MISS FLORA’S GARDEN, by Charlene Farnsworth

This is a story that reminds us that some people have a gift for creating beauty in the most ordinary of places. It also reminds us to take time to notice someone else’s beautiful creation. By taking time to stop and linger, Charlene and her mom prompted a life-long memory.

One day, Mom and I met a charming, very able octogenarian whose name I do not recall. For purposes of this writing, I think the name Miss Flora befits this lovely lady.

Mom and I were wearily returning from a shopping excursion when we spotted a well-kept, two-story, Victorian home. What particularly caught our eye was the magnificent rose garden on the south side of the house. We stopped curbside to enjoy the spectacular display. Although we were parked on a very busy thoroughfare, we felt we were alone, together, in paradise. The neighboring storefronts and noticeably less-charming housing that had encroached upon this “gingerbread” house over the years seemingly disappeared.

We wondered if we dared to knock on the decorative front door and, hopefully, meet the owner. We were anxious to learn about the history of this Victorian beauty. Knock, knock, knock ¼

Peppy, petite Miss Flora warmly welcomed us and asked if we would like a tour of her rose garden. Of course, we immediately accepted her kind invitation. She told us that she lived in the home until she got married. Upon the breakup of her marriage, she returned to the home and cared for her aging parents.

Remembering the information from Rose Hills on the proper care of roses, I asked Miss Flora, “Do you water underneath your roses and never overhead?” She replied, “I just stand with the hose and spray them!” I posed my next two-part question: “Do you fertilize your roses? By what method?” Miss Flora answered, “I just stand and throw the fertilizer at them!” So much for following the books for abundant, healthy roses!

Miss Flora then invited us on an extended tour of her yard. All along the north side of her “dollhouse” were camellias that reached the second story rooftop. Again, thinking how I always followed the garden books when pruning our own camellias, I asked, “Do you cut your camellias back after they have finished blooming?” Miss Flora responded, “No, I cut them back when I can’t drive my car by them!”

Miss Flora then walked us to the attached back porch which was adorned with hanging baskets of brilliant fuchsias. No more questions from me—just pleasant quiet among profuse color of every hue.

We then followed Miss Flora’s darling figure into her home where we enjoyed another feast for the eyes: a huge collection of elegant Venetian glassware—goblets, candy dishes, vases, etc. While inside, Miss Flora shared a little more about her life and the interesting history of her charming home.

We then thanked Miss Flora abundantly for brightening our day and, reluctantly, returned to reality.

Over the years, Mom and I reflected upon the little side excursion we took one sunny day, enjoying Miss Flora’s Victorian home and well-manicured gardens. Although quite small in stature, Miss Flora added a significant memory to both of our lives.

I Am From, by Dora Silvers

Do you remember the “I am from” poems that we were publishing last year? Here is another one from Dora. It is a multi-layered memory, all caught in a few short stanzas. Read it slowly and savor the essence of another era.

I am from the depression era.

From New Jersey (the garden state)
Cold winters and hot summers.
Sled riding after dinner,
then a hot sweet potato with lots of butter
From the Horse & Wagon for 1 cent.

Chicken and chicken soup on Friday,

when mama would light the Shabbat candles.

Papa said the blessing over a small glass of homemade wine.
Saturday  mornings, we read from the old testament.

Movies were 10 cents,
with cartoons and a serial continued every week.
Sunday, my aunt and uncle came from New York.
Mama made salami with scrambled eggs and knishes -
Pastry dough wrapped over mashed potatoes,
Fried and drained on brown paper bags,

before paper towels.

Things That I will carry into the New Year, by Yolanda Adele

This piece was originally published on this blog two years ago in January of 2011. The lessons learned are just as valid now as they were then.

I have learned that friendships can fill the void when family brings disappointments.

I have learned that grandchildren are God’s gift of a second chance.

I have learned from myself that change is necessary.

I have learned from the events of September eleventh that tomorrow is not a given.

I have learned from my husband that love brings comfort.

I have learned from my cat to nap when the tasks at hand are too trying.

I have learned from my homemaking that I don’t have excuses to be bored.

I have learned from my addiction to chocolate that some things are out of my control.

I have learned through my writing that I have something to say.

These are the life lessons that I hope to keep present in my mind as the New Year comes in with its new adventures and challenges.

 

 

 

I wish all my dear friends in my Memoir Group, Live Wires, and Writer’s West Workshop a New Year full of rewarding discoveries.

My Christmas Tamale Gift, by Annette Skarin

 

 

Steve and I put away most of our Christmas decorations today (though we still have plenty of work to do tomorrow to finish this task). “Putting away Christmas” is always a tiring job and involves so much after-Christmas clean-up. Yet it is a sweet time, in its own way. We listen to Christmas music for the last time of the season, and we remember the sweet and quirky moments from the last couple of weeks. We also give thanks for the gift of loved ones who have shared Christmases with us in the past – and some who have joined our family circle in recent years. So as we close out this season it is appropriate to post one more Christmas story. This one is a very special memory of someone who had a profound effect on Annette, an effect that continues to bless her many years later.

 

 

A few months before Christmas in 1996, I became close friends with a lady named Laurie. When I first met Laurie, she was wearing a halo, a metal one that held her neck together. She had two young sons, eight and eleven years old. Doctors discovered that she was in acute kidney failure from an inherited kidney disease. Laurie’s sister and mother had both died several years before.

Laurie smiled all the time. She expressed deep heart-felt thanks to God for her life, the eternal kind. She was thankful for her sons, thankful that she was on the waiting list for a kidney transplant, and thankful for our friendship. Eventually Laurie was completely wheelchair bound but that didn’t stop her from coming over to visit. She could push the wheels on her chair at first until she became too weak and then her son took over. We would laugh together and talk for hours.

As the Christmas season began slipping down the slope of the post -Thanksgiving hill, Laurie’s health began slipping into a painful slope of 4x weekly dialysis. I didn’t understand Laurie as she smiled and said, “I love you.” I would sit with her to help her make the process somewhat bearable. I went as often as I could.

On Christmas Day, Laurie was in the hospital.

A few days before Christmas, some Central American neighbors invited me to make tamales with them. Making tamales was a time of fun and laughter, steamy kitchens, sticky masa hands, and passing around bottles of vino, and cervaza. Multiple families and neighbors would crowd into the small spaces, dancing around one another, playfully elbowing each other – throwing back their heads in laughter and singing.

I had found a tamale recipe in a cookbook that involved making the ingredients from scratch. After placing a spoonful of the red or green sauce and chicken in the middle of the masa, Mexican cheese was placed on top. They were then enclosed in masa, blanketed with corn husks and finally steamed until all the flavors melded.

Laurie called me and said she would be hospitalized for a while. I took her some of the tamales. She hadn’t eaten real food for days. She was dying. Laurie’s mouth creased into a big shining smile. “I love you,” she said. I placed the tamales on her lap, and a fork in her hand.

“Mmm…mmm…mmm…mmm…mmm.”

I smiled. We talked and we laughed and she ate tamales.

A few days into the New Year, the hospital called to tell me she had just a few days left. I was the only visitor she ever had. She saw me coming and her face glowed with a heavenly smile.

“I love you. Don’t be sad. Thank you for the tamales, they were a heavenly gift.”

“I love you,” I said. I smiled an earthly smile.

Laurie now wears a different halo. I imagine it’s made of gold and she’s wiping tamale off her face.

 

At the end of the day, even the most wonderful Christmas sometimes leaves us feeling exhausted! Here is Gloria’s rendition of a mom’s experience when the Christmas festivities are over.

THE END OF A PERFECT CHRISTMAS

OR

HELP ME SANTA !

By Gloria Hannigan

It is the night of Christmas, and the house is a mess

Where to start cleaning, is anyone’s guess

I flop down in my new reclining chair

A snore from the bedroom signals, no help from there

The children are sound asleep in their beds

With cookies and candy canes alive in their heads

The mistletoe hangs by one wilted leaf

Having done its duty to encourage belief

The pine needles from the tree continue to drop

Where is the star that once shone at the top?

The eggnog is gone, not even a cherry

A sign that someone’s Christmas was merry

The stockings that once were hung with great care

Are scattered everywhere, the mantle is bare

I sit here alone feeling sorry for myself

I wish I’d asked Santa to lend me an elf

When in the back of my mind an image appears

Michael’s beaming face at his bike with 10 gears

I hear the squeal when Jenney unwraps her new doll

The kisses, the hugs, the excitement of it all!

You’ll hear me exclaim as the vacuum kicks in

Yes, I will be doing this again and again

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND AMEN

Illustration from Peter Spier's Christmas!

 

A Christmas to Remember, by Evelyn Watson

I hope you had a very special Christmas with your loved ones yesterday. Now that the celebration has passed, take a few minutes to relax and read about another Christmas from many years ago. Here is a story about a day that changed the lives of Evelyn and her husband Dwight forever. Those of us who are parents understand that having a child transforms your life like nothing else can. Evelyn’s experience is especially memorable because it happened on Christmas Eve.  

 

Children are a heritage of the Lord

Psalms 127:3

 

The tree was decorated and presents wrapped; I had done all to be ready. We were all waiting for that moment to happen when we would become parents and our parents would become grandparents. It was the time when no one knew the sex of their baby before being born, but somehow I knew the tiny life within me was a girl and chose only one name.

When the time came to go, a thick blanket of wet fog covered us in eerie silence as we inched our way to the hospital at 2:00 a.m. Dwight drove slowly with his door open to follow the street’s center line. We were on our way to parenthood, a challenge our young lives had not yet encountered, and we had no idea of life’s journey beyond that night. I was convinced we were ready when Tracy entered our lives the previous Christmas, yet she was not chosen in God’s plan to be part of our family.

St. Frances Hospital in Lynwood was an excellent one. I was secure in their care; not afraid of labor or delivery. I had been healthy the entire nine months and was able to work at the phone company seven of those months. I did not realize Dwight’s nervousness. When he left the labor room after appearing briefly and never coming back I had no idea what he was going through, involved in my own experience. For me time passed quickly and the pangs of a birth about to happen never raged as expected.

Arriving at 6:38a.m., on the moon change following her due date of December 14, Lori Lynnett, was born on December 21, weighing 8lb. 9oz. (“If a baby does not arrive on its due date, it will on the next moon change”, I was told, and she did) I was allowed to watch her entrance into the world coming through me but not from me. Her tiny body was perfect. My prayer during pregnancy was for my baby to have hair. She had more hair than I ever imagined. Giving birth was the most thrilling experience of my entire life and it started the first time I felt a movement of life within.

After three days Lori and I came home from the hospital. It was Christmas Eve morning. She was our gift to share with friends and family. She led the way into our parenthood. Our lives were forever changed. It truly was a Christmas to remember.

A Christmas Memory, by Noemi Rabina

Christmas is a time for making memories. Sometimes the memories we make for someone else turn out to be our own best memories. Read Noemi’s story of a very special Christmas memory created by a very special group of nurses.

"Unto us a Child is born!" That was the message written on a lantern that adorned the lobby of the Mary Johnston Hospital in Manila one Christmas season. Everyone knows that the child is the Lord Jesus, born in a manger more than 2000. years ago who brought peace and goodwill towards all men.. It is His birthday that we now celebrate with great rejoicing.

I happened to be a part in this place many years ago. The institution was started by an American missionary who have seen the need for a health care facility for families living in poverty. It started as a small clinic and later expanded to be a general hospital, treating the patients' body, mind and spirit, following the ideals of the Great Physician.

On Christmas morn, at 5:00 AM, all students and graduate nurses in full uniforms, went through all the hospital wards in long procession, holding candles and singing Christmas carols. The patients waking up to the beautiful songs while their nurses greeting them  a Merry Christmas. Pain were alleviated, sorrow turned to joy and hope. Nobody would like to be in a hospital at this time of the year, but this was something that they will always remember and cherish.

During the day, the gate of the school was opened to let the children from the slum district come in for a Christmas celebration. They were seated and led in singing Christmas songs. Soon two trucks from the Clark Air Base came rolling in. American service men with their families and children added more joy and excitement. They brought some goodies for the children. Some men dressed as clowns entertained every one with magic. After the children have eaten to the fullest, they were given apples, oranges and candies. Then Santa Claus came down the fire escape with a loud "Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas !" carrying a big bag full of toys. Every one clapping their hands and screaming with joy to see a real Santa Claus. After every child was given a toy, they went home very happy this Christmas day.

That is the spirit of giving on Christmas day, a living tradition of the school and hospital for years.

For "Unto us a Child is born", the greatest gift of God to men.      

Merry Christmas !