I laid down with an angel.

 I know I've shared my Christmas story before; maybe on my blog "My Mid-Crisis-Life" or on one of the blogs I dropped such as "Keyboard Confessionals." That may still be alive and waiting for my return.

But, the most memorable Christmases I've had were the simplest and may have been less about me, and more about those who warmed my heart and touched my soul.

While living in Bakersfield back in the early '90s, one of my co-workers asked me if I would play Santa Claus at her 2-year-old's Christmas party. I love to take on roles. Playing Santa to some children would be the most fun, I thought.

I was working as a school psychologist there at the time and I often worked with children in their homes if they were unable to attend classes at school. One child I had tested and spent time with was a young girl battling cancer. She'd had a brain tumor, but from time to time she was able to gather the strength to attend classes. Each time was like a reunion with her classmates and the staff. I got to know her and her family between her visits to the school and my visits to their home.

As we neared Christmas her strength was weakening and her health was getting much worse. On the Christmas Eve I was being Santa, I was expected to arrive at my friend's house for the party. I decided to drive by this little Hispanic girl's home to see how she was doing. I drove through town as Santa, much to the delight of passing children in the back of their parent's cars. I drove into the neighborhood where the family lived, where homes were small, modest, and close together. This was expected given the standing of many of the families I served.

I found their house and went to the door. Someone opened to let me in after hearing my knock. The Christmas tree brightened the living room. The house was full of family members, and all broke into big smiles when they saw me come in as Santa. The father brought me to the girl's room. I was eager to see her and was shocked to find her curled up on her bed, deep in a coma under her blankets.

She was clearly very sick. The father asked if I would let them take a picture of her with Santa. I lay down on the bed next to her and held her close while the family took photos of her and Santa on this, her last Christmas Eve. The family was tearful and smiling as I walked back to the front door to leave. I never saw the child again but learned she died within days of that night.

I continued to my friend's house to play Santa for her child and friends. I was welcomed into a modern ranch-style suburban home with lots of Christmas lights outside and in. There was a buffet of food set up for families and the children. There were many gifts around the base of the tree and the home was crowded with happy people in a festive mood. I took my place in the overstuffed chair near the tree. I called up each child to talk to them about what they wanted for Christmas. And I "Ho, Ho, Ho'd" loudly for each child. I was a great Santa. And then my part was done. I expected to go change into the clothes I'd brought with me but was told that I was not a part of the party. I was told I had to leave, back out the front door.

It was quiet and dark outside. I don't remember the music or happy sounds coming from the house. I was a bit stunned and very much alone.

But, as I drove home from way over on the west side of town where all the big, beautiful homes with double car garages and neat lawns were, I thought about the small house in the simple part of town where I had been given a lasting gift of love and kindness.

I thought of that little girl and her family as they held her and loved her on this last Christmas Eve night.

I saw how a simple gift of love can mean so much more than all the gifts and showy lights and music a child may get.

I will never forget that Christmas and the child who reminded me of the true meaning of Christmas. I laid down next to an angel that night and my heart was forever changed.

This Holiday, all that Glitters is (Green and) Gold!

 I don't know where I left off in my writing. I could check, but today is the only day the matters for now. The sun is returning and they sat we may see 60 degrees in the afternoon. 

The snow that fell and froze the ground will likely be gone for a few days until winter comes roaring back. 

The ticking of the clock on the wall next to me; the clock set back an hour on Saturday night, if comforting. It might be on the buffet in Grandma's dining room. Or in the reading room in the library where Mom would later read to the children of the town. 

Yo can buy clock that don't "tick", but that would be like one of those barkless dogs. Something would be missing. 

So many gaps in my life and the world today. I can't visit my friends in Poland or Cambodia, or Portland, or Marquette. I stay home except to walk Cody my 12-year-old dog. I put on my mask and any smile and many kind words, go unseen and unheard. 

I will call a classmate from high school to hear a familiar and understanding voice. She entered my life from a country school when the big yellow buses started bringing the country kids into town for school. That was during the 7th or 8th grade. She was so beautiful and out of reach. Not, by her words or actions, but by my lack of confidence and experience. She has remained a dear friend; something she never was when we were young. We have walked the cemetery in our home town and remembered those we've lost and those we miss. I have no-one else who could take her place on those walks. We both seem to have a special bond with our town and the friends we knew. I have lived half my life elsewhere, out west. She has never left. We both are still tethered to the roots from which we grew. 

I should have know. Even with my eyes shut, some days the ball lands in my hands.  

Bookends:

I began this blog years ago and have pecked away at entrees from time to time.  Today we are in the midst of a world-wide crisis with global impact as dire as World War II and other wars and pandemics that preceded it. I never expected to begin my life as World War II was imploding to its end and drawn a close to my life's story as the world now strains against the overwhelming plague we now find ourselves fighting.

The title "My Mid-Crisis Life" is prescient if not ironic. 

I may retrace where my last entree left off and take up the prose from there. Or I may just share my thoughts and feelings, as I do on Facebook,  about the world we now find ourselves in.

Either way, I can't escape what brought me here and what leads me out of this fight. I hear all the promises of "We are all in this together." and "....... Strong" , as though saying it makes it true. 

We are not all in this together. We are each struggling in our own way; alone to cope, find hope, and to hold onto what gives meaning to our lives. 

I have my dog Cody, and he brings me much comfort and daily walks out into a near silent world with only natures whispers of a breeze or a birdsong. 

Cody, 11 year old rescue dog brings joy to my life.

The seasons change, but the events and plans that would come with it has been put on hold. I have vague visions of Paris, my Polish family, Cambodia, and other parts of the world, I hope will still be there when I am ready and able to revisit..

I have long felt a kinship with people around the world where I have been. Some have maintained those relationships through postings on line or Christmas cards. Some have faded into fuzzy images of faces and the places I last saw them. I cling to those images the way others count the number of "friends" they have on Facebook; minor players in an otherwise selective group on the stage. Even those I want so badly to be a part of my life may only fulfill that need by responding to a posting on Facebook or an email I've sent them. Some get moved to the back of the line, if not my mind, because they never or seldom show signs of life from their end.  

If you remember the '70's...

If you remember the '70's maybe you weren't really there. So much took place those early years.. So much happened and yet the pace seemed to move in slow motion..

My new friends, Hope and Jeff, moved with me to the blanket next to our spot of grass in Griffith Park.. We joined the friendly people who'd invited us to partake of their lunch; fried chicken and lemonade. They were 2 mixed couples, although I didn't think of them that way then.. Two blacks; a man and a woman, and two whites; another couple, man and woman... The black man introduced himself with an African name, but late shared that his given last name was Green, a named he called his slave name. This often was a way for blacks to reclaim their heritage and push off the Anglicized name they'd been born with...He had a mildly edgy air about him, but was overall friendly toward me. 
I wish I could remember all their names as they became my only friends in L.A. for the next few days.
The black woman worked at the Wilshire Theatre and promised she could get us all in the movies anytime we wanted to go. I don't remember much about the other couple.

After the lunch and conversation, my friends in the VW bus said they had to head north to their home in San Jose. We bid them goodbye after sharing phone numbers and addresses. They had both. I had none. They left for their car and were off. 

Someone from my new group of friends asked if I'd like to go to a play at UCLA with them that night... It was from a new playwright and was political in nature. I asked, "How much was the ticket."  They said $2. That was all I had to my name so I said "Yes."  We packed up things and headed to our cars. I followed them in my little blue '67 VW. This was a time when time and money didn't seem to matter. Not at the moment.
This was one of many moments of trust and friendship. This was the '70's. 

The play was in-the-round creating an intimate setting and intense experience. The young black star was the narrator and lead.. I don't remember any other actors in the play and wish I could remember his name. Many times during the play his eyes burned into mine. And I starred back just as intensely. I don't remember the makeup of the audience or the room we were in. But, I remember being drawn into the play. I participated as one often does in theatre-in-the-round.
And I will never forget at the end the actor walked over to me and reached out to me. He said he was drawn to me and welcomed my equal intensity during the play. I do wish I remembered who he was. 

After the play, I went home with the black woman and the next morning we all met again to walk over to the Wilshire.. As we passed some white men on the sidewalk I remember hearing grumblings and ridicule about the mixture of our group. They seemed angry at me for being with these black people. 

I don't think we ever saw a movie. I think my friend had to get her paycheck.. 
She had a small apartment that would not accommodate both us should I stay so she introduced me to her friend Cheryl. Cheryl was another beautiful black woman with full large curls of jet black hair. And we enjoyed a few days together before I decided to strike out to catch up with Jeff and Hope up in San Jose..I don't remember why that seemed the better plan. This was a time of little or no planning and giving in to whims.
I remember how surprised I was the first night with Cheryl when she took of the beautiful wig she was wearing. She had a tight short Afro underneath. She was naturally beautiful and sweet.

I don't know how I paid for the gas to drive the couple of hundred miles north to San Jose.. Or how I ate along the way.  I was headed out to another adventure and somehow, as seemed to happen, it all just came together..

Just Past Woodstock

Just past Woodstock.

The year 1970 stretched from the Midwest to Hollywood, San Jose, and many points between..
I was working at Matt's Madison Square Super Market in Grand Rapids and by now had become produce manager, of sorts.. I doubt Matt let me order produce. That was his craft and he knew everyone at the produce warehouse.. I do remember ordering cumquats just to hear the sexy voice at the order desk confirm my order.. She had the sexiest voice and turned every vegetable and fruit into something naughty or temping.. A little bit Eve, and the proverbial snake warmly wrapped into one.. 

As has happened to me so many time in my life I had grown restless and change beckoned. My dreams pulled me westward. California called. 
I had family near San Diego. And this is where it gets a bit fuzzy. Aunt Sue and Uncle Chuck lived out there in Lemon Grove. 
And my sister Jane lived out in North Hollywood.. I'd almost forgotten that link. Hollywood came later.

Chuck and Sue let me move into what they called "The West Wing." It was the right half of a small duplex they'd created in the back yard. There was a young woman living on the other side and the walls between us did little to keep us apart once we met.
Chuck and Sue and their youngest daughter, Cousin Melissa welcomed me into their lives. Sue was my mother's dear sister and was a favorite of mine. 

I don't know how I got to North Hollywood and the apartment where Jane, her husband Doug, and their two kids lived. I don't know how I found California and navigated the maze that is the L.A. freeway system... 
I left Michigan and Grand Rapids in a tiny '67 VW crammed with all I valued and owned...
I drove long hours and days, and late into the night.. I've made the trip many times since, but this was the first.. Oh, I'd driven the same car from Grand Rapids to Mexico City, and Acapulco, and all over Ontario and Quebec in the late 60's so I guess keeping it pointed west within the US was less a challenge for me than it might have been for others. 

I remember climbing mountain stretches on the highway through the Rockies and watching my gas gauge push the needle on the left side. Late at night after a long day of driving alone cross-country, I started looking for a gas station and some sort of refuge at night. As it got closer to 10:00 I saw a sign for a station and pulled off the freeway. The small gas station sat alone just beyond the tall rocks that shielded the freeway from the hills. The sign was dark and the lights in the building were off and I was running on fumes. 
I pulled up to the pumps anyway, shut off the car, and walked to the front door. I knocked on the door until the light came on the man opened the door to the station.. He told me he was closed and couldn't do anything for me. I begged him to sell me gas. I was on empty and headed west to California with a car full of my life and dreams. He relented and turned on the light and unlocked the pump. He overruled me when I noticed how high his gas was compared to what I'd seen along the way. He insisted he fill it if he was going to sell me any gas. He was right and I was a bit ashamed I'd suggested I only get enough to get me to the next cheaper gas station (my thoughts, not my words). He filled it and I rolled down the ramp back onto the freeway headed west through the mountains and the plains, and deserts beyond. 
It was literally all downhill from there.

My memory of L.A. is surely tainted by images acquired over the years since.. I seem to remember lots of chrome fins and pastel colors. I had long hair and Life was full of promise. Until it wasn't.
I arrived at Jane and Doug's small apartment. I was sure I'd be able to get my footing there before finding work and my own place to live. At least I think that was my thought and plan on the day I arrived. It is obvious to me now that there could be no open-door policy on Willowcrest Street. 
Doug told me I couldn't stay there and I was "encouraged" to get out and on my own immediately. I did meet Edith Head's secretary who lived next door and sensed that Universal Studios was just across the 101. This was way before the working studios became an amusement park for tourists.
So, on that day of abrupt expulsion, I got in my fully loaded VW and drove around L.A. I wandered into Griffith Park where I found another VW is distress. It was a VW van and the couple traveling in it had run out of gas. I took them to find gas and then returned them their bus. We decided to go into the park further and found a green grassy area filled with picnickers on blankets. We had no food, but a group of people nearby offered to share their fried chicken. They also had lemonade they offered us. This was a time when people; total strangers reached out to help others. This group of black and white couples come to my rescue when my VW friends left to head north to San Jose an hour or so later.