and an over sized mouth reflected back at me.

When I crossed my eyes, I could see twice the number. Sugar Plums tangled with little pastel ribbons. Each one individually wrapped in clear cellophane and carefully tied to branches of the tree. Every once in awhile I would snatch one, figuring there were so many mom would never notice. I began in the back of the tree on the window side facing the lake so the chance of my thievery being noticed would be slim. Then, when the picking began to get obvious, I worked my way around to the front of the tree before it got too sparse. Every year, I made sure I was the one to set up baby Jesus in the Manger, the miniature model of a stable, complete with a Cow, three Sheep, a Donkey, baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph gathering and hovering over the crib and an angel hung over the top up near the peak of the roof. The legs of one of the sheep had been broken and glued back on so many times you could see the thick crusty layers built up. The three Kings were out of the scene. They had to be placed twelve feet away from the Manger so as to coincide with the 12 days before Christmas. They would arrive just in time at the Manger to check out baby Jesus because I moved them one foot per day. This is how I kept track of how close we were getting to the big day. First thing each morning, each of them took a twelve-inch step closer. A cardboard fat happy Santa Clause sat up on the table near the kitchen. He came apart in two pieces so his belly could be filled with Cashew nuts on Christmas day. This was just one more habit of Santa’s along with leaving the remains of a cookie on the plate that was left for him along with a glass of milk. He always made sure to leave half a cookie with his teeth marks in it. To me, this confirmed his visit. All the stockings would be full, and presents overflowing onto the living room floor.

I got up from my place on the floor and noticed the moisture on the glass where my nose came close to it. I got a chair from the dining table so I could climb up to reach the magical pink Fairy who was flying around by the top of the tree. She was completing the decorating and hung from fishing line to make the affect more real. My mother made her. An ingenious creation from coat hangers and Styrofoam balls, she held a large pink ornament in her hands coated with shiny beads and a dangling necklace hung from the bottom of the sphere. She had thick white locks of yarn like Dolly Parton having a bad hair day, red glitter slippers, and dangled from the ceiling like an airborne Ballerina. I could barely reach her but got up close enough to give her a spin. She wobbled crazily like a small plane in heavy turbulence, eventually coming to a stop facing the kitchen with her feet stuck in the treetop. No chance of getting it right the next time, so I quickly jumped down and slid the chair back under the kitchen table where it belonged.

The big day was finally here. I actually heard Santa tromping around on the roof. My two sisters ran into my bedroom and dragged me out of bed to tell me the news. I wiped the sleep from my eyes, had to pee but didn’t, and made quick to the living room that was illuminated only by the brightly colored lights on the tree. Yes, there it was, I heard it, heavy boots on the roof. It was just getting light outside and I could see the snow stacked up against the trees down below. I ran to my parent’s bedroom and found only my mother, hastily gathering some last minute presents (Santa) forgot to put under the tree. At the time I never put two and two together when I noticed she was the only one in the room. At the time it didn’t matter anyway. Either way, I knew it was Santa and his Rain Deer making ready for the next flight up there. Mom told me to go back to my room or I might scare Santa’s Elves away and I might not get all that I had wished for. So this I did in a flash.

Another Christmas had sadly passed and I would grow another year older. As I grew, so did my knowledge of whom Santa really was. It would never be the same after that. Most of the fantasy would soon disappear with the passing of time.

ONE DAY….many years later, Christmas would take on a new meaning. I was 18 years old, and one of my sisters told me mom and dad were getting a divorce. We had moved to Florida in 1965 from that wonderful house on Lake Minnetonka in Minnesota. While escaping the cold, Christmas was no longer a white one. It seems Christmas wasn’t the only thing that was changing. That year, we had a huge tree that almost reached the vaulted ceiling in the living room of our home. The good fairy hung there, but seemed sad. The magic gone, and it almost seemed she had tears of glitter in her eyes. This would be our last Christmas together.

SEVERAL YEARS late when I turned 40, I too felt the genetic dissolution of my marriage. And again, it was just before Christmas. I stayed home, alone and bewildered. No stocking on the mantel, in fact, not even a tree in the corner where it used to be. I could still see the dried up needles from the tree from years before, still stuck in the edges of the doorjamb where I had dragged it in. It was cold out, and it was now Christmas day. I sat there on the rug, in front of the fireplace and didn’t have much desire to do anything, except cry. I was lonely and saddened by what used to be such a wonderful time of year.

Then… the doorbell rang. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and went to the front door to see who it was. It was my 16year old daughter stopping by just to give me a stocking and some presents. Now old enough to drive, she stood there in the cold with an armload. I invited her inside. I will never forget that day. From a deep depression I swung to a warm comforting high. She made my day. Like a little kid again, I sat there on the floor while she watched me open my gifts. I emptied out the treasures that bulged in the stocking and in the bottom of it, my favorite ribbon candy, all stuck together, fell like little jewels into a tiny pile It was then that I figured out the true meaning of Christmas. It’s not the gifts, the candy or surprises that await us in the morning, but the love we share with one another that makes this time special.

It really shouldn’t be just one day of the year, but if it is to be so…take the time to share it with a loved one. If you see someone on the street, send that person your love in a silent way. Unfortunately these days someone would think you are crazy, and just going up to someone and giving them a big hug might get you in trouble. Even if you are not verbal, I think the feeling can be felt. What we are doing here is creating a positive energy, a collective consciousness that will emanate more of the same. Even a cookie is a gift to a less fortunate person. You would be surprised to see the glowing smile on Christmas day, from a person who rarely is shown love from anyone. Love for Christmas….is all we need, though I never will forget those warm cozy times on that living room floor staring out the window to the lake.

Happy Holidays from Buster
and the rest of the Jerry Pippin Show dog family!

Walkin’ In A Doggie Wonderland

 Dog tags ring, are you listenin?
In the lane, snow is glistenin’.
It’s yellow, NOT white
I’ve been there tonight
Marking up my winter wonderland.

Smell that tree? That’s my fragrance.
It’s a sign for wand’ring vagrants.
“Avoid where I pee, it’s MY pro-per-ty!
Marked up as my winter wonderland.

In the meadow, Mom will build a snowman,
Following the classical design.
Then I’ll life my leg and let it go Man,
So all the world will know it’s mine-mine-mine!

Straight from me to the fencepost,
Flows my natural incense boast.
“Stay off of my TURF, this small piece of earth,
I mark it as my winter wonderland.”