Christmas Tree, Very Pretty

2019 Edition

Sue’s Guide to Gift Giving

If gift giving was a relationship status mine would undoubtedly be “It’s Complicated.”

Sometimes I get carried away with wrapping.
Annie is not amused.

I love gifts. I love giving them, I love wrapping them, I love receiving them.

I love it when I think of The Perfect Gift for someone, I love seeing their pleasure. I love finding The Perfect Present so much that for the next three or four years I feel like I’m off the gift giving hook, that I should just be able to rest on my gift giving laurels. “Remember that Perfect Present I gave you in 1996? Wasn’t it perfect? Weren’t you surprised? Good times, good times...”

I hate shopping for gifts. I hate not having any idea of what to buy for someone. I hate it when I feel like I’m just saying “Here. I got you some STUFF. That you now must dust. You’re welcome.”

The Perfect Gift, 2019 Edition.

Some people are easy to find The Perfect Gift for. Baby John Shane is easy to give to. Right now, as I write this, he’s having The Best Time Ever with a paper towel. He can dust with it, pretend to blow his nose in it, or turn it into confetti. As a matter of fact, he can do all three of those things with a single paper towel. Imagine how much fun he could have with an entire roll!

My Grand dog Millie is equally easy to give to. She, too, loves to make confetti. Perhaps her own roll of paper towels would be The Perfect Gift for her as well.

Come to think of it—who doesn’t like paper towels? They’re very useful and come conveniently packaged for gift giving. I think Gifting Giving 2019 is SOLVED!

Millie is a VERY GOOD DOG.

Bonus Christmas Tree picture. Enjoy!

Christmas Tree Decorating 2019 Edition

How big the tree seems "in the wild."

My Christmas tree was delivered on Friday and, as I’ve said before, the Sume’s are big on tradition. As with almost all traditions, the Tree Getting Tradition has evolved over time. For the last several years the tree-getting tradition has morphed into my tree being delivered to me, securely affixed in its stand, and the lights applied utilizing teamwork. It’s a sweet tradition in my opinion, one that warms my heart.

This year, the tradition included the addition of one small helper. “Baby” John Shane was on hand to oversee the critical task of trimming off the lower section of tree trunk. A fresh cut ensures that the tree will both be able to take up water and clear the ceiling. The fact that his daddy Jordan used a chainsaw to accomplish the task made it all the more enjoyable for lil’ John. I happen to have it on good authority—Mama Elise told me-- that someone will be finding a wee chainsaw under the tree Christmas morning, but I digress.

It’s quite a blessing to be able to experience Christmas through the eyes of a child. At 16 months old, everything is magical to John. He toddles about, carrying the freshly cut segment of tree and offering it each of us to smell. He piles Duplo blocks on the tree branches as ornamentation and reminds me that there is Another Good Reason to tie my tree to the wall with fishing line, and to crimp the ornament hangers tightly to the tree branches.

How big the tree is when you get it home.

Love continues to multiply. Early next year the Sume Family will welcome another baby boy. Devin and Staci will begin the odyssey of worry and wonder that is parenting. In the fall, the Sume Family will welcome another member as Cameron marries his Beloved, Beth. My Christmas tree is up, bright enough to be visible from space, and my friend Jon is coming over to help me decorate the rest of it. Life is good. My heart is full.

Bring on the Season!

Twenty Days and Counting

By the time you read this, Christmas is 20 days—OR LESS—away. Now I don’t mean to put any pressure on you, just incase you’re one of those people who hasn’t wrapped up their Christmas shopping by July. Full disclosure: I am not one of those people.

Once upon a time, I used to hyper-ventilate when mid-December rolled around and I wasn’t “done.” When people would ask me, “You already for Christmas?” I’d feel guilty admitting that no, I wasn’t “ready” for Christmas, that I wasn’t even close to ready.

My attempts at early “readiness” would usually go something like this: I shop early. I find The Perfect Present. I hide the perfect present in the perfect “they’ll never find it there” spot. Several months after Christmas I prove that premise by unexpectedly coming across The Perfect Present, still hidden in the Perfect Spot.  Early prepping for Christmas just didn’t work for me.

Then one day I figured out it didn’t really matter if I was “ready” for Christmas—Christmas was ready for me. So what if I hadn’t made all twelve of the Christmas Treats I’d planned to, didn’t matter if I had a pile ‘o presents to wrap—Christmas was going to arrive right on schedule—no matter how ready I was/wasn’t. It’s not as if my failure to attain The Perfect Unexpected Stocking Stuffer was going to prevent Christmas from arriving for everybody else. Frankly, that realization was something of a relief.

The First Christmas happened at a time when people weren’t prepared—there was literally no room in the inn. The Great Gift ended up wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger, and that turned out OK.

Not being “ready” for Christmas? It’s traditional. And I’m OK with it.

Giving Thanks

I’m pretty fond of traditions. My Thanksgiving menu stays the same year after year—turkey, stuffing, gravy, rolls, salad. Cranberry sauce that invariably remains forgotten, the can unopened. (Yes. Canned cranberry sauce. Stop judging me.) Pies to fill any remaining room in your appetite. Football on TV once you’re too stuffed to move; friends and family to share it all with. Followed by more pie.

As my kids have grown, married their beloveds and begun to grow their own families, we have begun a new holiday tradition—Sume Thanksgiving.

Sume Thanksgiving happens on the Friday right after Thanksgiving. The menu is the same as it would have been on Thursday Thanksgiving—only with a smaller turkey and fewer pounds of potatoes needing peeling. On Sume Thanksgiving, we are slightly less gluttonous, having also indulged at various other Thanksgiving locations. Fortunately, there is still plenty of football to be had, so that indulgence remains the same.

Sume Thanksgiving has given me appreciation for traditions old and blessings new; that change can be good. Yes. I said it. Change can be good.

Or maybe—what I mean to say is that from change—even the kind of change that we don’t choose—a blessing can grow.

This year, Sume Thanksgiving is full of Blessings, we have much to be thankful for. Even amid our celebrating, though, I’m aware of those whose hearts are currently broken. My prayer is for peace, for grace, and for Light to shine even in the darkness.

I am thankful for YOU, Gentle Reader, and for the opportunity to share my thoughts with you.

May we all have blessings to count.

Got Shots?

Hunting season has pretty much come and gone but I still want to talk about shots---flu shots, specifically. I had the flu once, back in the mid 80’s and it was an experience I swore never to repeat. UGH. So, every year, like clockwork, I get my flu shot.

Except for this year. Because I was “busy.” And I was going to “get around to it.” Eventually.

Spoiler Alert: instead of a flu shot, I got the flu. And before I could kick the flu to the curb, I got pneumonia, and a trip to the ER to get rehydrated and pumped full of antibiotics. Three weeks of feeling crappy before I’m beginning to kick this thing. Triple UGH.

So, if you haven’t gotten your flu shot yet—please stop reading this AND GO GET ONE. Seriously—I’ll wait. It’s not too late in the flu season to go get your self some protection. Bonus feel good opportunity—by getting a flu shot you can also help provide “herd immunity” to those whose immune systems won’t handle a flu shot. Another bonus? You will have fewer people like me in your life going on and on about how sick they were, the importance of hydration and a good support system, blah-blah-blah. Trust me, I have enough self-awareness to know that graphic descriptions of the many ways the flu can mess you up is not enjoyable listening.

You promise to go get a flu shot and I promise not to go into detail. Deal?

Re-Upping: Misery Loves Company

Misery loves company. That’s true, but not in the way you might be thinking.

Traditionally I’ve always thought of the statement ‘misery loves company’ as a negative one. It’s something you say about those die hard complaint-niks. You know the people that sit around endlessly complaining about their problems: taxes, crabgrass, hangnails and the like.

I think is more truthful though when we are talking about true misery---about grief and loss, traumatic injury, or even facing fearful situations—to say that misery not only loves company, it requires it.

There have been many times throughout my life that I’ve found solace in the company of others who speak the unspoken language of empathy. There is peace in just being with people to whom loss/pain/fear is not an abstract theory; they KNOW. They know what it’s like to be “fine” one moment and gutted the next. They know what it’s like to navigate life in a situation that can be physically, emotionally, or mentally disabling; it’s hard to be able to put on pants, feed the dog, or get out of the shower. They know how draining it can be to go out in public, to stay upright, to respond appropriately. Everything is exponentially intensified. Everything.

It is an amazing, humbling thing to see people who have been through so much reach out and pull others into their world, to hold them close and help to gently guide. It’s like there is a special bond of camaraderie between those who have been there, and those who are now in the trials. Without these precious “helpers”, the world would be a very bleak place indeed.

The interesting thing is, one doesn’t have to have known them “Before” to know them well now. The struggle is our common denominator and we are all finding our way through together. Even though our paths may be very different there is a commonality that binds us, bonds us and brings us at least a measure of comfort.

So yeah, misery loves company. Very much.