We all were prone to red cheeks in the wintertime. Even inside the house: One teacher in junior high loudly proclaimed I looked like one of the Campbell Kids when I arrived at school, winded, after bicycling to school. That last hill was long and steep. Had I not been still out of breath, I’d have sassed the bum. Mom loved the reds of winter, and wrote this poem a quarter century ago. Winter Red Clap for colorholly winterberrycome caps…
The year was 1987. It was late December, just a few days before Christmas. I was in a smallish airplane, circling over Louisville, Kentucky, on a return flight from Pittsburgh. Not sure I remember why we were circling, but it must have been a matter of scheduling a safe landing. It was spitting ice and snow. Shrug and wait, right? No. Some businessmen on the plane were downright put out by this. The grumbling turned to growling as their complaints…
“Did I ever tell you I’m a Colonel?” Jerry’s baritone voice boomed out the question to his unknowing victims. After maybe the third time he asked me that question, I knew to reply: Of course! You’re Colonel Sanders! Jerry’s face would break out in a huge smile and he’d move on to another topic. Probably some obscure – but fascinating – fact about Abraham Lincoln. It was the truth, the colonel thing. Jerry was named a Kentucky Colonel decades ago…
“We’ll give you a call tomorrow as soon as the doctor is done fixing Mom’s plumbing.” Oh, Dad. He hid his nervousness about the surgery with goofy humor. Mom came through the operation and recovery with flying colors and never regretted taking the step. She wrote this during her wintertime recovery in early 1982: The Long Christmas Early February: I am home from the hospital – it is heaven! Days, I camp in the den with many quilts and pillows…
Given the multiple shelves of Christmas books I inherited from Mom and Dad, it felt like high time to read a full month’s worth in December. The Nutcracker was considerably darker than I’d realized. I noticed my smallish nutcracker collection eying me knowingly as I came to realize the great sacrifice the poor fellow made to rescue Marie (called Clara in the ballet). The Snow Goose was like a fairy tale, bringing both warmth and a chill to the room…
As the year 2023 comes to a close in a few hours, my goal of reading at least four books per month has been reached. In fact, the total this year came to 58 books. And in case you’re wondering, I’m right on schedule with the book-by-installment reading of Bleak House. Here’s the rundown: Book 1: When the Snow Is Blue by Marguerite Dorian Must begin with a sincere thank you to grandson Cameron, who read this children’s book along…
Psst! Paula! Come here for a second, will ya? I was new to this job back in 1992 and still not over the fact that Santa Claus was a co-worker. As I stepped toward him, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Oh, boy!” I thought. “Santa secrets!” Not exactly. The jolly man in the white beard had a serious concern. Step a little closer, but don’t let anyone see what you’re doing. And tell me … do I stink?…
As we finish up the first week of December, the sudden appearance of Christmas trees is pleasantly common. Some folks put theirs up over Thanksgiving weekend – or even before. Others wait till closer to the big day. Mom loved everything about Christmas, but waited until the night before for the tree. Although Dad usually picked out their live Christmas trees over the years – and placed the lights, she was in charge of the decorating of each season’s beauty….
Alright, so that’s not a direct quote from one of this month’s books, but it’s close. Six books this month, with so many more calling out to me from literally every room in the house. The year 2021 brought with it my first Folio Society (a British company, now employee-owned) purchases, to add to the 550 volumes we inherited from Dad and Mom. This year also included the delightful discovery of Your Brothers Bookstore, an independent shop in downtown Evansville….
As miserable a job as it was to clear out Mom and Dad’s house back in June, sweet treasures from the past continue to surface. Among them, a cassette tape labeled “Dad playing at Ellen’s Christmas party.” Who’s Ellen? She was Dad’s sister Jean’s husband John’s sister (got that?). Ellen Cull, a teacher, lived in Lowell, Massachusetts. “Dad,” in this case, was Grandpa Vayo. It took me until Thanksgiving to have the courage to listen to the tape, fearing it…