My Father's Ugly Aluminum Christmas Tree

Christmas for me personally, is the smell of pine, a real tree, with shimmering lights, garland, special ornaments made by my children, and grandchildren, and a few new ornaments.

I vowed a long time ago that I would always have a real tree, preferably one that I would cut down with my family; a tradition that my family and I still follow to this day. A Saturday or Sunday is chosen in December and those family members, who are available, drive to one of the tree farms in the country. We pile into the tractor pulled wagon and sit on the bales of hay. The tractor pulls the wagon and then drops us off where the Christmas trees are growing. It never fails, it is usually the first tree that we like but we still keep looking at other trees. Finally, we go back and cut down the first tree, take it back to the wagon, pay for it, and then secure it on our vehicle. We head for a family lunch at a restaurant that is close by.

But sometimes in the 50s, an awful thing happened in our house, awful for us but not for my Dad. The aluminum tree hit the stores, stole my father's heart, and became a mainstay in my parent's living room. I can still remember how excited my Dad became when it was time to set up the tree. He painstakingly laid the pieces of the tree on the floor, set the main pole in the stand. Each individual branch would go into the holes. The tip of the branches sort of puffed out like a spidery chrsyanthemum. My Dad sorted the colored balls, and placed these strategically throughout the tree, alternating the colors of reds, blues, and greens. But that wasn't the end. He set up a rotating colored wheel with a spotlight shining in front of it. When my father finished with all of his tree decorating, he would turn off all the lights in the living room, sit in his favorite chair with his legs stretched out on the ottoman, and watch the colored wheel turn the aluminum tree red, green and blue. He literally worshipped that tree. He gazed at it lovingly, just as I imagined he once looked at my mother. I hated that tree. And that was when I swore to myself that I would never own an aluminum tree or any artificial tree!

After my father died in 1991, my stepmother still put the tree up for a few years. She loved it as well. Eventually she stopped putting the tree up and stored it away. When we cleaned out the attic, I inherited the tree, rotating wheel and spotlight as well. My oldest son always said that he wanted that tree. I brought the tree back from Cleveland to Pittsburgh and put it in my garage. My son was married at the time that I told him the tree was in my garage. He hemmed and hawed, and finally said that his wife would kill him if he ever brought it home. I finally threw it away.

The past year, while visiting my cousin, Netta, in Utica, New York, and sharing family stories, I told her about my Dad's aluminum Christmas tree. I laughed when I told my cousin about my contempt for that tree. Her face was unreadable as she walked our of the room only to return with a photo of her Christmas tree. There it was in color...deja vu...an identical, ugly aluminum tree. A chill went up my spine as she whispered, "I love this tree."

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

What I am thankful for:

My children, grandchildren, daughters-in-law, son-in-law, and niece.

The wonderful legacy and memories of my brother.

My friends, especially my writing group, and blogging partner.

Continuous good health.

Food, because I love it and write about it.

My ability to write and keep my dreams alive about being published.

Sharing my daughter's first Thanksgiving as a married woman.

Glenn Beck and The Tea Party that woke up a sleeping nation and made then roar.

The Cleveland Browns for finally playing like a good, solid football team, despite their record.

The Cleveland Cavaliers for coming together and playing like a team without any big names and big salaried players.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!

The "Worst" Generation

Once defined as the bulge in the python, we’re now being called “The Worst Generation." USA Today is running a series of articles about our generation in which we’re blamed for the current economic crisis, the rise in unwanted pregnancies, and the decline of the American family. During our youth, according to such knowledgeable historians like Tom Brokaw, all we did was take drugs and have sex. If only! All this negative attention has been prompted by the fact that the first wave of us turns 65 in 2011. And the country is in economic trouble and has no idea how it’s going to honor social security, Medicare, and other commitments it made to us, as we were busy doing drugs and having sex. I guess calling us a generation of self-indulgent, oversexed, selfish pigs let’s the government off the hook.

Well, I remember it differently and since I lived it, not just saw pictures and read news clips, my opinion carries the weight of having lived it. As a daughter of depression era parents who suffered through the Great Depression I grew up with the constant reminder that at any moment it could all be taken away. So I took that lesson to heart and became a life-long saver. As a young bride I worked hard to put my husband through dental school, rolling penny rolls for gas money and living in a roach infested apartment. Just as my husband neared graduation, he was sent a draft notice, mainly because the draft board in their infinite wisdom chose young men from poorer neighbors. If you listen to Credence Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate Son,” you’ll understand. Even though we had a child, and even though my husband was still in school, his number had come up and he was headed for Vietnam. I fought hard to keep him in the states, calling Illinois senator Percy to help keep our family together. He didn’t go to Nam, but he still served his two years, being spit upon by war protestors and called a baby killer when he wore his uniform in airports. Though I didn’t like that treatment, I was on their side and so was my husband. We knew this wasn’t a just war. And his choice was serve the two years or go to Canada. So he served and we felt lucky he never went to Nam.

Unlike the Greatest Generation’s war, which had a noble cause, Vietnam was a murky political war. The Vietnamese never attacked our country. Ask yourselves today if the draft was still in effect, how you would feel being ripped from your life for a war started for all the wrong reasons. Because of the brave students who protested on campus throughout this country, there is no longer a draft. I know first hand what the ravages of war look like. My father served for three years in the Pacific theater during WWII and came back broken. He told me that he had to punch his commanding officer to get treatment for shell shock, now known as post- traumatic stress syndrome. He had to fight to get his veterans benefits.

Then there was the treatment of women in the workplace that our generation worked to change. It was not uncommon to be asked to show your birth control prescription if you were married and applying for a job. It was not uncommon to have calendars of naked women displayed in the workplace. It was not uncommon to be kept in the lowest rungs of management if you were lucky enough to be a manger. I had that experience first hand working at Southwestern Bell Telephone. I watched a man hired at the same time as me and in the same position being groomed for promotion, while I toiled away for lesser money, knowing that as a woman I would never be prompted no matter what I did.

Unless you were living it, you have no idea of the prejudice against minorities, and I’m including women in that group. There was no equality and there was nothing you could do about it. My mother told me that she once saw an elderly black woman shoved off a sidewalk by a white man, because she was black. But our generation worked to change that. In case the media has forgotten, young people went to the southern states to work for voting rights for blacks, and some lost their lives doing do. We understood that the enemy wasn’t in Vietnam; it was here in our own country. Listen to Neal Young’s song, “Four Dead in Ohio.” The National Guard fired on students protesting at Kent State University, killing four of them. Consider that Martin Luther King Jr., Robert Kennedy, and John Kennedy were murdered in this country. I remember sitting in our dingy apartment in St. Louis and watching with horror Robert Kennedy dying on the hotel’s kitchen floor, his arm outstretched as if pleading or maybe in confusion. What was there left to believe in when our leaders were murdered for standing up for the underdog? A numbness descended on us that no moon landing could erase. Worst Generation? More like most disillusioned.

Yet, we fought for the environment, honored the arts (To declare yourself a business major in my generation was tantamount to declaring yourself a loser), and questioned the government. Are we a perfect generation, no. But neither was the Greatest Generation, which did fight valiantly, did save their money, and did stress family values. But in order to do that, they had to exert a repression that their children had to question unless they were brain dead. Every generation has to live in the time they were born in. My 89- year-old mother recently said that.

I’m sick of the media and politicians looking for scapegoats because, in truth, the media often tends to be lazy, “Oh, the boomers are turning 65, let’s sling some mud rather than examine something in depth”; and the politicians are masters of passing the buck. “We haven’t a clue how we got in this economic mess. Wait, let’s blame those boomers who are about to get what the government promised them. Then when we cut their benefits, we’re justified.”

I refuse to accept being labeled the worst generation, because I refuse lazy thinking and broad generalities.

What do you think?

Country Living Fair 2010

It was an early morning start for me, as I shut the alarm off, washed and got ready to be at my daughter-in-law's house by 6 am. I was thankful that we only lived about 10 minutes from each other, so that I didn't have to get up any earlier then 5:30.

Shortly after I arrived, we started out on our trip to Columbus, Ohio, to see the Country Living Fair 2010. I had never thought of going to the Fair, although I have subscribed to the Country Living magazine and saw the ads for it. So, when my daughter-in-law, who started a small cottage business of antiques and collectibles, along with a website and Blog, asked me to go along with her - I jumped at the chance.

The drive should have been a little over three hours but we lost 1-1/2 hours when traffic came to a halt. The four lanes went down to one, and we were detoured off the Interstate, onto a one lane highway. As a matter of fact both sides of the Interstate was closed down because of a major accident. The detour and traffic didn't dampen our spirits because we figured that by the time we drove back home, everything would be cleared up.

The Country Living Fair included over 170 antique dealers, crafters, and artisans. We could shop for items and attend free seminars and demonstrations. Besides, we could enjoy the food, ice cream, almonds, smoothies, and whatever else we wanted to eat.

We arrived at the fairgrounds, parked for a minimal fee and got into a rather small line that moved faster then the "Will Call" line. Every thing was moving along nicely. Maybe all of our glitches were now out of the way.

We walked around enjoying the craft booths and the antique booths. My daughter-in-law got a number of ideas of what is selling and in demand to use in her shop, and even bought a few things. I actually bought a small hand crafted lamp, perfect for my small table in my living room. I loved the fact that it was not only hand crafted but the price was very reasonable.

The booths had everything from handmade clothes and accessories to furniture. Wonderfully clever Christmas and Halloween items were next to hand crafted and unique jewelry. Some pieces were simple and others were ornate. Whatever you wanted you could find - soaps, preserves, crochet and knitted items, ceramics, pottery, metal, and wood. Looking at the booths made me realize how talented people have become, and their items gave me an appreciation of their talents.

With all the walking and looking, we did stop for a Philly steak and cheese sandwich, which we washed down with a cold bottle of water. We stopped at Jeri's Ice Cream stand. My daughter-in-law bought a scoop of salty caramel and a scoop of brown butter almond brittle for herself, and a scoop of honey vanilla bean for me. The ice cream flavors were different and delicious.

After a few hours, both of us were hot but happily saturated with all we had seen. We drove back home, and to our disappointment hit the same traffic problem that we had encountered before. The Interstate on our side was closed because two trucks had collided and spilled oil on the roadway and the EPA had been called in. The other side of the Interstate was opened. We made the same detour, down the same one lane highway and lost another 1-1/2 hours.

The traffic problem and the extreme heat were the only inconveniences to a rather pleasant day trip. In the end, my daughter-in-law went home with a few things and a lot of ideas. I on the other hand got to spend a few hours alone with my daughter-in-law and we talked about her new business venture and about my writing a Blog as well. All in all we had a great time together.

Chicago Trip

I flew to Chicago with my daughter, Erin. It would be a short trip and we had planned on staying at my brother's house. My niece picked us up from the airport and took us to the house. It has been three months since my brother, Jack, died.

My niece, her husband and a few friends have gone in and cleaned out the papers, closets, cupboards, and dresser drawers. My niece has taken a number of boxes stuffed with her father's papers, cards and photos. I could tell she has been working hard.

The two day visit was fun for my daughter and I. We ate at Jimmy Buffet's restaurant, "Cheeseburger in Paradise." I had to have a cheeseburger and I was in total paradise. After lunch, we went to a jewelry and fashion expo in the Rosemont Convention Center. There had to be 500 vendors, and tables to view. My niece made us go and look at each table, and made sure that we saw every single item. We walked around the center for four hours! It was pretty neat but my feet, ankles, and legs ached. All three of us did find a few good bargains and purchased them.

That night my niece left us at my brother's house. The cable and Internet had been discontinued. My daughter played around and tried to hook up the VCR, so we could watch a video. I walked around my brother's house feeling lost and sad and not sure quite how to handle my feelings. Sensing my mood, my daughter suggested that we check into a hotel. We did. We found a Hilton close by the house and booked a room for two nights. The beds, mattresses, pillows, and the room was A+. We splurged on the fabulous room service both days. The room was comfortable and it came without memories.

We got up and met my high school classmate and blogging partner Gail, at my brother's house. Gail, my daughter, and I managed to find a place to eat breakfast and catch up on the last time we saw each other...that would have been June, 1964. I still remember Gail from high school and I have to say she looks great! We talked about writing and losses, while my daughter talked about being a chef and a marathon runner. We actually talked about the Diva Marathon and seeing if we could meet up with our daughters and do that. If we do, I will be walking with a crown...running is not my game. I was happy to see Gail and we have talked about meeting up again, when I come back to Chicago.

Later, Erin and I drove down to the Rosemont Convention Center parking lot. We paid for parking and took the Blue Line L, and then transferred to the #66 bus to go down to the Navy Pier. We stayed there for a few hours, walking outside and indoors. We bought tickets for the architecture tour of the downtown buildings on one of the scenic boat cruises. I was excited about this because it was something that I had always wanted to do. This tour was worth every penny and I wasn't disappointed. Neither was my daughter. When we finished, we retraced our steps and returned to the car and drove to my niece's house next to Oak Park. We ate outdoors at a nice little Italian restaurant and then walked next door for a gelato for dessert. Hhmm...everything was delicious.

That night I tossed and turned listening to the loud winds and torrential downpours. When we turned on the television, we found that Chicago was under a tornado watch, and the high winds grounded all the morning flights at O'Hare Airport. I hate to fly but room service for breakfast temporarily soothed my mood.

We did go back to my brother's house and packed a few of his things that I wanted and was able to take back home. I stood in Jack's bedroom for a few minutes taking it all in. I finally said goodbye to Jack and his house for the last time, clutching a few of his persona items.

We Will Survive

Last Thursday evening when I turned on my computer, there was an email from my friend, Elaine, who lives in Cleveland. Her email was short and to the point letting me know that her brother had passed away. My friend's mother had passed away almost two years ago. I knew that this was going to be tough for my friend. I thought a lot about Elaine and her loss. Her family is gone. There isn't much to add. I know exactly how she feels.

When we talked the following day, I told her I was sorry and she knew how I felt. I let her talk, and knew her feelings, right down to the final period of our conversation. It is hard to believe that we have been friends for over 40 years. Our friendship started out in St. Louis when we were first married. Our connection was firmly sealed when we first met each other. We seem to have a lot in common. We both grew up in Cleveland, we attended different all-girl high schools, each had an older brother, and we married our husbands, who had gone to the same high school, college and medical school together, and roomed with each other for a year. Our husbands were in their second year of medical school when we got married.

We would remain friends through the years, through all our moves, all our children (Elaine with four, and me with nine, we also lived together for a few months, and then each of us settled down in separate states. We called and kept in touch by phone.

We shared our divorces and were able to lean on and depend on one another. Our phone calls always seemed to occur when one of us was at our lowest point, and our voices would magically appear on the other side of the phone line to prop the other one up.

I made sure that I was with my friend when her ex remarried. There was no way I would let her be alone on that day. Even though I had suggested that we should become wedding crashers, we didn't but it made us laugh, and get through an otherwise difficult day with all those bittersweet memories thrown in. She was there with me when my daughter got married to make sure that I had support facing my ex and his new wife.

Now we both have lived through the deaths of our brothers, leaving us the last member or our own small families - mother, father, brother. We share those feelings of loss and being left behind and being alone. We know how each other feels, without saying a word.

Years ago, when my one son got married, Elaine and I danced together to Gloria Gaynor's, "I Will Survive." We danced with abandonment, tears and sang along with the words. I know we are both survivors and we will survive this period of our lives too.

Fear of Flying

Okay, I hate to fly. That little secret is out even though my family and few friends know this about me. Now, whoever reads this post will. Oddly, when I was in grade school. I found one of those advertisements in a magazine to fill out and send into stewardess school. I cut it out, filled in the information and mailed it away. I received a packet of information and lied my way through that, and mailed it back.

I doodled away pictures of airline stewardesses and thought if there was an emergency I would be the heroine of that story. One day, I received confirmation that TWA accepted my applications and I could start school in the fall. Me, little old me? I was only in the 8th grade! What the heck was I thinking! I took all the correspondence and threw them in the garbage and waited in fear that the mail police would find out where I lived and arrest me. Nothing happened. But that incident cured me, and I never sent away or filled out another questionnaire.

Then one day I woke up and the "fear of flying" set in. How? Why? I can't answer those questions. Forget about being an airline stewardess, even if they were cute, perky, and had great uniforms, and flew to far off exotic places.

The first time I had to fly - I was petrified. I hated it. It took a long time for me to realize, I hated to fly because I had no control over the plane. My symptoms were interior terror, my mouth would go dry, and I felt light headed. I loved the taking off and landing. I even wouldn't mind flying a few feet about the ground. I definitely could handle that. I also hate when the plane shudders, or hits turbulence, or moves. Yeah, I hate it. I hate everything about flying.

I remember flying one time and sitting by the emergency exit. Remember you get a little more legroom with those seats. I was flying with a friend who sighed as she stretched out her legs. The attendant came on the loud speaker and asked for the passengers to take a look at the typed up plastic paper and familiarize themselves with the emergency exits and procedures. I looked at it, read and re-read it and studied it, until my friend said to put it away because we would be fine. The attendant walked by and asked if I felt comfortable and capable handling an emergency while sitting next to the emergency exit? My heart raced, my eyes went wide and I tried to lick some moisture to my already dried lips. Before I could croak out a word, my friend assured the attendant I could do that and everything would be fine. After the attendant walked away, my friend leaned over and said, "Don't worry, if something happens, I'll knock you out of the way and attend to the door." Anything for a few inches of legroom!

Even though I have flown over 13 times, I am still not comfortable. I still remember flying Southwest Airlines and being given an unlimited amount of pretzels to eat when the plane dropped a few feet, scaring the hell out of everyone, and quieting a group of noisy travelers into silence and fervent prayers.

The first time that I ever flew, I can remember having to wait for hours because of a big winter storm. Another time I had to change planes because of mechanical problems. You can bet that didn't make me feel too relaxed or confident.

It even got better coming back from a Chicago, two months ago with my daughter, Kate, when we flew on a smaller plane. The attendant asked for three passengers to move from the right side of the plane to the left side of the plane so to balance the load!

Recently, on the day I was to fly back from Chicago to Pittsburgh with my daughter, Erin, I awoke to a howling wind, alternating with loud downpours of rain. I turned on the news to find that Chicago was on a tornado alert, and the planes had been grounded at O'Hare airport. We were flying out later in the day. Eventually, that evening, we boarded our plane on time. The pilot wanted us to get our luggage put away quickly, so that we would get our plane up in the air before the new storm moved in.

I'll probably fly when I have to. I'll probably still feel nervous. But, I still rather travel when I have control of the wheel. Maybe I should become a pilot?

On second thought - I don't think so!