I always liked that photo her father took of Belinda and me. Her parents ran Rothschild’s Ice Cream Emporium and they thought having a lovey-dovey couple sharing a couple of their cones would make for good advertising. I was all on board. Belinda and I had been dating for a few weeks, and I was head over heels in love. I’d have done anything to get close to her. Plus, you know, I wanted to make a good impression.

“Kevin, you stand here,” her father pointed, getting scene set-up. ” Belinda, get right up next to him.”

We eagerly followed his instructions, having a hard time keeping our hands off each other. All went well until, besotted as I was by the beguiling Belinda, I forgot myself and starting eating my ice cream. It was only a matter of minutes before the flatulence kicked in. See, a few years ago I found out I was lactose intolerant and no longer able to digest dairy products, more to the point, ice cream. It’s not a fatal affliction, but let me tell you, the aftereffects are not pleasant, if you get my meaning. If you don’t, I’ll just say this: Ice cream made me a little gassy. Well, super gassy, to be honest.

I cleared that room out pretty fast. Belinda was a trouper and stayed by my side, but eventually even she had to leave. The photo shoot was put on hold until the next day.

These days Belinda and I are happily married. We have three lovely children all able to digest dairy. That’s a good thing. Having one gas bag in the family is enough, because you know what? Rothschild’s ice cream is awfully good, and I can’t help myself. I have a bowl every day.


Tangled Up In Blue

The band finished a kick-ass version of Tangled Up In Blue and Ben and Jenny clapped enthusiastically, along with the rest of the crowd at O’Donnell’s, a popular bar in downtown St. Paul.

“That was great,” Ben said, grinning and taking a sip of his drink.

“One of my favorite Dylan songs,” Jenny said, drinking from hers.

Maybe it wasn’t the most romantic of songs, but neither of them cared. They still liked it. They liked Dylan’s music and they like each other, too. A lot.

Jenny reached over and rubbed Ben’s arm. It was New Year’s Eve and the crowd was getting boisterous. Ben looked at his cell phone. “Nearly eleven-thirty.”

“Yeah, kind of late. Want to go? Beat the traffic.”

Ben nodded and smiled. “Absolutely.”

They finished their drinks and headed out into a cold Minnesota night. Ben and Jenny lived together in a small brownstone apartment of Lyndale Avenue in Minneapolis. The drive took over forty-five minutes. It was five degrees below zero and Ben’s heater in his old Toyota wasn’t working well so they wrapped up in blankets. His radio didn’t work either, but that was okay. They remembered most of the words to Tangled Up In Blue, so they sang in the new year together, not caring if they were off key. There was hardly any traffic on the road. It was like they were in another world.

It was another world, one they were still getting used to. They walked up the stairs to the third floor and entered their tiny, one bedroom apartment. It was all they could afford, but at least it was theirs. And, more importantly, at least they were together.

Once inside Jenny turned on one lamp on an end table and lit a stick of sandalwood incense. Ben fixed them each a drink, like they’d been having at O’Connell’, and they curled up on the couch. Then they toasted each other. They’d been together nearly a year, having met at an alcoholics anonymous meeting earlier that January. They’d become friends first, then lovers and then had taken the next step, a big one for each them; they’d moved in together. They’d been living together for nearly six months, and it had been the best six months of the best year of either of their lives.

“Here’s to us,” Ben said, toasting Jen with his glass of sparkling water.

“To us,” Jen smiled, raising her cranberry juice.

“And here’s to a happy, sober new year,” they both said together, laughing and flirting a little, unused to not being drunk out of their minds on New Year’s Eve.

Later that night they made love. Twice. When they awoke the next morning it was still bitterly cold outside, but they didn’t mind. They had clear minds and each had the day off and were looking forward to spending the whole day together. They might even listen to Bob Dylan and sing along to Tangled Up In Blue. They couldn’t think of a better way to ring in the new year.

Pictures In The Sky

My earliest memory is of sunny summer day with Mom and me sitting in our shady backyard. I was four years old, and she was holding me in her lap. Casually, she pointed and said, “Jerry, look up in the sky. What do you see?”

I looked and said, “Umm, clouds.”

“Right, honey,” Mom said, “Now look very closely. Do any of them remind you of anything?”

I looked again, starting to get the feeling I was missing something and maybe letting her down a little. “Maybe, pillows?” I ventured.

Mom grinned and hugged me tight. “Oh, honey, I love you so much.” I remember that distinctly. She always had a way of making me feel good about myself, which was nice, because, believe me, I was never the sharpest pencil in the box.

She pointed in a different direction, “Look over there. I see something that looks like a horse? Do you see it?”

I looked. All I saw were cotton looking clouds. “I see cotton balls,” I said.

Mom smiled, having fun I could tell, playing the art teacher that she was at the local high school. “Let’s look again.” She directed my gaze and with her graceful finger outlined the horse she saw, “There’s the head, there’s the body, there’s the legs and there’s the tail.”

“I think I kind of see it,” I said, hesitantly, even though I really couldn’t.

“That’s okay if you don’t,” she smiled and hugged me again. Then she stood up, “Just a second, I’ll be right back.” She hurried into the house and returned with a sketch pad and a pencil. “Here’s what I see.” And she sketched out a simple drawing of a horse, showing me each part as she drew: head, body, legs and tail. When she was finished she said, “Now look in the sky again and this time use your imagination.”

Oh, my imagination, so that’s what it took. And that’s what I did. I let my mind go free and when I did I was able to see the horse. Finally. I nodded happily, “Yes, Mom, now I can see it,” I told her, getting enthusiastic. “Can I try and make my own drawing?”

“Absolutely.” She gave me my own pencil and paper, “Let’s look at more clouds and find something special for you. What do you see?”

Now that I knew how to look, I let my imagination take over. I looked for a few moments and then pointed, “There. I see a doggy,” I said, confidently.

“Can you draw it?”

“I’ll try.” And I did. I drew a doggy and that’s how it all started, Mom and me drawing pictures of clouds together.

We passed that summer and subsequent summers thereafter, as often as we could, sitting out doors looking at the sky and drawing pictures of what we saw. I’m glad we did, because over time her vision began to fail little by little until, when I was in my early twenties, blindness from macular degeneration robbed her completely of her eyesight. After that, we’d sit together in the sunshine and she’d ask if there were any pictures in the sky, and I’d tell her what I saw and then I’d sketch them. I think she enjoyed imagining them as much as I did drawing them.

But it was more than the drawing for us, much more. It was us being together. We’d talk, I’d tell her about my day, she’d tell me about hers. We shared our lives. She was able to instill in me a love of nature, and the sky and the sun and the passing of the seasons. And a love of clouds, of course. Always the clouds.

She was seventy-nine the last time we were together. We were sitting outside of her senior living complex on a warm summer afternoon. The sun was shining and the sky was clear and bright and blue. “Jerry,” she said, “How’s the sky looking today? Any good pictures up there?”

I took her hand, thinking back over all those years of us together drawing pictures of what we saw in the sky.”Yes, Mom, there are.”

“Can you draw me one?” she asked, just like when I was young.

Today’s sky was cloudless, but it didn’t matter. “Sure, Mom. I can do that.”

I used my imagination and drew a picture of a son and his mother, sitting outside on the patio on a warm sunny day. They were happy and smiling, as if life would go on forever, or at least their memories would, of soft summer days when the two of them spent time together, enjoying each other’s company and looking at the sky, imagining what pictures they saw there.

When I was finished I showed her what I’d drawn. She told me that she loved it.

Ice Skating On Christmas Eve

On Christmas Eve the two brothers got together to go ice skating. Once young and full of pep they were now old and just this side of decrepit, not to mention both being widowers and grey bearded for longer than either of them cared to remember. That was okay. Skating was something they’d enjoyed all their lives though this was the first Christmas Eve they’d thought to do it together. It was soon apparent it had been a good idea, for they reveled in the moment, enjoying the crisp winter air and the late afternoon sun casting long shadows on the frozen pond as they glided over its smooth surface.

After a while, Tim took a break and bent down close to the surface, “Hey, these bubbles in the ice are kind of cool. I’m going to take some pictures.”

“All right,” Jeff called to him. “Go for it. I’ll just skate.”

“Don’t fall,” Tim cautioned.

Jeff laughed as he skated past backward, showing off, “Don’t worry.” He turned and took about six glides before he stumbled and fell and landed hard on his butt. “Damn!”

Tim looked up, concerned, “You okay?”

Jeff lay on his back looking into the clear blue sky. It felt good to be outdoors. It felt good to be skating with his younger brother, too, though he’d probably be stiff in the morning – the fall certainly wouldn’t help.”Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, struggling to his feet and brushing some snow off as he skated over to see what Tim was doing.

His brother was on knees, his camera inches away from a bubble in the ice shaped like a heart and framed by the blade marks of ice skates that had cut through a thin dusting of snow. “What do you think? Think this’ll make a nice picture?”

Jeff had long ago given up trying to offer suggestions to his artistic brother. Tim had a unique gift, especially when it came to seeing the beauty found in nature. He used to be an accomplished landscape artist. Used to be, that was, until his eyesight began to fail him. Now he could barely see to drive, let alone paint. But he could see well enough to take pictures, like he was doing now.

“Looks good,” Jeff said, meaning it. “It’s kind of surreal.”

“Yeah. I like it. I’m going to take some more.”

And he did, all the while Jeff skated around the small pond located in a wooded park a hundred yards behind Tim’s small home. They were out on the ice for nearly an hour, until the sun dropped low behind the trees. Even though he fell a couple more times, Jeff couldn’t remember when he’d had a better time skating.

Finally Tim said, “We should probably get back home.” He struggled to stand. He’d taken at least a hundred pictures. “It’s getting cold. Maybe I could make us some hot cocoa when we get back. Do you have time for that?”

Jeff lived in an efficiency apartment in a small town twenty miles to the west. He had nowhere he had to be. “Sounds good,” he said, skating over and plopping down on the shore in the snow next to Tim to take off his skates.

Then they walked through the cold winter afternoon to Tim’s home. Later they’d have their cocoa, maybe build a fire, listen to Christmas music and enjoy the evening together. They might even reminisce, remembering Christmases long ago when they were young boys, and their family and grandparents and aunts and uncles had all gathered together around a festive tree decorated with colorful lights and handmade ornaments, sharing laughter and the goodwill that comes from being together this time of year.

Times long ago, but not like now. Jeff and Tim’s children and grandchildren were scattered across the country and preferred to stay put, while their young brother Will happily did the same in the warm sunshine of his home in Arizona. Now it was just the two of them, these two brothers, older, quieter, but not any less appreciative of the season and the chance to be together on this Christmas Eve.

As they walked the path leading to Tim’s home, Jeff suddenly had an idea. “Hey, how about if we do this again next year? You know, go skating on Christmas Eve. It’s been fun.”

Tim smiled, patted his brother on the shoulder and said, “I was just thinking the same thing, and you know what? I’d love to.”

Jeff thought for a moment. “You know, maybe we could invite Will next year. We could call him up and talk him into leaving sunny Arizona for a couple of days. If he could stand the Minnesota cold, that is.”

“We could buy him some long underwear to entice him,” Tim added

Both brothers laughed good-naturedly. Will had a thing about cold weather, and it wasn’t a good thing, either.

“All we can do is ask,” Tim said. “Let’s do it.”

“I’m all for it,” Jeff said.

So they called Will that night and he immediately said yes, he’d be happy to join them. He’d be happy to accept their offer of long underwear, too.

Just like that, a new tradition was born, and in a season of traditions, a new one for these two old brothers was the best thing that could have happened. It gave them something to look forward to, something to count on, something hopeful to live another year for. It was all they could ever have hoped for.

“We’ll have to get him some skates,” Tim said, after they’d hung up. He was enjoying his hot cocoa, savoring every sip.

“Not a problem,” Jeff said, moving closer to the fire crackling in the fireplace. He thought for a minute. “How about the day after tomorrow? After Christmas?”

“That’d be perfect, Tim said, rubbing his eyes. “Okay if you drive? You know these old eyes of mine aren’t getting any better.”

“Not a problem. Be happy to.”

So it had been a pretty good Christmas Eve, as far as the brothers were concerned. In fact, it was the best one each of them had had in a long, long time. The next one just might even be better.

Home Is Where The Heart Is – Part 4 of 4

Satisfied Little Lisa was sleeping comfortably, Megan put the book in the zip-lock and stored it back under the seat. Then she moved her hand around until she felt the envelope in another zip-lock that she kept hidden there. She thought of it as her ‘Special Envelope’ because it contained her savings. She got paid every two weeks, and she put ten dollars of each and every paycheck into the envelope and secured it in the zip-lock. Without fail. And she never touched it either, except for times like now when she permitted herself a moment to feel it’s contents and look toward the future. One day she would have enough saved up for their own apartment. It might take a while, but she was determined. She didn’t plan to spend the rest of her life living like they were. One day she and Little Lisa would have their own place to really call home. A place they could decorate anyway they wanted and it’d have a real bed for each of them and a real kitchen to cook in. And she was committed to making that dream come true, too, no matter how long it took. Until then, though, they would make the best of what they had. Even though every day was a challenge, they were doing the best they could. And she never, ever forgot that no matter how bad things were, they were never as bad as they’d been with Darren. That and the fact that Little Lisa and I are together, she thought. That was the main thing – the best thing.

Satisfied her savings were secure and safely hidden, Megan sat for a minute staring out the front window. Gusts of wind were blowing, keeping the windshield clear. The parking lot was empty except for two cars parked by the front entrance. It was the cleaning crew: Tim and Ramon, two twenties something guys who would spend the night getting the store ready for when it opened at six in the morning on today, already, Christmas Eve.

Then the snow started falling again, a sure sign it wouldn’t be getting too cold tonight, maybe ten degrees or so. She watched, mesmerized by the way the flakes drifted past the tall flood lights, sometimes swirling like tiny ballerinas dancing in the night. Soon she felt her eyes getting heavy so before she nodded off she roused herself. There was one more thing left to do.

She reached over the back seat for her shoulder bag and took out the twinkle lights, snow globe and doll. She ever so carefully took the lights out of their packaging and strung them around the inside of the car and turned them on. The snow globe she set on the dash. She was surprised to find that it was also a little music box. She tried it out for just a moment, not wanting to wake her daughter. The song was ‘Silent Night.’ Perfect. Finally, she took out the Rainbow Barbie and looked at it, grinning to herself and thinking, ‘How she comes up with these things, I’ll never know.’ Smiling now, in a good mood, she wrapped the doll inside the special stocking cap she had bought a few weeks earlier at the Dollar Store. It was an ‘Elsa’ hat and had long golden braids hanging from it just like the main character from the movie. She wrapped both items in a Target plastic bag as carefully and as quietly as she could, and set the package on the dash panel next to the snow globe. There, she thought to herself, all set.

Then she slipped off her boots, put on her own thick socks and pulled her feet up onto the seat and tucked them under her for warmth. She looked out over the parking lot. The snow falling was peaceful, nearly obscuring what little traffic there was a quarter mile away on the highway. The world was shutting down. Megan went through the list in her mind of what she would be doing tomorrow, Christmas Eve: she had to work from three in the afternoon until ten. Until then she and Little Lisa would go to a public library she knew would be open from ten in the morning until noon. It would be the highlight of their day. Little Lisa liked the children’s section and they could read books together until closing. Then, before going to work, they would go to a nearby big box store and wander around, staying warm and, hopefully, not drawing any attention to themselves. And, most importantly, she promised herself to resist any potential last minute holiday temptation and not take anything.

But there was one final thing to do on this late, wintery night. She leaned over and shook Little Lisa gently. “Hey there, sleepy head,” she said rubbing her hand over her daughter’s tiny shoulder, caressing her softly, “Look what happened while you were asleep.”

And while Little Lisa woke up, Megan looked around the car: the white lights were on, casting a magical glow inside, reflecting off the snow that was covering the windshield. Some of the snowflakes outside on the glass even twinkled, adding to the feeling of wonder in the car. Megan was inspired to star humming, “Silent Night,” just like the snow globe.

“Momma, look at this,” Little Lisa pointed when she had finally come awake. “Look at the pretty lights.” She excitedly pushed out of her blanket and sleeping bag and pulled off her mittens, scarf and stocking cap, and sat up in stunned silence, gazing around, her face lit by the magical lights as well as her happy smile.

After a few minutes Megan showed her the snow globe, smiling to herself that, in all her daughter’s excitement about the lights, she hadn’t even noticed it. “Look at this, Honey,” she said, pointing it out to her.

“Oh, how pretty,” Little Lisa exclaimed. She took it carefully off the dash and shook it, then held it gently in her hands, hypnotized by the snow scene inside.

“And look at this,” Megan said, showing her how to operate the key. And when Little Lisa turned it they both sat back in childlike awe as the sparkling snow fell and ‘Silent Night’ played, filling their old car with a joy and wonder only brought about by the magic of dreams coming true.

When the song was over Megan next showed Little Lisa the package on the dash; beaming to herself when her little girl opened it, took out the stocking hat and squealed in delight. “Look inside the hat”, Megan told her, and the squeals got ever louder as Little Lisa pulled out her new doll, holding it to her chest and smiling a wide happy smile.

“Momma, how did all of this happen?” she asked, looking around the car in awe, with its white, twinkling lights, snow globe, Christmas music and her new doll and hat; taking in the transformation like it was now a scene out of a fairytale – a wonderland – a place she’d only glimpsed before in her imagination. Except now it was for real.

“It just did, sweetheart,” Megan said, hugging her little girl tightly, “Sometimes you just have to believe that things will get better. And if you believe it hard enough, sometimes they do.” Then before Little Lisa thought about it too much and started asking too many questions, she changed the subject, “Do you like it, Sweetheart?”

“I do, Momma, I really do.”

And that was good enough for Megan.

They stayed awake for nearly half an hour, looking at the twinkling lights, playing with the snow globe and the rainbow Barbie, singing along with Silent Night and enjoying the peaceful snow coming down, both inside the snow globe for fun and outside the car for real. Megan even started the old Ford, turned the heater on and ran it for a few minutes to warm them up. A special gift for both of us, she thought to herself.

Finally, when Little Lisa started yawning, Megan turned the car off and bundled her up again, making sure she had her new doll and was wearing her new stocking hat, before finally getting her calmed down and ready to go back to sleep. When Little Lisa was cozy and snuggled into her sleeping bag and blanket, Megan put on her own stocking hat and mittens and took a hold of her own blanket and stretched out on the car seat, holding her daughter in front of her. She then pulled her blanket around her and wrapped her arms around her little girl. Their shared body heat would help keep them warm.

Just before Little Lisa fell asleep she turned and said to her mom, “I love the lights, and everything, Momma, it’s almost like we have a brand new home.”

“Hush, sweetheart, you go to sleep now, Ok? I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Will our new home still be here,” Little Lisa asked, starting to nod off.

“Yes, it will sweetheart.”

“And you’ll still be here?”

“Always, Little Lisa. Always.”

Then Megan wrapped her arms just a little tighter and listened to her daughter’s breathing as it slowed, becoming deeper and deeper until she finally fell asleep, safe and secure in her mother’s embrace. Then Megan, too, began nodding off, her mind relaxing now for just a few hours; a brief respite before the process of making it through another day started all over again. She took a deep breath and softly let it out, remembering Little Lisa’s joy and happiness at the little bit of wonder she’d experienced. Things could be a lot worse, was Megan’s last thought before she finally fell into her own deep sleep.

The lights would be the first thing they’d see when they awoke in the morning. And the snow globe with it’s pretty song would be there, too. And her daughter would have a new doll, something that would make her happy. Like Little Lisa had said, ‘It’s like it was a brand new home.’ Megan had to agree. It wasn’t much but at least it was theirs. Outside the snow continued to fall, and the temperature dropped. The wind buffeted the car and it was getting colder, but inside mother and daughter slept peacefully and held each other tightly – they were as warm as they could be. And, for tonight, that was warm enough.

Silent Night

Ralph Kaczynski had been a salvation army bell ringer for seventeen years and was by far and away the coldest and the snowiest winter he could ever recall. In spite of wearing long underwear, jeans, two sweaters, three pair of socks, heavy boots and a thick, insulated snowmobile suit, he was still cold. It didn’t help that standing outside the huge big box store was a lesson in the both the good and the bad in humanity. Mostly the bad. People hurrying and yelling at each other, shoving and pushing…Man, talk about lack of good will toward mankind. He stole a quick glance at his wristwatch. Nine forty-five. Only fifteen minutes to go until the store closed. Then Christmas Eve tomorrow, and then he was done until next year. Thank god. It’d take him until July to thaw out.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a commotion near the exit. A young woman was arguing with one of the security guards. He recognized her. She and her daughter had been frequent visitors since Thanksgiving, and he’d occasionally wondered what they’d been doing, so much time in the store like the did. They rarely left with any packages, anything he could see anyway. Hmm. Shop lifters, maybe? There’d been a rash of them this season.

Suddenly the little girl, she must have been six years old or so, stepped away from her mother. She looked Ralph right in the eye, smiled a friendly smile and skipped across the slushy sidewalk toward him, going too fast in his estimation. “Watch out,” he called out  above the noisy throng of shoppers. “It’s slippery.”

She tried to slow down, but slipped and fell down hard anyway. “Oww,” She said quietly as she slid along the sidewalk right up next to him.

Ralph’s heart immediately went out to the little girl. With her pink stocking cap and unicorn themed snow jacket, she reminded him of his daughter when she was that age. He bent down, “Here, honey, let me help you.” Her mother was still preoccupied with the security guard. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, mister,” she said, wiping the slush off her tights. “It doesn’t hurt too bad.”

He lifted the little girl to her feet and made sure was uninjured. He glanced back just as the security guard waved the mother away. She hurried over, saying to Ralph, “Thank you so much, sir.” Then she knelt down next to her daughter, “Are you okay, Lisa? I told you to be more careful.”

The little girl’s tights were torn at the knee, but she only had a small scrap, a tiny amount of blood. “I’m okay, mommy, really. This nice man helped me.”

Ralph was suddenly embarrassed. “It was nothing. She’s a tough little girl.”

What was he talking about. He didn’t know anything about her, but the little girl, this Lisa, had a way about her, a presence almost. He had to ask, just to be polite, because, after all, it was the holiday season, “Do you want anything special for Christmas, honey? A doll or something?”

The little girl shocked him. “No. Not really.”

“Are you sure? Nothing at all?”

The little girl thought hard for a moment and then said, “Well, what I’d really like is to sing a Christmas carol.”

“A Christmas carol?”

“Yes, please. Right here.” Ralph couldn’t believe how polite the little girl was.

“She didn’t get to sing in the school concert this year,” her mother added. “I had to work so I kept her with me.”

There was something about the two of them that Ralph found endearing.

He put his bell aside and said, “You know. I’m not sure if it’s against regulations or not, but to heck with it. You go right ahead, young lady. Sing any song you want.”

Lisa beamed a bright smile and took a moment to compose herself. Then she stood up straight and tall and starting singing “Silent Night”. Her voice was quiet at first and the song hardly recognizable, but by the time she gotten to “Sleep in heavenly peace,” she had found her confidence and passion, and her voice rang out loud and clear into the cold night air. Soon, a small crowd formed around the little singer, some even humming or singing along themselves. Ralph stood off to the side with Lisa’s mother, watching, enjoying a bit of Christmas magic right there on the sidewalk of a big box store.

When she was done with her song, the crowd applauded and asked for more. With a nod from Ralph she sang, “Joy To The World,” and even the bell ringer, old curmudgeon that he was, felt a tear form in his eye.

While her daughter sang, Meg, went through her mental checklist. Get Lisa into bed, snug and secure. Make sure the doors were locked. Make sure their extra blankets were handy because it was going to be cold tonight. Get to work tomorrow by nine in the morning for a full six hour day. Then back to the parking lot for the night, Christmas Eve.

Meg considered herself lucky because she had a car to call home and a place for her and Lisa to sleep. Others weren’t so fortunate. But it almost had all gone down the drain when that security guard had gotten in her face, telling her she had to move on and couldn’t park there overnight. She had to remind him that she could, that the owners of the store had agreed to let ten cars park there for the winter and she was one of them, one of the homeless finding a place to live in the big box store parking lot.

Finally he’d agreed, saying, threatening, “Well, you better watch yourself. No drugs or alcohol or anything like that.”

No problem. Meg told him, “Look, it’s just me and my daughter. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

He didn’t either. Lance, her former boyfriend and Lisa’s father, had no idea where they were and that was the way she wanted it. He was a drunk and was physically abusive to her, and she needed to stay away from him for the sake of herself and Lisa.

When Lisa was done singing she ran over, “Mommy, Mommy, did you like them? Did you like my songs?”

Meg smiled, “I did very much, sweetheart. You did really good.” She turned to Ralph, “Thank you so much.

He suddenly had a thought, “You know, tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. I’ll be here from four until six, closing. Maybe Lisa would like to come and sing. I’d like it and I think the crowds would, too.”

Meg thought for a moment. Why not? “What do you think, Lisa? Would you like to sing some more tomorrow?”

“I would, Mommy, I really would.”

“Well, you heard her. I guess we’ll be back.”

Ralph smiled, “Good. Great. See you then.”

“Okay. Right. See you tomorrow.” The three of them all waved good-bye.

The snow was starting to fall as Meg and Lisa made their way to the far corner of the parking lot to their car. They got in the backseat and spent a few minutes wrapping themselves in blankets for the night, then curled up together for warmth.

Just before she fell asleep, Lisa spoke, “Mommy?”

“What sweetheart?”

“Am I really going to be able to sing tomorrow?”

“Yes, you can. If you want to.”

“Oh, I do. I do.”

“Well, then you can.”

“Thank you Mommy.”

“Don’t thank me, thank the nice man. Ralph.”

“I will tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay. Now, good night.”

“Good night. And Mommy?”

“What, sweetie?”

“If I can sing tomorrow, it’s going to make it my best Christmas ever.”

Meg snuggled in close to her daughter. It was so peaceful and quiet she could hear the snowflakes settling on the roof of the car. A silent night. They were safe from Lance. They had a roof over their heads and she had a job. Most importantly, she and Lisa were together. Things could be a lot worse. “Mine, too,” she said, hugging her little girl tight, “My best Christmas ever.”


Twas The Night Before Christmas

With five year old Stacy and three year old Dale nestled snug under the covers beside him, Peter was the happiest he’d been in months. He opened his treasured book, one passed down from his grandmother to his mom and then to him, and began to read, his voice quiet as a whisper, drawing his young ones in, “Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…”

By the time he’d finished, both children were asleep, breathing restfully, visions, Peter hoped, of sugar plums dancing in their heads. He smiled to himself. Why not? It was Christmas Eve, as good a time for magical thoughts as any. He tucked them in under their warm covers and, before turning out the light, paused at the doorway, taking a long moment watching his two little sleepy heads. Worn out from seeing Dad, he joked to himself, hoping it was true. It was. Just ask Lyn, his wife. She’d say that their children adored their father and missed him terribly while he was away getting his treatments. Then she’d get a little teary eyed, her strength wavering ever so slightly before returning, knowing there were still more long days to come.

After turning out the bedroom light, Peter made his way to the stairway and began to descend, step by cautious step, holding onto the handrail with what little strength he had. From the living room, Lyn saw him and hurried to help. “Here, Sweetheart, lean on me. We’ll go slow. We can rest together on the couch.”

He smiled, grateful for everything about her, “That’d be perfect.”

It took a few minutes before they were finally curled up together under the wool afghan Lyn had knit when they were first married, seven years earlier. The room was a peaceful sanctuary, with Christmas music playing so quietly in the background one had to strain to hear a choir singing ”Silent Night”. Lyn had turned off all the lights except for the warm glow from the Christmas tree. It was lit with white twinkling lights, and decorated with a myriad of colored glass ornaments and handmade decorations, accented with at least five strands of popcorn and cranberries. The family had decorated it that afternoon when Peter had come home from the hospital on a twenty-four hour pass.

Lyn put her head on his shoulder. “Isn’t the tree beautiful?”

“It’s our best tree ever,” he smiled, putting a thin arm around her and holding her tight.

He liked that Lyn was willing to put aside what was really happening with his disease, at least for tonight. Tonight he had a break from his treatments. Tonight he could be home with his family and enjoy a moment of comfort and repose before leaving tomorrow to go back to the hospital to continue his battle. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but he was getting tired so he said only what he needed to say, “Lyn, I love you so much. You mean the world to me.”

It was all Lyn needed to hear. She kissed him gently. “I love you, too, Peter. Forever and always.”

He kissed her in return. Their undying affection for each other carrying them through these most challenging of times.

They must have fallen asleep. A rustle on the stairway caused Peter to awaken. He turned to see his children, standing patiently, so young and so innocent, dressed in their red flannel pajamas. Stacy was holding a book, and Peter could see it was the one he’d read to them earlier.

“Daddy, could you read to us again?” She asked, her tiny voice music to his ears.

“Please, Daddy, please,” Dale chimed in.

Their voices woke Lyn. “The kids want me to read again,” Peter said to her, sitting up and stretching. “I know it’s late, but is it all right with you?”

Lyn didn’t have to think. “Absolutely. But first, “she said,  getting to her feet, “How about if I fix us a plate of ginger cookies and some milk for a little treat. How would everyone like that?

Three heads nodded enthusiastically, and all was well for them on this Christmas Eve, the world held at bay for a little while longer.

Later, the family snuggled together on the couch under the warm afghan, leftover cookies within easy reach. Peter began the story, wondering as he read if this would be the last time he’d be able to do this, read to his family like he was. Then he put the thought out of his mind. Quit thinking like that, he admonished himself. He had to stay positive. He had to believe that he’d be with his wife and children next year. After all, who else could read Twas the Night Before Christmas to his children like he could? No one.

“Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night,” he said, when he reached the end of the story, but not before adlibbing a hearty, “Ho, ho, ho,” making the kids giggle and Lyn smile.

Then he closed the book and wrapped his arms around his wife and children and hugged his family all together as tightly as he could. Until next year, he whispered to himself. Until next year.