It isn’t what you Have…
I just finished wrapping my last present. Wadded up paper, rolls of tape, scissors and ribbon curled at my feet.
It looks like my last present was ME!
Done. I say to myself. Done.
The stuff of Pre-Christmas is Done.
The shopping, the shipping, the sorting.
I have tickled all the boxes on each and every Christmas list.
For now, as visions of sugarplums dance in my head and shards of sticky tape cling to my sweater, I visualize the mayhem about to descend under the tree.
The Gift of Giving
The Gift Of Receiving
While every kind-hearted effort is made, there will be disappointments. Wrong size. Wrong color. The gag gifts so much more amusing to the giver than the recipient. Piles of paper rising on the floor, bows bent and torn envelopes.
For one moment, one delicious moment, prior to the chaos, on this the Eve of celebration, all is still, all is bright. A picture perfect tree, fire in the fireplace, and lots and lots of ...stuff.
What we HAVE.
But I, I pause, and my eyes fill with tears as I step back and realize WHAT is missing from this picture.
No, dear friends, not the WHAT we have…
…but the WHO.
The Who are my loved ones soon to gather around. The hugs at the airport, the delight and wonder of grandkids, the arrival of family from near and far.
The sounds of mirth and munching and snacking and giggles late into the night, snuggled in PJ’s under blankets by the fire.
I gather them all into my arms and hold them close.
Before one single present is opened, MY stocking is Full. Christmas wishes about to come true, even before Santa steps one foot on the roof.
It’s not what you have wrapped around you that matters…It’s WHO
Though their heads are now pillowed and eager for morning,
I am at peace.
For I am already surrounded by the greatest blessing of all…
May you count your blessings this year with each hug and giggle, laughter and tears of those you love, and those you love You.
Ugly ill fitting sweaters may be returned.
FAMILY is FOREVER.
For those of you alone on this Eve, we in the Garden of Love, are holding you tight.
You are our gift and we are yours.
Welcome to Whoville.
Saturday, December 9, 2017
Christmas tunes. I am humming Christmas tunes all over the place. Songs in my head, jingle bells, and dashing all the way. I am a walking CD mix tape of Over the River and Through the Snow, I’ll Be Home For, We Wish You a Merry, Silent Night, Here We Go A Caroling, Must Be Santa, Deck the Halls, Up On the Housetop Reindeer…pause.
You know you do it too. Even in crowded store aisles, or loitering in long lines at the checkout. Idling in your car at a red light flipping through radio stations. It just happens. You hear a few bars and you hum along, sing along, tap along unconsciously drifting through the snow.
So I ask you, in all seriousness, when did music begin?
Who was the first person who hummed? Whistled? Trilled a La La La? Tapped fingers in 3/4 time.
I mean it truly.
Whatever possessed that certain someone to Yodel?
How did that single solitary exceptionally unique humanoid discover what a breath of air over vibrating vocal chords could produce? Was it an accidental discovery or a response to a stimulus?
Of this I am convinced. It was a Natural progression. Human Nature mimicking Mother Nature. In the garden. Or a forest, the jungle, a cave echo, on a fjord. Copycat sounds. Rushing water splashing in a stream. The crunch of twigs underfoot. Rain plopping on leaves overhead.
Or maybe, creature features. The hoot of an owl. A toad belching. Bees buzzing. Monkey chatter. Birdsong. Creature communications. Imitations. Repetitions. Rhythms back and forth. Pitter patter. Chitter chatter.
In my mind’s eye, I see a person of indiscriminate shape and size one second after the sound emerged, mouth agape in the sweet “O” of wonder.
How in the world did I do that?
What if I did that again?
What if I can make it louder or softer?
Higher or lower?
Longer or shorter?
Oh no. Maybe that was it. A drop the mic moment.
If it was me, I know exactly what I would do. I’d run as fast as I could to show a significant other. Not a stranger who might think I was crazy. Rather, someone who already acknowledges my crazies and loves me anyway. Someone who would listen. Then copy me.
I would look for a vocal partner, or more. Maybe enough for a trio, a quartet, a chorus, or a mixed choir of voices.
What if all of our La La La La sounds are the same?
What if they are different?
So I run. Hurrying, I pick up a stick and in my hastened glee club chase, tap the bark of a tree. Once. Then again and again. Then a rock. I open my mouth and match my La La La to my Tap Tap Tap. Another “O” of wonder.
I am an orchestra. Capable of accompaniment.
That is THE moment. That’s when my “O” of wonder becomes a whistle.
I have TUNES.
There you have it. The first story in the garden revolved around an…
The second story, MINE, is the beginning of…
Wait for it…
APPLE. I TUNES.
Sorry Mr. Jobs.
Excuse me for leaving you here, but I need to go and update his Wikipedia page with my footnotes. Well make that musical notes.
I still need some healthy advice in understanding the first Yodel, but I am working on it.
Remember please, that I am ALMOST old enough to have been there…at the beginning of Tunes.
I am continuing in this tradition,
by singing my way through the Christmas Season.
I hope you are too.
Together we can make this a global choir.
La. La. La.
Sing! Sing! Sing!