It's
That
Time
Of
Year...
It's beginning to look a lot like...um...you
know...that holiday...the unmentionable one...the one kids can no longer
sing about in school...
That certain day we used to celebrate with lots of
red and green, but red and green are also no longer allowed in certain
classroom parties...so maybe it's now taupe and gray.
That special time of year when some of us buy
presents for the ones we love, except that presents are now considered
to be a form of Uh-Oh, the commercialization of the holiday we can no
longer mention, nor sing about, nor wear red or green while flashing our
cash and credit cards around.
The time for the bell ringers to stand by the
kettle and with a warm and welcoming smile...no?...oh right ...now it
seems they too are rather wary and have been warned...so they sort of
smile and start to say Happy...or Merry...and mumble some other
syllables while standing in the freezing cold.
I thought this was a magical time for the believers
and the Non...until I saw a billboard from the Non Folk...of the night
sky with a star on a lovely blue background and the words...well I can't
repeat the first once since it's been outlawed...so the abridged
version goes something like this...
C-------s Is A Myth. Don't Believe Any Of It!
I was going to hang up my lights outdoors, but I
read where some neighborhood associations are instructing their
"neighbors" in a neighborly fashion that only white lights
could be used and that they could only be up for the week before...that
unmentionable holiday...and they must be down the day after. So I am
sitting here with an enormous box of a certain two unmentionable colored
lights all kinked up and knotted together and I desperately want to put
them up somewhere, so I think I'll go hang them all over the shower and
the tub, except that is an electrical hazard for someone who
occasionally drops the blow dryer in the sink...ah yes...I'll put them
in the laundry room because I know for sure I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO GOES
IN THERE EVER!
I did go to the mall today to look for a whatchamacallit gift, no not a present, well
I mean a little something, for someone other than myself, after I stood
about ten feet from the woman by the kettle who averted her eyes so as
not to have to struggle to greet me, and launched my dollar into the
air. I don't know where it landed, because I averted my eyes as well and walked into some other mysterious shoppers carrying nondescript brown paper bags, averting their eyes as well.
I thought I heard a familiar carol wafting through
the store. I mean it is THAT time of year for songs to be played in a
loop over and over, but no, this song was familiar.
La-dee-dah-dah...I'm pretty sure it was the title song from a new album
by a recording star who is spending the unmentionable holiday in an
unmentionable rehab center. Or maybe it was that one that needs to find a
belt underneath the C-------s tree.
Oh dear. The tree business. That's a No Go too. Cutting down a tree, even at a tree farm,
is an ecological offense. Buying a tree that was chopped and shipped
from way up North to the local hardware store is even worse. I am pretty
sure even looking at the trees in my own back yard might result in a pretty stiff fine.
So...no Dancer or Prancer and certainly not Vixen
No...I'll be home for?
No...I'm dreaming of a white?
No..."Twas the night before?
No...Jolly Old St.?
No...Have yourself a Merry little?
No...Little Drummer Boy?
No...Cookies For Santa?
I am utterly undone. At my wit's end. This is all
so confusing and perhaps slightly amusing, as I have walked down this
path before.
When I first started writing my Garden Pages, I
made a commitment to myself, that while I was writing from my heart, the
words on the pages might touch another heart. That someone might stop
and read and say...So True...ah yes...So True. That my memories of
family and friends, life and loss, success and failure, might stir a
thought, evoke a memory, ease a loss, or rekindle a smile. The garden is
home for everyone,so it was quite a surprise and a shock when a marketing guru wrote Bah Humbug and Grinched all over my work.
Red pencil slashes thru the words hope and believe and wish and dream.
Extra X X X's and NO NO NO.
I might...just might...offend...my audience.
But my audience is YOU...and YOU and I know that
HERE in the garden, is the one space, an enduring place, where all that
is necessary, the only requirement is that you DO...
Believe.
In things we cannot see, or touch or feel.
Here in the garden is the one common denominator
for every gardener, every tiller of the soil, every seasoned and
reasoned soul, to come together because we...
Believe in the seasons and have faith.
Faith.
Faith is not a promise, it is a hope. A wish and perhaps a dream.
Even Grinches have faith.
So did Scrooge.
We all do.
For example, every day I drive across town and I
have faith that the light will turn red. Stop. Then green. Go. I live on
the belief that an engineer somewhere much smarter than I concocted
this system to keep us all safe from crashing into one another. To teach
us to take our turn, to be patient and wait, until the light changes.
Red. Green. But what if, one groggy eyed morning, after an all night
vigil and months of protest, someone decided that red and green might
OFFEND someone else's sensibilities. And there, in the foggy morning
mist, the lights are now the Crayola colors of Fuzzy Wuzzy and Mauvelous. In the middle, what was once yellow is now Mango Tango.
Oh and the...
Red
Yellow
Green...configuration...Gone!
In it's place a new less threatening version and
one most people easily recognize, a spinning orb of color, sort of like
the Wheel Of Fortune...where it lands nobody knows...fingers drumming on
the dash board...uhhhh...you know what happens next...one person inches
into the intersection, then another and then someone skips a turn and
then honking horns and oh dear oh dear there must be some sort of a
pattern, but NO NO offending anyone's sensibilities...except for, oops,
for the COLORBLIND.
Let's face it. We all have faith in something.
We all believe in something.
And some of us spend our entire lives desperately searching for proof that we are right.
The truth is that in this life, in this garden,
none of us will ever know for sure.
So we tell stories.
Stories of faith.
Christmas is a beautiful story. Of a family in need
of shelter. Of a baby born in simple surroundings. It could happen
anytime anywhere. A star in the night sky. Songs of great joy. Wanderers
coming close for a peek at the child.
Faith.
The word comes from the Latin meaning...
Trust.
Hope.
Wishes and dreams.
I cannot imagine the world without them.
I could not sit here with the ground covered in
snow, the trees stripped to their branches, the squirrels tucked in
their nests, the geese flying off to the south, without hope. Without
the dream of Spring. So I tell myself a story, about the seeds in my
hand and how one day soon, I will plant them again and they will grow
and flourish. But I cannot know for sure, as the moon is full and the
night is young and tomorrow may never come.
But sleep will, and in my dreams, lie hope and
faith. And wonderful technicolor stories. Beautiful multicolored lights,
decorated trees and packages under the tree. More importantly, in my
dreams, in my story, I am standing on the the lawn with my grandchild
watching for reindeer, holding loved ones close and making a wish. A
tender and gentle wish for all of you...a song to sing...this time of
year...whether near or far...
"I'll be home for Christmas.
You can count on me.
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents on the tree.
Christmas Eve will find me.
Where the love light beams.
I'll be home for Christmas.
It really IS beginning to look a LOT like Christmas...
( "I'll Be Home For Christmas...lyrics and music by Kim Gannon, Walter Kent and Buck Ram)
And if you are STILL NOT SURE....