My Mother's Last Gift

Tonight or tomorrow the ornaments will come down. The tree will go out in the trash or in the back of our lot where the fox might use it for shelter. All the holiday trinkets will be wrapped in tissue paper. They'll go back into plastic boxes, to be carried down to the basement and stored for another year.

I will linger over each ornament, but one in particular will be hard to put away. This small Bichon in a stocking (above) is a very, very special ornament. Not just because it's cute, or because it's different, but because it marks the end of an era.

We have a tradition. On Christmas Day, one member of our family (my mother) would direct the opening of the gifts. She'd pass them out and make sure every person had something in hand. Then she'd allow us to open up, and oooohs and aaaaahs would ensue. We'd all examine our gifts--examine everyone else's gifts--and wait for Mom to pass out more presents. There was a strict sense of ritual to all this. But as constrictive as it sometimes felt, we all loved it. Mom's method assured us that each and every person had something to open. Each and every gift was given its due amount of appreciation.

This year, we celebrated Christmas in a hotel room outside of Disney World. At a Walgreens, I found a darling little Christmas tree made of curls of gold wire and hung with beads. This I put on a table in the middle of our hotel room in the Omni at Champion's Gate. Then my family gathered around.

The passing around of the presents was a bit more sedate. We felt Mom's absence keenly. My sister Margaret orchestrated some of the distribution and opening of gifts. But it was a bit more, um, haphazard without Mom doing her combination marinet and benevolent Santa routine. We were all opening gifts while fighting painful lumps in our throats.

My gifts for my sisters caused teary eyes. Years ago, I'd taken Mom to an art fair where a silhouette artist had cut her profile freehand using sharp scissors. During our move to the metro DC area, I'd uncovered these. So I framed them for Jane and Margaret. (I scanned one for myself, and it's on my computer, but I gave them the originals.)

After all the packages were unwrapped, Meg said, "There's one gift left. It's for Jonie." (That's my nickname.)

Meg handed it over. "This was the only Christmas gift Mom bought before she died."

Inside was the Bichon ornament.

What's New in My Life?

It's certainly been a year to remember. In May, Paper, Scissors, Death was nominated for an Agatha Award for Best First Novel. The list of novelists over the years who have been nominated include Mary Higgins Clarke, Jan Burke, and Janet Evanovich. I mean, really, how could you be in better company?

Cut, Crop & Die was released in June 2009, but the release was quickly overshadowed by word that my mother had terminal cancer.

My mom died in July. She was in a coma for eight days, but my sisters and I were there to care for her. I've never admired anyone as much as I admire Jane and Margaret. Our dear Aunt Shirley was with us, and Mom, until the end, too. It was a horrible time, and our friend at hospice Sally Lippert said she's seen thousands of deaths, but that Mom's suffering was unique. The morphine didn't help her pain. Afterwards, we learned that was probably because liquid morphine is absorbed through the saliva glands, and Mom's had been compromised by radiation when she had cancer of the larynx. Who knew? I thank God for hospice, and I highly recommend the service to you.

In August, we moved our son to college for his sophomore year. I signed a contract for Books #3 and #4 in the Kiki Lowenstein Mystery Series. Number 3 will be called Photo, Snap, Shot and the release date is May 1, 2010. I'm at 66,000 words of an 85,000 word Book #4. I'm calling it Make & Take, Murder, but that's always subject to change by the publisher! I'm still futzing around with the punctuation on it. Tell me. Do you like "Make & Take, Murder" or "Make, Take, Murder" or "Make and Take Murder" best?

Paper, Scissors, Death and Cut, Crop & Die are both out in large print versions and Paper, Scissors, Death is now available on Kindle.

On September 1, we moved to the metro Washington DC area so my husband David could become the official Steinway piano dealer for DC and surrounds.

Later in September, the house we built, the one where we raised our son, sold. I know it's a blessing to sell a house in this economy. We had great help. Kristi and her son J.T. Monschien made it happen. They were super. But sometimes I still miss my old home and my neighbors Kathy and John.

Last month I signed with a new agent. That's exciting. In today's market, I think it's important to have someone who is in New York most of the time. The publishing world is at a cross-roads, and every choice is difficult. Having a representative who rubs elbows with editors all the time is a huge advantage.

I've been offered the chance to write Book #5 in the Kiki Lowenstein series. I love Kiki. Her world is an escape for me. Tell me...what would you like to see in an upcoming Kiki book? You know I really do listen to you. Some of the stray comments I've heard at signings come back to me as I write. Knowing what you like helps me make better decisions!

David's new job is opening all sorts of doors for us. We were privileged to attend the National Christmas Tree Lighting (that's the photo above) and the Opening Gala for the National Symphony Orchestra. Stay tuned! I'll try to share all the excitement with you!

So now it's nearly Christmas. It's going to be a difficult one for my family. My sister Margaret came up with a crackerjack idea. We're going to Disney World for Christmas. It was a bit unexpected, but you know, it is the happiest place on earth. And anywhere my family is...well...that's a very good place to be.

May God Bless and Keep All of You and Yours in the Coming Year.

Empty Chairs

In every life, at every holiday, there are empty chairs, reserved for the people we love who are no longer with us.

This year I will look for my mother. I will expect to see her smiling over the funny trinkets in the aisles at Walmart. I will expect to hear her laugh when that stuffed snowman at the plastic piano sings, "Have a holly, jolly Christmas." I will go on thinking how I need to get a gift for her, and then I will remember, she has everything she needs.

A couple nights ago, I walked the dogs in the mist, in the long shadows of bare tree limbs, and the falling temps. The moon was full, and the last of the crickets sang a dirge to the fall. It has long been my custom to stare up at the moon and say, "I see the moon and the moon sees me," and to remember that everyone I love is exactly where they should be, and just as close and as constant as the moon.

But that rhyme rings hollow these days.

My mother's chair is empty.

Another Christmas, Another Miracle

On occasion, I must confess that my faith slips a cog, like a car with a bad clutch. When I see good people frightened by a seemingly hopeless future, when I hear bad news crowding out all else in the media, when I look into the faces of strangers and find soul-weary sadness, I wonder, “Is there really a God? A benevolent force in our Universe?” and my belief that we are watched over, cared for, and loved falters—especially in a “season of joy.”

Always, when my spirits hit their lowest ebb, there comes a miracle, a tiny glimmer of hope in response to a need so personal (and usually frivolous) I’d never name it out loud. One year, I longed to see a copy of The Bird’s Christmas Carol by Kate Wiggins, a story that enchanted me as a child. Written 110 or so years ago, it’s a sad story but (if you can get past the melodrama of the times), a reminder of how to live one’s life. What were the chances of seeing a copy, especially late on Christmas Eve? Well, here’s the miracle: I found the book in its entirety on the Internet. Go to

http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/721

This year, the miracle took another form.

My spirits were sagging in September after we dropped Michael off at college. At a rest stop on our long drive home, I found a chunk of Resurrection Moss lying on the ground. Resurrection Moss, pleopeltis polypodioides, is really a fern and an epiphyte, a type of plant that exists by attaching itself to a host such as a tree. In extreme drought, the pleopeltis polypodioides' fronds shrivel and turn brown, effectively dying. But when the rain comes, the whole plant bursts into a lovely bright green cluster. Read more about it here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Resurrection_fern

I tucked the “moss” I'd found into a ziplock bag and toted it back to Missouri. Once home, I put the plant in an old fishbowl covered with plastic to make a terrarium. There it grew, a cheerful spot of green in my office. All was well until the day I discovered the bark covered in a gooey mold, and the fronds turned to mush.

They say Resurrection Moss can withstand extreme dryness for 100 years, but this was…bad. I once worked in a greenhouse, and my old boss used to say, “The profit is in the hands of the man with the watering can.” More plants die from overwatering than underwatering. I’d let too much moisture build up inside the bowl. I’d drowned my poor plant.

Last weekend I gave my office a pre-Christmas cleaning. The desiccated hunk of bark begged to be tossed out. Hadn’t it died an awful death? But instead of giving it the heave-ho, I soaked the chunk in water.

The next day I was greeted by a happy green frond, and some new baby fronds, too.

So call me silly and sentimental, but something inside me also sprang back to life. Some part of me unfurled and turned a happy green. Even in the worst of times, a simple miracle can do that. Especially one just in time for Christmas.

De-Stress for the Holidays, Part V

Note: Last year I asked my scrapbooking friends to share how they de-stress during the holidays. The responses were AMAZING. This is the fifth and final "de-stress" email for this season. Isn't it lovely?--Joanna

One of the big things my husband and I had in common was our love for Christmas, and we always always ALWAYS celebrated it in a big way.

Back in the days when my husband was in the military, and we lived in Germany, Christmas was fun, but exhausting. I used to bake 100 dozen cookies (3 batches of 10 kinds) and have anywhere from 12 - 30 guys for Christmas dinner and, the last year we did it, made and filled stockings for all of them.

When we got back to the states, we tried to continue our traditions--the monster tree, the cards, the cookies etc. Then about 10 years ago, when I finally finished a degree while working full time, I took myself and a neighbor to Walt Disney World to celebrate during the first week of December, and told my husband he could make Christmas while I was gone. He did. But there were still a LOT of things left in the trunk. Then it dawned on me - he put out the things that were meaningful to HIM and then he stopped. I added the things that were meaningful to me, and then I stopped. The trunk was still half full. There was a huge lesson in that!
It took me a few more years to back off on the cookies. Year after year on January 2, trays of dried out cookies went in the trash. Now, I've seperated the cookies into holidays - snowballs on valentines, ginger cookies on Thanksgiving, etc. Two kinds per holiday at MOST, and only one batch of each. We still get our favorites once a year, just not all at Christmas.

We've passed out of the acquisition phase of our lives. We want less rather than more, we can afford what we want, and what we want is usually experiences rather than things. Our (adult) kids get money, it's both what they want and need. Extended family get photos, in some form or other -- calendars, scrapbooks etc. That's IT. Presto, no shopping. Very little wrapping. That really takes the stress out of it for me - I'd rather have fish hooks driven under my fingernails than go to the mall!

Traditions that remain -
* A simple, artificial 4 ' diameter wreath lit with a spotlight on the end of the house facing the street.
* A tree - artificial now, with our favorite ornaments over 2 inches (all the tiny ones stay in the trunk)
* Swedish Tea Ring for Christmas breakfast - I bake 2 and give one away.
* We save our Christmas cards and open them all at once on Christmas eve or Christmas morning - it's like a party with all our dearest friends - and much more impactful than if we opened one or two a day.
* A few other 'familyless' folks in for a simple dinner on Christmas day
* Sometime that week, we drive round town and look at the holiday lights.

Done. No stress at all.

Linda

De-Stress for the Holidays, Part II

Note: This is Part II in a series of posts written by my scrapbooking friends on how they de-stress over the holidays. Be sure to check back on Dec. 15, 18 and 23 for more installments--Joanna

We are big outside light decorators. We have about 15,000 lights. So we enjoy also seeing other's displays. A nice way for us to de-stress is to do dinner out and take a drive looking for Christmas lights. Tonight we did just that and my Mom was with us. I was happy to see how much she enjoyed the other display and then we got back home to ours. This is our first Christmas without my Dad, he went to heaven in June. So she is spending the holidays with me and my sister, some time with both of us. As avid scrapbookers we need to remember to make memories not stress!

Mira