Oh Look--Bonus Holiday Content!

Cameron & Beth

Aiden, Devin & Staci, Linden
 and a photobomb by John Shane

John Shane,Jordan & Elise, Lane

 

Snow for Christmas!

Who Me?

Oh no, there goes Tokyo,
GO GO Godzilla!

Comfort & Joy

 

One of my favorite things to do “in Dark December” is to sit in the quiet with only the Christmas lights on, my hands wrapped around the warmth of my favorite cup. Granted, “only the Christmas lights” is enough illumination to comfortably perform surgery if one was so inclined, but at least the lumens are festive in nature. 

The Holidays are a season overflowing with memory... Christmases of Childhood Past—both my childhood and the fleeting childhoods of my boys...memories of favorite gifts, of love and laughter.

Oh Christmas Tree 2021

Millie is such a Good Girl

 

 

 

This year, Christmas Present is a season of anticipation...Grandchildren—4, so far— bring the magic and wonder back to Christmas--along with the challenge of overcoming curiosity, mixed with gravity. Which is a nice way of saying I really need to tie my tree to the wall. Sume Christmas tree tradition is one that includes excess lighting—15 stands of lights and counting-- and fishing line reinforcement. In the interest of full disclosure, I will admit that any Christmas Tree experience I’ve had that ended in disaster always had more to do with my tree succumbing to the laws of gravity more than it had to do with childish curiosity— or a happily wagging tail, in the case of the grand dog.

As I write this, it is snowing lightly, a soft dusting of white that adds to the ambience and makes me think that a cup hot chocolate—with a cap of whipped cream and sprinkles—sounds like a fine idea right about now. A longstanding father/son tradition in the Sume Family is a quick zzzsst of whipped cream, from can directly to mouth. I know my sons are continuing this tradition, so our family ornament this year is a cup of coco...

My wish for you this season is that you find comfort in your memories, and joy in the anticipation of memories yet to come. Merry Christmas!

Christmas Traditions, a New Generation

 Christmas is a time of traditions, some old, some new, and this year-some come 'round again. When my children were little, my mom started buying wooden Brio train sets for her three grandsons. Every year, for Christmas and birthdays, she would purchase more track, or bridges, or battery powered engines. All during the year the boys would head to Grandma and Grandpa's, drag out the blue Rubbermaid tub, and set up lavish railroads; tracks and tunnels sprawling across the living room floor. Grandchildren and grandparents shared the adventure. It was hard to know who enjoyed it more.

But time flies. Eventually, the boys packed the tracks up in the blue Rubbermaid tub for what turned out to be the last time and moved on to other interests: sports and motorcycles, video games and girls. But Grandma held onto the tub, knowing that-- if you're patient, and lucky--sometimes things come around again.

John Shane contemplates the best box car line-up.

My mom is gone now, my children grown-becoming fathers themselves---that girl thing having worked itself out admirably. When my grandchildren visit Nana Sugar's, we dust off the old blue Rubbermaid tub and sort out the pieces. Dads and uncles turn into little boys again, and we all---young and not so young--turn the pieces of the track, this way, and that way, figuring out the best path around the room.

Oh no, there goes Toyko...here comes Lane!

My Amazon cart is full of presents for Christmases Yet to Come: suspension bridges, curves and elevation blocks, straight tracks and small couplers; an old tradition, come 'round again. 

Please excuse the anti scratch tape on the furniture
We have some Very Bad Catz

The completed track with bonus siding

A Lifetime Supply of Christmas

 Q: What has 17 actors, five settings, three writers and one plot?

A: 642 Hallmark Christmas movies.

I have a dirty little secret—one that, even as I admit to, I will vehemently over-excuse/deny. “Hi, I’m Sue, and I watch Hallmark Christmas Movies.” 

Not that I really watch them, of course, I just have them on in the background. Truly. Because some of them are so stupid that I find myself yelling at the TV: “Your son is a FULL GROWN MAN—back off, dude! He’ll figure it out!”

Like all good addicts in denial, I have a good friend (Hi Eileen!) who shares my tolerance—enabling is such a judgey word-- for such drivel.  One afternoon she unexpectedly found herself at home and we exchanged the following texts:

“I am watching Christmas shows! Novel idea!

Huh! What are they about?

“This one is about Christmas! And a gorgeous house! And potential love! And good hair!”

Do they drink a lot of hot chocolate? Do they have any festive treats? Community Holiday Events? Does anyone own a Christmas tree farm? Have amnesia? Time travel into Christmas Past? Discover a lost treasure/card/package/photo?

“Yes, yes, yes, no, no, no but there is an old friend from high school. He's very friendly, cute, helpful, musical --helps with the community school program.”

Of course he does! Old high school boyfriends are kryptonite. Or cat nip--can't remember the difference.

“Me thinks a little of both.”

Lol--such a heady cocktail!

"I'm hooked."

It's the addiction that dare not speak its name.

“Except us…This little girl is soo cute! This is a new (to me) movie. It's okay.

Which one? The kitten one?

"No the fireman one."

Oohh—they need to make a fireman AND kitten one! And the kittens should be Magic Kittens!

And so it goes. But if you want to watch something that is light and light hearted, celebratory and almost nobody ever dies… and if they have died in the past-- every one remembers them but only ever cries happy tears. Hallmark movies are silly and sappy and SAFE.

As addictions go, they are pretty benign. Embarrassing, but benign.

When You Don’t Know What to Say:

 A loving reminder to those who would comfort the grieving

Please don’t say “At least _________.” 

Please don’t look on the bright side of things, or try to find the silver lining for someone’s grief. While your heart is absolutely in the right place and your intentions are good—you are essentially denying their grief, trying to limit it; trying to push it down in to a manageable size. Don’t do that.

Grief is huge. And it’s going to be huge for quite a while, probably for much longer than you’re going to be comfortable with. And you have to let it. You have to sit next to a grieving someone you care about and just let it BE.

I know it’s hard. But you can do this. They need you to be able to do this. So hug them. Listen to them. Let them cry. Let them not cry, whatever. Tell stories, share memories, say the name of their loved one. This grief thing is going to take a while. It just does.

I'll say it again, the best advice I can give you is to go ahead and let them GRIEVE. Let it in. Weep. Mourn. Let them find comfort in Ritual, even if they need to invent one for themselves. Don’t shut off your feelings and don’t try to "make it better" and shut down theirs. 

Grieving takes time. Lots of it. Everyone is different-- don’t tell anyone that they need to “move on.” That’s probably just your blissful ignorance talking---you don’t know the hard truth that they know. They ARE moving through grief; tears and pain and sadness are a part of that process. 

Want something concrete to do? Stay hydrated. Seriously—when all else fails, go drink a glass of water.  Bring them water. Grief is dehydrating. It’s one tiny thing you can DO to make things better. 

And if it’s not “better”? Well, at least it didn’t make things worse. 

Some days, that is victory enough.

Let's Talk Turkey, Shall We?

 

You may have seen those reminders making their way around the internet the last two weeks or so; handy little charts that tell you that if your turkey is “X” pounds you need to get it out of the freezer and into the fridge “Y” number of days ahead of time so that it can sufficiently defrost before The Big Day. I never have to worry about all that X/Y math/science stuff, because I buy a fresh turkey and just keep it in the fridge to begin with, as our forefathers intended.

...Except for that one year when my house fridge was too crowded for a 20 lb. turkey and I had to use the small former-dorm-room-now-turned-garage-fridge...

A twenty-pound turkey will pretty much max out the capacity of a small former-dorm-room-now-turned-garage-fridge—and by “max-out” I mean I had to remove all the interior shelves and stand the bird on his, or her, tail. It took a bit of wiggling and finessing but I managed to get the fresh, never frozen fowl into the mini fridge. I was all set for Thanksgiving morning, no need to cross reference the weight of the turkey with the days on the calendar. Easy peasy.

On Thanksgiving morning, I went out to the garage to get my fresh bird to begin the day’s preparations only to find a frosty 20 lb. bird in its place. I am told that the sight of me dragging a frozen turkey into the house has left an indelible mark in the memory of all those who witnessed it—well, that and the colorful language. 

Needless to say, dinner was a bit later that Thanksgiving. Fortunately, my good friend Betty had a helpful tip about tightly wrapping the (thawed) bird in foil and then setting your oven to “Cremate.” This technique cuts the 5 to 6-hour cooking time down to a more acceptable three hours. And if you distract your friends and family with emergency appetizers, preferably something very rich and filling ---

—I used a block of cream cheese, softened in the microwave on a plate. Pour on a small jar of cocktail sauce, top with small shrimp, and serve with a boatload of crackers. Serve with a few rounds cranberry martinis—they won’t mind too much that Thanksgiving Day Dinner has become Thanksgiving Night Dinner.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Tale of Two Trees

 Remember that time a couple of years ago I needed to plant a tree to shade my deck? Remember how pleased I was with the Very Large Tree I acquired for a Very Small Price? Remember how the nursery had to load it into the pickup with a forklift—a forklift!-- and I still didn’t consider the size of the hole I’d have to dig to accommodate it, nor the distance I’d have to drag the Very Large Tree to the Very Deep Hole? Remember?

Well, I’ve never forgotten it. Which is why I now buy trees in little gallon pots; very cute, very manageable, very little digging, no dragging.

Gallon pots are kind of small, though, so I planted my trees—short term—in larger, cylindrical pots until I can properly plant them—or--more accurately—first figure out where it is I want to plant them. Because sometimes, the sale is just too good to pass up. Besides, these very lovely Cypress trees—“Goldcrest”-- only grow to 10ft high. I can just leave them in these tall pots! No digging required! I’m a genius!

Fast forward a couple of years and I happen to pull the tag from the tall pot and read it. Yes, it’s a Cypress, yes, it’s a “Goldcrest”—but it turns out that it’s the type of Cypress Goldcrest that grows 10m high. M as in meters, not feet.

When I was in elementary school, the word on the street was that-- sooner or later-- the US of A would be adopting the metric system like the rest of the world, and we Third Graders had better learn it now so we’d be prepared. Turns out, the adoption of the metric system has turned out to be a much “later” thing than I was led to believe. Which is good—because I can’t say I’m that clear on just what’s what with metric. That being said—even I know that 10m > 10ft. 10m is much closer to 33ft than 10ft.  Note to future self: Take reading glasses to nursery, don’t just squint at the tag.

Time to dig a hole...