Extra: a December 2007 update

Hi all,

Looks like I won't be posting columns here from this point on, but I still plan on blogging away. Have you ever known a writer who could keep their pen (or computer) quiet for long? Me either.

Anyhoo, there's plenty going on in Kewanee. Deep down somewhere in my soul, I'll always be a Sheffield kid because my early childhood was formed there. It's Kewanee, though, where I've lived the longest.

Friends and family live here, I'm used to the insect population (we keep a wary eye on one another), and we've come to that place in our lives where our attention has shifted from a narrow focus on our children to focusing on hubby's mom. Millions of us are at that time in our life, so we know we're in good company.

Since it's less than a week from Christmas, I wanted to say to everyone who reads this, have a super blessed Christmas and an even better New Year. 2008. Wow, where did the time go?

Column: Watching the Today Show is no cure for cabin fever

By Margi Washburn

It's not yet winter, according to the calendar, but I'm sick of it already. What is it about December 1st the last two years? Last year we were whumped with ten inches of snow, which was too much of a surprise for Sarah the pup. We can laugh about that now, but it wasn't a bit funny then. And this year, the lousy ice, sleet and wind kept the TV 6 weatherman from his own book signing. There's some irony for you.

I like to run all over the place in December. It's fun to check out the sales, mingle with the crowds, get some bargains, and generally get from one place to another without risking life and limb. After all, most of us are stuck inside our workplaces and homes during the sometimes frigid and snow-packed months of January and February. March isn't much of a picnic either, come to think of it.

Now I'm stuck in the house a month early, and it's making me batty. The dog isn't used to having hubby and me both home for such extended periods of time and it's thrown her off somehow. She thinks it's play time from around 7 in the morning until we find some way to get the heck out of Dodge before she drives us completely around the bend. We may live in a big house, but sometimes it isn't nearly big enough.

I'm not the kind of person who can simply sit and do nothing, nor can I do just one thing at a time. One can listen to only so many hours of Christmas music while playing computer games, and daytime television is completely out of the question.

There's always the anticipation that the postman might deliver interesting mail, but bills are what we usually get. Checking one's email every half hour isn't as much fun as it used to be, and surfing the Internet doesn't float my boat, either, unless I need to find something.

I love to work puzzles, so that accounts for maybe half an hour of my day. I cut out the Jumble and the Word Find because I love the challenge, and hopefully the effort will keep my mind sharp. I missed a few of those puzzles over the last week because Sarah was apparently jealous of the time I spent on them. Shortly after I placed them next to the recliner, she sauntered over, grabbed them, stood in the doorway until we saw her, then she sucked in the small pieces of paper and ran. By the time we reached the top of the stairs, she had chewed and swallowed the puzzles.

Just for fun one day I forced myself to watch far more of the Today Show than usual. First, there was depressing news. Then, there was a segment complete with talking heads about how too many of us are depressed. After that, there were dire statistics on our general fattiness as a nation, followed by a snippet complete with candid photos of Jennifer Love Hewitt and her alleged cellulite problem. That led into a piece about how, as a nation, we're far too fixated on our weight. This segued perfectly into a brief news flash that it is far better to be fat and fit, than thin and lazy. To top things off, the marathon news program ended with calorie -laden holiday foods prepared on camera, with the show's hosts and guests stuffing their faces and smacking their lips. I think I heard my brain screaming for someone to please turn off the boob tube.

I know we're not the only ones suffering from cabin fever so early in the season. The other night someone called to invite us over for coffee, and when I heard the giggle in her voice I asked what was so funny. "Oh," she said, "it's just that when I went to call you, I tried dialing you with the remote control." I didn't tell her that I've done the same thing; I just laughed along with her.

Let's hope we get a break in the weather soon. It's fun bumping into friends and acquaintances around town, meeting for coffee, or just driving around looking at Christmas decorations. While you're out, though, you might want to stock up on some things. I heard on the Today Show that we're in for a long winter.

Extra: we miss our family Christmases

The column below is a thinly-veiled prayer that we will someday soon find out that our oldest son is alive and well - somewhere. We haven't heard from him since mid-2003, and that was in the form of a letter. The last time we saw him was in December of 2002.

None of us suspects foul play. We only want to know he is all right.

Major family changes have happened since we last saw our son. His grandpa fell ill and died after a few years of excruciating pain from post-heurpetic neuralgia (I don't know if that was spelled correctly.) He got a case of the shingles in August of 2001, and his was one of those rare instances that turns into what he had. The entire family had a miserable few years along with dad as we watched him go from a fiercely independent and hard-working proud man to someone who needed help just to get out of bed. It took a toll on mom most of all, as we all tried everything we could think of to help the both of them.

We've lost a cousin to a drunk driver - he was hit while walking home in the wee hours of an early November morning.

Hubby has retired, his mom has had a mini-stroke and a mild heart attack. Two nights ago, she tripped on the carpet and fell, tried to forget about it and went to bed only to wake up and realize she couldn't put any weight on her left foot. Now she's in a soft cast and has to be waited on because she can't do much for herself.

It's nearly Christmas, and we ache for our son to call home. His younger brother is here, and we know he misses him, too. How could he not?

We're thankful for our children; both sons have made us proud, have worried us, and have enriched our lives far more than we ever thought possible. We pray they both know how much we love them - we always have and we always will.

Column: Our thoughts and our hearts come home at Christmas

By Margi Washburn

Hubby’s dad had a saying that I love to repeat. As he and my mom-in-law readied for a trip, whether in town or a few miles away, dad would say, “Well, let’s get goin’ so we can get back home.” I know just how he felt.

Home. What does that mean to you?

Tonight we’re watching the Celtic Woman group sing Christmas songs. As stunningly beautiful and talented as these women are, I found myself closely watching the audience reaction to the music.

Many mouthed the lyrics, some stared wide-eyed, and still others sat quietly crying.

It occurred to me that though there were different reactions, there may have been one reason: I believe our hearts turn toward home during special occasions, whether it’s a birthday, or holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas.

My thoughts are varied depending upon the song. The Little Drummer Boy reminds me of school Christmas programs. Jingle Bells and Frosty the Snowman are songs we loved to sing around the piano when we threw Christmas night parties at our house.

O, Holy Night, O, Come All Ye Faithful and Silent Night are especially suited for church, as are Away in a Manger and The First Noel.

Hubby and I watched the program, both of us lost in thought just like the audience members. I knew they were revisiting years past and reliving their favorite Christmas memories. No doubt some of those memories included family members and friends no longer here to celebrate with them, but that didn’t stop the visions in their hearts and heads. That would explain the glistening eyes and tear-stained faces.

Our Christmas memories from our time in Tucson are not often in my thoughts. There was the time it snowed on Christmas Day and the neighborhood went wild. It made me so heartsick for family back home I would have grabbed hubby and the boys and left everything just to see the rest of the family for that one day.

There was one other memorable occasion. A couple of things happened during our last Christmas in the desert. In anticipation that we would sell our home quickly in order to move back to Illinois, I sold many things, including our Christmas tree and all the decorations. As the season approached and we had not sold the place, I got a bit depressed and my co-workers noticed.
One friend had just finished her ceramic class, and a week before Christmas she approached me, a bit shyly, and told me she wanted our family to have a tree. She explained that it would be different, and if I wouldn’t mind, she would like us to use it, then give it back. She handed me a large, green tissue-wrapped bundle. When we unwrapped it later at home, we found a snow white ceramic tree with dozens of tiny colored lights. I cried on the spot.

When I told my friend Lucy about the tree, she let out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad someone gave you something. I was about to suggest you find a tumbleweed and throw some cheap lights on it.” I miss Lucy.

At the end of the Celtic Woman special, audience members sprang to their feet in a standing ovation. Something tells me they were thanking the musicians for taking them back home for a little while.

You know, Christmas parties are fun, shopping, too, but there comes a time when my thoughts begin wandering and somewhere inside I begin to ache to go home.

Home is where I’m most comfortable, where I can dress like I want, check out what’s in the fridge, raid my chocolate stash, read a book, play Solitaire on the computer, snuggle under a blanket in the recliner or simply sit at the kitchen table with a cup of hot chocolate and remember Christmases past, when everyone I love was home.

That reminds me. There is one song I haven’t yet mentioned, and that’s because no matter where I am when it begins to play, the words stop me in my tracks every time.

“I’ll Be Home for Christmas” is more than a song for some of us. It’s more like a prayer, and somehow that seems perfect, especially now.

Column: The bargain of the season includes an unexpected trip

By Margi Washburn

I never thought I’d see the day.

The day was last Friday, and as one of the two people who live here, I was responsible for setting the alarm so someone could join the hundreds of hardy souls waiting before 6 a.m. for one store’s doors to open.

To be fair, I did promise to go along but due to severe lack of sleep and a wonderfully busy Thanksgiving, I was just too chicken to stick my nose out the door. Too dark, too cold, far too early.

This store opened at 6, so naturally I woke at 6:01. Hubby threw back the covers, and the two of us half-racing downstairs woke Sarah the pup and now the whole house was bustling.

I felt awful about waking up late because I know what it’s like to want a certain something, whether it’s a gadget, an appliance or whatever I’ve had my eye on but couldn’t afford. This time, it was something hubby had been wanting for over 20 years. He wanted a ShopVac.

This was the perfect buy, in his humble opinion. He talked about it often from the moment he saw the ad. It was big enough, powerful enough and it had attachments. He would clean the basement, the attic and everything in-between. This would replace the one I gave away many years ago, and the one that he bought recently at an auction for $20 that nearly blew up within five minutes of using it. That one ended up in the city landfill.

It was hard waiting to find out if all of the rushing around would pay off. Did he get there on time? Did he get discouraged at the number of cars in the parking lot, the long lines, the crush of the crowds?

Well, yeah, all of that happened. He came home with the prize and that’s when the day got really interesting.

Once all of the gizmos were connected, it was time to plug the vac in and watch Sarah go bonkers. As soon as the roar commenced, the dog attached herself to me. If the offensive noise drifted off to other parts of the house, Sarah kept a wary out for the return of the new monster.

One place that needed a good vacuuming was the stairway in our foyer. While hubby moved some furniture and found an outlet, I got ready to work on the computer in the adjoining room. It never occurred to me to check and see if the dog had gone quietly berserk (she had), but it didn’t take long for me to find out.

I turned from the printer to the desk chair, saw a mound of brown fur, overcorrected, toppled the chair and landed on my face. I hadn’t felt this much pain since the time Sarah pulled me through the living room and I broke my pinkie finger.

I’m not sure if it was the sound of the fall, or if hubby’s peripheral vision caught sight of his wife sprawled face-down with the dog on her back, but he abandoned his early-morning bargain and ran to see if I was all right.

Once I managed to turn myself over and check for broken bones, the next step was to ask the dog to stop licking my face. I could hear the vacuum running all by itself in the foyer, which meant that hubby was breaking rule number one out of 23: do not leave appliance when plugged in.

The pain from the fall was pretty intense Friday and most of Saturday. The leg is much better now, with only a giant bruise around a swollen knee. In all of the excitement, I almost forgot to be thankful about that.