Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat
Please put a penny in the old man’s hat.
If you have no penny, a ha-penny will do.
If you have no ha’penny, then God bless you.

Traditional Nursery Rhyme

I grew up in a smallish Nebraska town but I wasn’t really a country girl. My parents’ business didn’t directly involve farming, though we sold plenty of baked goods to farmers every weekend when they would come to town to do their weekly shopping.

We lived right in town, in a small brick house on 18th Avenue, one of the main through streets in Columbus. Our house was about a quarter mile from Highway 30, a highway that runs all the way from New Jersey to Oregon and incorporates the famous Lincoln Highway which runs from NYC to San Francisco. While some of my uncles were hunters, my dad wasn’t. I don’t know if he was just not interested or if he simply hadn’t the time for a sport like hunting.

My lack of knowledge about the intricacies of nature became apparent when I was in journalism school. One of our mandatory classes was photography. Back then, most reporters — at least those who worked for small newspapers — took their own photos. I liked photography, though I wasn’t particularly good at it.

I don’t remember what our assignment was, but I remember the photo very vividly. It was a photo of a flock of geese swimming on and around a lake in Boulder. It was a pretty good photo, as I recall. I know I just said that I remember the photo vividly, but the truth is that the photo itself is a bit of a blur. What I remember vividly was the grade I received for the photo, and the professor’s comment.

A flock of ducks enjoy an afternoon swim on a sunny October day, my captioIn read.

“Nice photo,” said the professor. “But those aren’t ducks; they’re geese. Details matter. C-.

What the heck. I guess at that point in my life, I couldn’t tell the difference between a duck and a goose. Go figure. Nowadays, I would definitely know.

When we lived in our house in southeast Denver, we saw geese, especially if we were visiting a park. But near the foothills where we currently live, nestled inside of trees on all sides, the geese are here, and are making themselves known this time of year.

They fly in wonderful V formations, and I can’t help but stop and look at them as they fly overhead. Yesterday morning, one of those formations flew overhead as I walked back to our building after grocery shopping. I heard that geese calling and looked up. I wondered — and still do — how they pick a leader. There is always one goose leading the flock. Yesterday, one of the geese flew off course, and I’m guessing that all of the squawking had something to do with his casual attitude towards disciplined flying formations.

I see (and hear) geese flying overhead all day long. I’m not sure if they are preparing to move elsewhere for the winter. Those I saw yesterday were certainly not flying south. In fact, they were flying dead west towards the mountains.

Maybe that’s what the unruly goose was trying to tell them.

When Bill and I became serious about Wind Crest, we were driving here for the millionth time to look around and try to make a firm decision at last. Despite our many trips here, it was only then that I noticed that there were railroad tracks that ran past the development. I’m not talking about light rail, though there is a light rail line not far from here. I’m talking about heavy tracks for regular old choo-choo trains that haul goods and people (mostly goods here in the United States) from one place to the other.

“Ooo!” I said to Bill with excitement. “There are railroad tracks right here. I wonder if you can hear the sound of the train from the apartments.”

Bill didn’t know the answer to that question. But he did know that I wasn’t expressing concern about the sound of trains being a bother. He knows enough about me to know that the sound of trains would be wonderfully familiar to me.

I grew up in a midwestern community where trains came through town frequently. During my formative years in that community, I’m pretty sure Union Pacific ran a train through Columbus every 15 or 20 minutes or so. At least it seemed that often to me. I remember that it was never a good idea to run late if you were making your way from one side of the town to the other, because the chance of being stopped by a train were about as high as the chance of the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center lighting up the first time it’s plugged in. (Although, to be honest, I can’t quite envision an electric cord running from the giant tree to a plug-in in the NBC news building.) There was only one viaduct in town by which you could drive over the train. Though the town was small, it still was inconvenient to drive over to the viaduct if you were in a hurry.

The trains were loooong. And at that time, they had a caboose, with a human on the caboose. That human likely had some sort of important job on the train, but as far as I was concerned, his only job was to wave to the kids standing near the tracks as it whizzed by.

I had a number of relatives who lived near the train tracks. In fact, one of my uncles lived literally across the street from the tracks. Another lived a couple of blocks away from the tracks. Shortly after Bill and I were married, we visited Columbus. My aunt and uncle graciously offered to let us stay with them. That night, Bill remarked on the frequency of a train passing by, tooting its train horn to warn cars and pedestrians that they were coming. He had difficulty sleeping, but the sound of the train was soothing to me.

After we moved into WC, I forgot about the train tracks. I forgot, that is, until the other morning when, for whatever reason, I heard the sound of a train whistle for the first time. I stopped what I was doing and could hear the sound of the train passing by on the nearby tracks. Since that day, I have heard the train every morning, and some afternoons. I don’t know why suddenly I can hear the train, but I will tell you that it makes me feel happy to hear that familiar sound.

A night or two after Bill and I moved into Wind Crest, we went down to dinner. We had made reservations but arrived quite early. At that point, we didn’t know the ins and outs of maneuvering the reservation system. At any rate, the restaurant staff — all of whom are high school students who work at WC — were very nice and asked if we minded sitting with another couple. Given that the alternative was to wait some time for a table, along with the fact that we were interested in meeting new people, we said we would be more than happy to share a table.

As we walked towards the table, I began to judge the couple before we even sat down. They didn’t look interesting and would probably provide boring company. In a lesson about judging books by covers (something I frequently do with ACTUAL books), the two people ended up being not only extremely pleasant, but very interesting. In fact, HE had been an astronomist in his professional career. She too had been a well-educated professional person but I can’t recall her career because ASTRONOMIST.

As the dinner progressed, the woman began pulling out storage containers from the sizable bag she carried with her. There were little jars and small-sized plastic tupperware containers. She looked at me and pointed out that every day that we eat a meal, we pay for a soup, a salad, two side dishes, an entree, and dessert. The price doesn’t change, she explained, if we choose to not eat soup AND a salad. No dessert doesn’t translate to a smaller bill. So both she and her husband order everything they are allowed to order, and take what they don’t want to eat home in the containers for breakfast or lunch the next day. By bringing her own containers, she wasn’t contributing to the problem with waste.

Wow. I wanted to be disgruntled, but I was too busy thinking that she was brilliant. I mean, he might be the astronomist, but she’s getting the most out of their money, and that’s no small thing. It isn’t cheap to live in our nice digs.

As the days and weeks have progressed, I have noticed that she is certainly not the only one who is bringing food home in containers they have brought to the restaurant. As I look around, many couples have large bags sitting on the floor beside their chairs that undoubtedly contain storage containers.

I will admit that I am taking baby steps towards that process. I confess that I have ordered soup and a salad, knowing full well that I’m going to take the salad home to eat for lunch with some tuna salad that I will make. Ordering dessert isn’t something that I thought I would regularly do, but if I take it home, Bill has dessert for lunch the next day and that makes him happy.

I still haven’t brought in my own containers, but I have been eyeing my many cloth bags that I have accumulated over the years and that managed to make the cut to move to WC.

Baby steps.

In an earlier post this week, I mentioned that it was really beginning to look a lot like Christmas around Wind Crest. I specifically mentioned just how creative the folks have been with decorating the shelves outside their doors.

My shelf makes me particularly happy…..

It looks like my tree is ready fall down, and the deer on the left looks like he just heard the sound of wood snapping indicating the possibility of a hunter. Still, I like my winter scene.

Many moons ago, my son Court made the nativity scene in his Catholic elementary art class. It’s a particular favorite of mine.

Have a great weekend. I’ll spend it trying to get my tree to stand up straight.

Turkey Day, Take Two
Bill loves Thanksgiving dinner. I mean the dinner. He also likes Thanksgiving, because who doesn’t love a time to gather with the people you love the most without having to buy gifts? But he loves the turkey and all its fixins’. So he was a very happy camper last night when we went to dinner at one of the restaurants at Wind Crest. He picked up the menu, and out fluttered a Thanksgiving Special. Turkey. Dressing. Mashed potatoes. Green bean casserole. Pumpkin and pecan pies. Done. Done. Done. Done. Sure, he very well knows that these were nothing more than leftovers from Thanksgiving Day. But given the fact that he could eat Thanksgiving dinner every week, he was very happy. By the way, their soup of the week was Turkey and Rice. Nice to know that even places like Wind Crest have to figure out what to do about leftovers.

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas
Just outside of each apartment at WC is a little shelf that residents can decorate as they see fit. In fact, they could not decorate it at all if they are willing to be the subject of gossip at WC. When we moved here at the end of September, it was All Things Halloween. There were such creative decorations! And the wreaths on the doors were amazing. After Halloween, things changed a bit as we moved towards Thanksgiving. My decorations were fall in nature, so I didn’t make any change. I probably was the subject of gossip at WC. The Thanksgiving decorations were beautiful. Beginning the day after Thanksgiving, Christmas came to WC. Not just to the shelves outside the apartments, but to all of Wind Crest. There are Christmas trees and pointsettias and lights and glitter everywhere you look. I took down my fall decorations and decorated our shelf for Christmas. My evergreen wreath went on the door. It’s been really fun to walk around and see Christmas come alive all over.

Career Paths
It’s been a week since three of my grands and one boyfriend decorated my angel tree. I can’t believe it’s been a week already. That night, we had some serious — and some not so serious — discussions about what we all wanted to be when we grow up. Addie, of course, is facing reality soon. She’s considering medicine. She would be a wonderful doctor or physicians’ assistant. Maggie Faith — a freshman this year — has four years to begin planning her future. As for Dagny, she is a junior this year, and her options are endless. She initially put forth to the group the idea of being a therapist. Her sisters quickly put a kibosh to that idea, citing the fact that you needed to be empathetic to help others with their emotional issues. Personally, I find Dagny as sweet as can be. Before the night was over, she had landed on being a mob boss. I’m going to try to steer her away from that career path.

I’m Ok. You’re Ok.
Every night around midnight, a WC employee (or several employees) walks the halls of Wind Crest and puts up a latch that is on each door. The next day, as soon as someone opens the door, the latch falls. If the latch hasn’t fallen by the end of the next day, it raises concern that something is wrong. Last Wednesday, just before midnight, Bill’s cell phone rang. As you can imagine, we both panicked, because no good news is delivered at midnight. I answered the phone, and it was someone from WC security. “Are you okay?” he asked me. I assured him that we were fine. He told me that when he was putting up the latches that night, he noticed ours had not fallen, indicating a possible problem. A light bulb went on in my head. I promised him that we were fine and explained that my grandkids had visited the night before. “One of them probably thought it would be hilarious to put up the latch,” I told him. I’m sure he was so amused that his sides hurt from laughing.

Ciao.

We woke up yesterday morning to the ground covered with snow, and more coming down. It wasn’t a surprise since the weather folks have been telling us that it was coming for a few days.

What I really woke up to was the sound of snowplows cleaning the snow from our parking lots and sidewalks. It was 4 o’clock in the morning. My first inclination was to be annoyed. But even at 4 a.m., a couple of hours before the sun came up, I stopped myself from being annoyed and instead, was grateful for the hard work of those diligent workers. I think I must add that not only was it snowing, but the temperature was well below freezing. God bless those poor souls who were braving the bitter cold to keep the area safe for me and the other residents. In hindsight, I wish I had taken them a cup of hot cocoa.

As for me, I was not ABOUT to brave the cold and snow. I put a heavy sweater over my nightgown and a heavy blanket over my lap and waited for the sun to rise as I checked my email and read my novel and drank my big cup of hot coffee. When the sun finally came up, I opened our shades and looked out at the snow that was still falling. I was so grateful that I didn’t have a single reason to step outside.

The snow fell most of the morning. I finally convinced myself to get dressed somewhere in the neighborhood of 11 o’clock. Bill had already gone to play pool. He could get there without going outside. I’m not sure even the cold would have stopped him from meeting his friends to shoot pool because he has really grown to love the game.

Over the course of the day, I watched something like five Christmas movies, ranging from the amazing A Christmas Carol featuring George C. Scott to Christmas Kiss II, featuring actors I had never seen before. My favorite one was The Last Holiday, a Christmas movie starring Queen Latifa that will always score among my top five Christmas movies.

I took a break to make Bill and me some lunch, and then moved to the bedroom, where I nestled under the covers to watch the remaining movies. At 4:30, I came out of my bedroom with my eyes bleary and unfocused and told Bill I couldn’t watch another single Christmas movie.

Until the next snowstorm.

As many of you will recall, Bill and I had a great deal of help moving. Not only did we have the best real estate agent of all time, who figuratively held our hand throughout the process, but we had wonderful and caring movers, and amazing packers and unpackers. A new couple recently moved into Wind Crest just down the hall from us, and I observed that she had no one helping her unpack her boxes. Well, that’s not entirely true, as she had who appeared to be her children assisting her. But she had no professionals helping her unpack and put her things away.

As a result, when I greeted her late Wednesday afternoon, she looked very tired and discombobulated. When I asked what she and her husband were doing for Thanksgiving the next day, she looked sadly down at the empty boxes, and said, “I will spend the day unpacking more boxes.”

I will admit that there are plusses and minuses to the choice we made to have professional help. The major plus, of course, is that as it turned out, I had a pinched nerve which would have prevented me from doing any unpacking for days. The minus, however, is that to this very day, I have no idea where a lot of my things are.

Bill will ask me, “Do we have a tape measure?” I will answer, quite truthfully, that I’m 94.6 percent sure there is a tape measure someplace in this very apartment, but I have no idea where it is.

I can’t tell you how many times in the past two months I’ve had to try to put myself in the mindset of two women who barely knew me and guess where they would have put our things. Like our tape measure.

Most recently, here are some of the items that I’m certain are in this apartment but have absolutely no idea where….

Poultry shears. I discovered last night when I was preparing my Cornish game hens that my poultry shears were nowhere to be found. I searched my kitchen from top to bottom to no avail. I used regular scissors, which didn’t work as easily as you can imagine.

Pearl necklace and earrings. I literally can’t remember the last time I wore my pearl necklace. Bill gave it to me, along with matching earrings, shortly after we were married. I occasionally wore it when I worked hard for my money, but I just have no real reason to wear them now. Because they were such a romantic gift, I want to know where they are. I know where they were as we prepared to move, and I have no doubt they are here somewhere. But where? Alas.

Handle cover for my cast iron skillet. Obviously, the loss of this item isn’t the end of the world. Nevertheless, it makes me crazy that I can’t figure out where they put it. I’ve searched the drawer where they put my towels. I’ve searched the cupboard where they put all of my cooking pans and skillets. I’ve picked through all of the things they put in my pantry, but I have been unable to find the cover. I finally gave up and ordered another.

Colorful serving dish. I bought a small, adorable plastic bowl with bright colors with a sole purpose to hold guacamole. I recently made guacamole, but when I searched for the bowl, I was unable to find it anywhere. While I realize I threw away a lot of things when we moved, I am entirely certain I would not have thrown this away. It had a specific purpose, and I would have kept it for that purpose.

There are likely many more things I will find missing as the days and weeks go by. It is almost certain, however, that these things will show up. The apartment simply isn’t that big!

No sooner is the last bit of dressing scraped into a Tupperware container and the last dab of whipped cream scraped from the mixing bowl with someone’s finger than Christmas shopping begins.

In the olden days (10 years ago?), people would trudge out to the Big Box stores at midnight to grab all of their Black Friday deals. I, myself, remember standing in line some 15 years ago in bitter cold to purchase a television set at the behest of my husband who, with his son Allen, headed to Chicago to spend the weekend with Bill’s mom. Who says I’m not a good wife?

Other than that occasion, I have never shopped a Black Friday sale. I don’t say that with any particular pride, because more than likely the sales are amazing. My biggest problem is that I hate to shop. Period. My second biggest problem is that as my stomach is digesting the day’s turkey and mashed potatoes, I have no idea what I’m getting anyone. It really doesn’t get any better as the season progresses.

I’ve never been a clever Christmas gifter. Someone needs to put a list right in front of my nose in order for me to know what to buy for them. It’s gotten even more difficult as my grandchildren have gotten older. I don’t know what kind of clothes they wear. I don’t know what they like to read. Lord knows I don’t know what kind of music they enjoy.

Bill is even worse. There will be a knock on the door, and Amazon will have dropped off a package for something Bill ordered. “Seriously?” I’ll ask him. “A month before Christmas, you’re buying yourself (fill in the blank)?”

“I wanted it now,” he will explain.

And, the trouble is, I can’t even get mad at him because I do the exact thing. If I want or need something, I order it. I am Amazon’s best friend.

So, as dull as it seems (and is), last year I gave the grands gift cards. I try to give thought to the store from which I purchase the card. I will try to do that this year once again in an effort to not be perceived as the Grinch.

Let the games begin.