Local Writings

Santa Claus here, with a little business proposition for all of you. This year, before you overtax the US Postal Service with letters telling me what good little boys and girls you’ve been, and tallying up all the loot you want to see under the tree on Christmas morning, let me try to get a jump on things. I thought I’d get off to an early start this year by shopping the day after Thanksgiving sales. Those Doorbusters are some real bargains, but wow, the tough crowds. I parked the sleigh in the Best Buy parking lot at midnight and there were people already out there, camping in tents. Tents, for the love of God. Can you believe it? I’m just an amateur at this stuff. I used to rely on the elves, but last year I moved the whole operation to China to cut costs and this year I got hit hard by all the recalls. Geez, all this fuss over a little bit of lead in the toys. What are we raising, a generation of wimps?

In any case, now I gotta face the crazy Christmas rush, just like everybody else. You try making a list (and checking it twice) for every kid in the world, and let’s just see how jolly you feel. All I want to do is get through it. Come January, I’m gonna be down in the Caribbean, kicking back at the beach bar with a Mai Tai in my hand. Oh yeah, all I have to do is shave off the beard and lose the red suit and you’d never know me from the next paunchy beach bum. I got a whole year to grow back the white fuzz and meanwhile, nobody gives a ho ho ho who I am.

So here’s what I’m thinking. I’d like to try the whole online thing. Santa is coming into the new millennium, kids. Actually, I got a $20 off coupon from Amazon, which got me thinking – hey, Santa’s not made of money. So if you would all be kind enough to post your wish lists on the web site, I’m thinking I sit back in my red flannel jammies up there at the old North Pole and clickity-clack, I’m done. Everybody wins! And I don’t have to deal with the kids in the mall, yanking my beard and peeing on my lap. “Santa, I want a Nintendo Wii!” Speaking of which, do you have any idea how hard those suckers are to find? It’s the cabbage patch syndrome all over again. An artificially created shortage, timed perfectly to drive up demand for the overpriced product of the season. And the parents! They just have to have one, because that way everyone will know how much they love little junior, who will surely be throwing a tantrum, rolling around and chewing on the rug Christmas morning if there isn’t a Nintendo Wii under the tree. So they camp out in parking lots and engage in fistfights over the 5 of them that are available to be distributed to the 2,000 people who’ve been waiting in line since the day before. Merry freaking Christmas, you greedy little…ahem. But never mind that.

So you see, my sweet little children, Santa has come up with a better system. I don’t need to know how good you’ve been, how many times you helped your little brother with his homework, set the table for your Mom, bla bla bla. I got it, you’ve been an angel. Let’s move on. Just get those lists posted for me, but you better have a backup plan in case the whole Wii thing doesn’t work out. Which brings me to the next item on my agenda.

You know, Santa’s getting a little on in years, and it gets mighty cold up there on the rooftops in an open sleigh. And don’t get me started on the flatulence issues of reindeer on a winter diet. Let’s just say it’s tough on old Santa. Plus, I’m probably hauling around a few pounds more than I really need, reputation as a fat guy notwithstanding. So now I’m thinking, why do I need to fly all over the world in one night, when Amazon will ship for free? Climbing up and down sooty chimneys, with my arthritic knees? Let’s cut Santa some slack, kids. So make sure your wish list has the right shipping address, cuz the old Christmas magic isn’t going to get UPS to the right house if you don’t.

I know, I know, you like to sneak out of bed on Christmas Eve and peer out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of me and the sleigh and Rudolph, etc. And I’ll just bet you were planning to leave cookies and hot chocolate next to the fireplace. Well, let me tell you, maybe if you had left some cold beer and a nice Italian beef sandwich instead we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I get lousy cookies and hot chocolate for all my trouble? You gotta be kidding me. But again…never mind that.

So kiddies, whaddya think? If this whole thing works out, Santa may just start his own little Internet business next year. How does E-Santa sound? Or wait, how ‘bout virtualchristmas.com? I see some real potential here. The details are a little rough, but I’ll work it out. Meanwhile, you kids just log on and crank out those lists, and remember…if there is no Wii waiting for you on Christmas morning, you can always drag your old Tickle Me Elmo back out.

I watch as the branches on our backyard pine tree sway in the light breeze. A dusty white frame outlines the sidewalk squares. I am thinking it is a good morning for A Winters’ Walk.

My daughters ready themselves for school. I continue the morning routine of making their lunches, toasting the always-convenient boxed waffles and calling upstairs for them to “hurry-up or your breakfast will get cold”. Clomping footsteps on the stairs leads me to believe they are hungry this morning. They eat quickly, gulp their juice and begin the daily search for their shoes. The dining room table holds their mittens, scarves, hats and coats, exactly where they where left the day before. The girls speedily put on their winter attire and we leave through the front door. The wind is a bit stronger; enough to make my youngest daughter’s eyes tear as we walk the two blocks to school. We arrive at their appropriate doors in plenty of time for the girls to chat with friends before beginning their educational day.

Having planned this excursion I dressed a bit warmer then most days, donning my full-length down-filled coat, hiking boots, white knitted hat with matching scarf and fleece mittens. I am happy our home is very close to the school, and the school, adjacent to a Forest Preserve. This sanctuary tempts me many mornings. Today it chooses to conduct a symphony of wild-birds, their songs coaxing me into its web of winding paths. Most days I cannot give in to its persuading ways, but this morning I can. I begin my journey through the tree-arched path; I can still hear the sounds of noisy children, then the school bell rings, creating a deafening silence when the doors close and our future is safely inside. I spot a gaggle of Canadian Geese overhead; they lead me further into this haven. I listen and follow their honking, patiently awaiting the WHOOSH as they land in the cold water of the lake. Tall grasses that line the path create a calming melody as they sway in the wind. The gravel crunches under my boots. Dry leaves and small branches crackle as chipmunks play chase beside the path, scampering over a fallen tree and into the thicker brush. A gust of wind pushes me to walk faster and a few snowflakes are now keeping me company as I walk. I pull my hood tightly over my head, but leave space so that I can still listen. The bridge that crosses this small lake is just a few steps away. The water is choppy. The geese bob up-and-down to the rhythm of the waves. Standing on the bridge, I see through teary eyes that a raccoon must have been along the shore earlier, leaving remnants of its breakfast behind, the skeleton of a small fish and a few clamshells. I wipe the wind-tears away with mittened hand, adjust my hood and continue across the bridge. A jogger passes me, waving hello as he runs by. I hear him singing the songs that accompany him on his trek. In the distance I see a few cars in the parking lot, near the entrance. No one is walking about; they sit blissfully in the warmth of their cars, perhaps sipping a cup of something warm while enjoying the seasonal lake view. I am thinking a warm drink is a good idea, as I am feeling a bit more chilled. The numbness of my nose informs me that the temperature is dropping. The snowflake friends that had joined me earlier have invited others. They are now a bustling crowd of passerby’s. Bitter winds have convinced me to turn back the way I came. I cross back over the bridge a bit more briskly. Snow squalls gather in a small clearing. There is a rustling along the tree line. A fawn reveals itself as it runs from the brush to join another deer. Together they dash into what looks like a berry patch. Silently I stand watching the deer, thankful for this experience. I knew that deer lived in this forest, but seldom get a chance to see them. As I continue on my way I notice the gravel path has disappeared; a fluffy white trail has replaced it. There is now evidence of my travels; my footprints are left behind for the next explorer to follow. That is if the wind does not choose to erase them. A large Black Crow sits on the top branch of a barren Poplar Tree. He is calling out to me. There is a split in the path. Is he perhaps leading me to a shorter way back? I will follow his intuitive instructions.

I stomp my feet outside the front door of our home, packed snow falls from my boots. I place the cleaner, but still wet boots on the small rug near the door. Taking off my hat, scarf and mittens, I place them on the dining room table and hang my coat on a chair. While I warm water in the microwave for tea, I reflect. It was a wonderful way to spend the morning, enjoying the winter weather instead of complaining about it, as we often do. In a few hours I will be picking the girls up from school, and if they want, we will walk this path together, sharing the weather, the forest and all its treasures. We are privileged to have these wonders of nature around us all of the time, but it takes A Winters’ Walk for us to see what riches our own neighborhood can give us.

“We’re going to the movies and Santa’s gonna be there,” my sister Chi-chi announces one morning.

I don’t know what ‘the movies” means, but if Santa will be there, it must be good. We put on our coats, scarves, mittens and overshoes. Mumma holds my hand as we walk across the snowy porch and down the icy steps to the car. Daddy has the motor running to warm it up. I climb onto the running board and through the open door. I sit on Mumma’s lap as Daddy drives.

Daddy parks the car in town and we all jump out. We follow Daddy through a big door with glass windows. Inside, I smell popcorn. I see it popping in a big wagon. “Can I have some?”

I can’t wait. Daddy hands money over the counter and gets paper tickets and a big red and white box of popcorn. I reach for it.

“Tut, tut,” he clucks his tongue. “Not ‘til we sit down. And you have to share.”

We all go through another door and into a big room that’s kind of dark and scary. The floor goes downhill. I see rows of chairs on each side. Some have families sitting in them already. I follow Chi-chi and my brother Richie down a row of seats. My eyes look straight at the arm of the chairs, which are stuck together.

Mumma flips down the seat of one chair. I flip it up again. Whee, this is fun!

We pass our coats and scarves to Richie, who piles them in an empty chair. We keep our overshoes on.

“Sure.” Daddy passes it around and we fill our mouths with the salty white kernels. It’s delicious. I hold tight to the box.

I can’t see over the chairs so I stand on the seat to see. The seat flips up. Mumma catches me but the popcorn goes flying. I jump down to pick the kernels off of the floor.

Mumma holds me in her lap. “See, that’s the movie,” she whispers in my ear. I see a big sign with people running around. Daddy laughs, so I do too.

They talk about “Ma and Pa Kettle” but I see people, not kettles, and no Santa’s in sight.

Daddy wakes me up. I’m still on Mumma’s lap and the lights are back on. “Carol Jean, there’s Santa,” he says.

“Up there.” Daddy points to the front of the room. Sure enough, I see Santa.

When we get to Santa, he says, “ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas” and hands me a paper bag.

We open the bags in the car. They are full of Christmas hard-candy – canes, ribbon candy, peppermints, Santa’s filled with licorice or caramel, little green and white Christmas trees. I pick out the longest piece of ribbon candy in my bag and suck on it all the way home. The pretty ribbon leaves my hands and chin red, green, and sticky, but my mouth loves the sugary taste.

Safe Spot

By Carol Grandsard

She knew the walk would bring her beyond the woods, and into the clearing. The terrain would change there and begin to slope down to the riverbed. It was a comfortable place for her to be. She loved it. She had walked that path since she was a child. Her grandmother was the first to bring her to this spot.

At the waters’ edge, past the weeping willows, the water lilies were beginning to bloom. How many times had she seen them before? Impossible to figure it out just now, each time was as the first. The same senses were touched. The scent of damp earth and the sound of the tree limbs moving in the wind. The colors seemed to sparkle on the water. It always seemed new.

Today it was different. The sights and sounds were familiar, but painful.

She was remembering another time with sadness.

“Momere-lookit!”

He was standing in the soggy earth created by the rivers’ backwash. His shoes were caked thick with mud, and his magic walking stick, was now a fishing pole and toad-poking rod.

It was a magic stick to him. To everyone else it was just an old limb from a tree. In his little boy imagination it was a baseball bat, a sword to conquer monsters with, a bug swatter, or whatever other tool he had momentary use for.

“Momere!”

It sounded as if he were speaking French. When he first began to say it, they thought it was his name for her. Instead of Momma, he would say Momere. As his vocabulary developed, they realized he would run words together . He was actually calling her to him.. “Mom come here.” was “Momere”.

His voice was raised now, “ Momere! Lookit froads!”

She was beside him, and squatted down to inspect his discovery. He swished the magic stick around in the water. Small frogs leaped over and around the lily pads disappearing under the surface.

“Froads! Seeit! Froads!”

“Frogs Lenny, these are frogs. There are frogs and toads. Those were frogs.”

“Say frog.”

“Farog.” His eyes watched her lips as he repeated the word.

“That was good! Now say toad.”

His eyes still studied her lips as he slowly said, “To-ed.”

“That was very good! Now say them both again.”

“ Farog...To-ed.”

She could see the little grin beginning to wiggle in and around his mouth, and his eyes getting larger and brighter. She knew he was going to play the words game again. He renamed everything. He would repeat any word they taught him correctly, and then make up a whole new word.

Daddy was Eda, television was T.B.D., and later became Eawa. Cats were yowcas, and dogs were doogas. He had his own language. His baby sister was Argyle, because Eda called her “our girl.”

It didn’t matter how many hours they would spend having him repeat words until he knew them and could say them. He would eventually revert back to his own rendition of how the thing should be pronounced.

He was giggling now and moving the stick through the shallow water.

“Froads and trogs, froads and trogs. Jump and play.”

Safe Spot

pg 2

“Lenny, it’s frogs and toads! Now say it the right way!” Her command was soft spoken, but demanding.

She turned him around to face her. Her hands held his shoulders firmly, and he was looking up into her face.

He was beautiful. She knew it.

His blond hair was almost white. It framed his face like a band of light. His skin had a tanned glow to it, not the usual fair coloring of most blondes. His features were evenly spaced between his distinct eyebrows and cleft chin. Small straight nose and bow shaped lips. He was somewhere between baby and little boy.

His eyes were round and quite large circled and protected by long dark eyelashes. They were his most striking feature. They were the deepest blue, like a clear moonlit sky at the end of a winter evening, just before nightfall.

He was staring into her eyes now, and she could almost see his mind working.

“Jeezy tree in your eyes.” His hands were pulling her face closer, and he kept a steady gaze into her eyes.

“Jeezy tree!” He was seemingly excited and delighted. A giggle escaped him, and then another. He looked as if he head unlocked the mystery to some deep secret. She thought he saw the reflection of a pine tree in her eyes, but there were none growing in the surrounding area.

“Jeezy tree, Mom- Jeezy tree!”

He changed the name of the Christmas tree to the Jeezy tree. His dad told him, instead of a birthday cake, Jesus’ birthday was celebrated with a decorated pine tree. So, it became the ‘Jeezy tree.”

He would spend hours examining the wonders of “The Jeezy tree.” He was especially fond of the globe ornaments and would stare intently at them. Sometimes he would carry one of them around the room and watch the distorted reflections they entertained him with.

Looking back into his eyes, she realized what his wonderful discovery was. Her eyes reminded him of the globe ornaments and would stare intently at them. Sometimes he would carry one of them around the room and watch the distorted reflections they entertained him with.

It was an important moment for him, and for her. An instant in time that he would soon forget, but she would always remember. A moment of sharing her child’s growth in discoveries of life.

“Jeezy tree in your eye, mom.”

“Lookit- to-eds and farogs!”

“Momere!”

The wind changed, and the water was moving rapidly now. She stood up and felt the tingling numbness in her legs. How long had she been squatting like that?

The air seemed chilled and the sights and sounds had changed. Colors were not sparkling on the water, instead, it all looked dark green and gray. the damp earth smelled like stagnant water, and the lilies seemed closed and small.

She crossed her arms and hugged herself. She felt a shiver through her body. Her right hand was clenched and cramped. She opened her fist, and there it was. The reason she had come running to this spot today. Her safe place. the comfort zone.

It would never be the same again.

An oblong mark was etched into the reddened palm of her hand. It was delivered to her that morning. His army ID tags.

All she heard was: “It is with deep regret” and then, “Momere!- Lookit”

Curley Top

By Rose Calkins

I love you Curley Top bursting forth with steel pot in hand and feet at swift as a scurrying rabbit.

You have joy in every sinew of your being.

Fireworks explode in the winter sky, and in a brief echo-like delay, the explosion is reflected in your renewed exuberance Curley Top.

Your scurrying pauses and is re-ignited with even greater fervor.

Your triumphant full throated cry and sprinting can not be contained, nor should it. You run with abandon.

The man-made fireworks try to steal the majesty of the New Year by their dramatic intervention., but pale in comparison to the constant clear night-sky pocketed with stars and the glow of a not quite half moon. The stars have been there for years, yawning at their big deal of it all; but not Curley Top , it is a new year, a new year of life , a new 5th year of wonder. The stars are there for him to appreciate on the somewhat temperate pristine January Morning.

T-vo the countdown 6 times, we want to savor the hoop-la of it

Like the forth of July only better, no bugs and there are manger lights adorning the ground reflecting back up celebrating The Light of the world and His heralding by His creatures like Curley Top and the gift of a New Year.

January 1, 2005

“Support Our Troops”

-Made in China

By Rose Calkins

“Support Our Troops“

- Made in China

The bright yellow magnetized ribbon shaped loops quietly stated as an aside.

“Check out the manufacturer!” Suggested one of the “Chosin Few” machine gunned across the chest and left to die in the Chosin Reservoir in Korea. As he sat there at a communion party for his granddaughter, toeless due to frostbite on that fateful December day in 1950.

He was the seasonal strapping Celtic Santa Claus at our family party. Wouldn’t have taken the time to be aware if he hadn’t mentioned it while we were debating the candidates for the upcoming presidential election. Thank goodness we can still have Santa Claus , debates, and elections because he fought for cherished freedoms.

-Made in China

Tiananmen Square 1989.

Roll over an unarmed voice in a nation.

If there is no voice, it doesn’t occur.

Everything is in order.

Bloodshed in a socialist regime.

Low pay, slave labor to make these “Loops of Support.”

"Can I get rolled over?"

No.

First Amendment poetry- for a price.

-Made in China

Jewish humanity and culture trying to be snuffed-out by a dictator spouting views of hate backed by raw totalitarian power.

A young man from a different land in his twenties is machine gunned across his arm in a 1944 December winter field in Bastogne, Belgium.

He and a buddy barely escape pummeling atrocities at the “Battle of the Bulge.“

The winter is his friend as it slows down his bleeding so he won’t bleed to death.

His blood is the life blood that gives rise to my grateful voice.

-Made in China

We shall never forget...Chosin Reservoir... Tiananmen Square... Battle of the Bulge- scars passed on - freedom isn’t free..

But have we forgotten?

Focusing on the past we didn’t transfer the lesson of respecting our humanity to NOW... in Darfur... in nursing homes... in the homeless... in the children...in the unborn... our families...our neighbors...in the downtrodden and those with weakness and infirmities.

The strength of a nation is measured by how we care for the least of our humanity.

Close our eyes, slap on the politically correct yellow ribbon ... Support Our Troops- Made in China.

Rose Calkins Copy right 2005

Addie’s New Recipe

by Patti Bobek

Bob and Adeline moved into the Happy Haven Trailer Park after their six children had grown up and left home. There were four girls and two boys, now most having families of their own. Being retired, Bob and Adeline lived like many others in the Trailer Park, month to month and check to check. This way of life was not unusual for them. They started out marriage with very little money and with six kids, the money was usually just enough to get by.

They perfected the art of comparison shopping and clipping coupons. These were the ways that they could get the things they needed and the little extras to help make life more enjoyable. These extras to them were the cookbooks they collected, crafts to keep them busy, comfy furniture to relax in and pets for companionship and love.

Bob and Adeline always had a dog to walk and fish tanks to clean. The care and breeding of Angel Fish and fresh water “guppies” was a hobby that Bob enjoyed. In fact there were many tables in the slightly crowed, but “cozy” trailer home filled with the “fish incubators”. These were bowls that held baby fish until they grew large enough to not become a “meal” for the larger fish in the bigger tanks. This is known to happen in this species of fish.

Adeline’s hobby was reading and trying new recipes. Their thrifty ways gave them the occasional extra money Adeline needed to buy different ingredients for new recipes. Making special recipes for holidays or other events was something Adeline was well known for: The Chicken with Cajun Sausage Stuffing for Mardi Gras, Corned Beef and Cabbage for St. Patrick’s Day, and the many cookies for the holidays were just a few of the special treats that Adeline would make.

Well there was one recipe that even surprised her.

It was a fall afternoon when Adeline was preparing dinner. Baked chicken, rolls and green beans was the planned meal. While Adeline was clearing the kitchen table of ads, papers and other items, she came across a bowl of incubating fish. Although Adeline and Bob did love company for dinner; they preferred human conversation to the reading of fish lips. Adeline called Bob to move the bowl to a safer place. It had been about twenty minutes and still no Bob had come to move them; he had again fallen asleep on the sofa while watching a movie. Adeline was tired of waiting so in her haste to set the table for dinner she moved the bowl herself.

A little while later dinner was ready. The meal went as usual meals do: the conversation about family and friends, the day’s events, and plans for the evening were made. Then suddenly Bob remembered the bowl of baby fish that was on the table earlier. He looked around and then cracked a silly smile.

“Addie where is the bowl of fish that was on the table?”

Adeline explained how she called him but he had fallen asleep.

“The question is where are they fish Addie?” he repeated.

Addie’s New Recipe

Pg 2

With a gasp Adeline remembered where they were. In her haste to set the table she moved the fish bowl to the first accessible and clear area, the center of the top of the stove, where spoon rests would normally be placed. Adeline also realized the oven had been turned on to bake the chicken and rolls they were eating for dinner. Not knowing if she should laugh or cry Adeline sat there watching Bob.

Bob stood up, put the oven mitts on his hands and placed the warm bowl on the kitchen table and said “It is my pleasure to give you another course in this fine meal “Guppy Soup”.

They both laughed so hard tears ran down their faces as they looked at the bowl of slow cooked baby fish.

Although it is not a great ending for the baby fish, it is now a story that is told at many family gatherings. This also puts some added apprehension into family and friends at parties where everyone is asked to bring a dish and mom said she found the “new recipe” purely by accident. Mom is always the first to taste her contribution to the meal.

Life Out of Syncopation

By Rose Calkins

Tick, Tick ,Tick... HURRY!

Wake-up and start the day.

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick...

Work Hard, No time to play.

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick...

Have to, Have to do.

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick...

Be productive through and through.

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick...

Now check-off duties on list.

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick..

Get it, get it done quick!

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick...

Don’t sit !Gobble food on the run.

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick..

Drop-off, pick-up, no time for fun.

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick...

When did I become slave to a clock?

Tock , Tock, Tock...

I didn’t look into their eyes.

Tock, Tock ,Tock...

My life’s grand and glorious prize.

Tock, Tock ,Tock...

Didn’t take time for many a hug.

Tock ,Tock, Tock...

Or send prayers daily above.

Tock ,Tock, Tock...

Didn’t give them a passel of genuine smiles.

Tock, Tock, Tock...

And wrap them in my love to last miles.

Tock, Tock, Tock...

How truly productive are you?

Tock, Tick, Tock...

When you aren’t truly present with your loving few?

Tock, Tick, Tock...

Only have one life to live.

Tock ,Tick, Tock...

Pursue your dreams and live.

Tock ,Tick, Tock...

When you take back time

tick...

To give.