Five-foot-high Sylvester just what this kid wanted

“There is nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.”(Erma Bombeck)


My husband loves to attend auctions. I have to admit, he does bring home some screaming deals and he has willpower. We’ve both learned it doesn’t pay to bid and win something based purely on emotion.

A week or so before Christmas I was perusing a favorite auction site and saw something highly unusual: a five-foot tall stuffed Sylvester, Tweety Bird’s nemesis. I pointed at the picture, laughed, then said, “I want that for Christmas.” The response? “Yeah, right.”

I was gone the Sunday of the auction, and when I got home I had a couple of homemade end tables. After some magical maneuvering I managed to fit the newest additions into the perfect spots. I asked about Sylvester and was told that he’d gone for $52.50. “Who in their right mind would pay that much for a stuffed cat?” I asked. A strange look crossed hubby’s face, but I chalked that up to him thinking I was including anyone who had bid on the kitty.

As Christmas drew nearer and the gifts started to accumulate under the tiny tree, Sylvester faded from my mind.

Then more wrapping paper was needed and it looked like a trip to the attic was in store. I offered to go up but I was told, firmly, that someone else would go up. I started to wonder, like a kid, if maybe there was a big surprise in the attic.

I may be a kid at heart but I’m realistic enough to know that if we hauled out a giant stuffed cat to put by the tree we would have one freaked out yellow Lab and no one would get any sleep. Maybe Sylvester was at someone else’s house after all, and there was something else in the attic.

On Christmas morning I tiptoed down the stairs, but it was darker than normal. The softly lit snowman was still plugged in and the light we usually leave on was off. After reaching out the front door and grabbing the newspaper (yes, there was one that day) I came back inside, closed and locked the door and started toward the kitchen.

Something wasn’t right.

You know how you can sometimes sense that someone is in a room with you? My eyesight isn’t that great but my fear factor was notching up. I stood still and listened. No heavy breathing except for Sarah Jane snoring in the living room. No, there was someone or something in the foyer with me. After a second or two, I found out what it was.

I could have said, “I tawt I taw a puddy tat!” Instead, I think I said something like what Frank Barone used to say in nearly every episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. If you don’t know what that is, ask me sometime and I’ll tell you.

Big black and white eyes stared at me from behind a giant red nose. Sylvester was leaning nonchalantly against the grandfather clock just waiting to be noticed. Once I was over the shock, I had to go over and give him a big hug.

After the rest of the gifts were opened, there was one more surprise. “Oh, I almost forgot,” said my bargain hunter. “Here. The auctioneer threw this in too,” he said as he handed me a big stuffed Snoopy.

The cat and the dog get along fine. Sarah Jane is ignoring both of them as I sit with one on either side of me in the upstairs office.

Erma Bombeck was right. I’m glad I’m such a kid and I think more of us need to find the child inside of us again. Christmas morning is always better when the children are home.

Christmas memories on a snowy Christmas Eve

This photo was taken at our home on Tenney Street. Must have been in 1974, with Mom and Dad holding their first grandson, Clinton Dean. So many memories, so many years ago. I'm so thankful the kids got to grow up knowing their grandparents.



It’s Christmas Eve. I’m sitting here with a mug of fresh, hot coffee doctored with honey and cinnamon. Sarah Jane is snoring softly on the living room sofa, and everyone else is snug in their beds.

I got my shopping done a few days ago, and I think the gift recipients will be happy with what they open tomorrow morning. Christmas came so fast this year I haven’t had the chance to be the usual pain in my husband’s neck. Usually I start at least a couple of weeks before the big day, asking over and over again, “So, what'd you get me?” Or I drop hints so big he couldn’t possibly miss them. His response to the hints is, “Well, thanks for telling me. That’s exactly what you’re not going to get.” And he was true to his word—most of the time.

The TV is silent this morning because I want to be able to hear myself think. Today there will be no negative thoughts, though I plan to relive past Christmases when the whole family was together for holidays, birthdays and other special get-togethers. I don’t consider that negative thinking; there is a difference, you know, between bringing up something that stirs anger and bringing to mind sweet and poignant snapshots of Mom, Dad, aunts, uncles, cousins and siblings all together under one roof.

There isn’t any one Christmas that stands out, really. We were blessed (and still are) to have a family that knows why we celebrate this holiday and the importance of that was and is still the best part.

All of those December 25ths have kind of run together. Dad cooked the turkey and stuffing, Mom was in charge of potatoes and homemade gravy, and other small essentials. The sons brought in their well-bundled kids, and the wives lugged side dishes, desserts and homemade bread.

There were a few years when I sent my better half out with freshly-baked, still-warm iced cinnamon rolls to deliver to family early on Christmas morning. As families got bigger and we all got busier, I had to stop but it was a blast while it lasted.

After a big dinner in the early afternoon, one in which the kids hardly touched their food, we would clear the table and head for the living room. We would pick a Santa, usually one of the older kids who could read the gift tags and madness soon followed as wrapping paper, bows and ribbons were ripped and flung around Dad’s big living room. Photos were snapped, we ooohed and ahhed and pulled ourselves up to head to the kitchen for hot coffee and pie.

As I sit here and my coffee cools just a bit, I can almost smell the scent of cinnamon rolls baking. In a few hours I’ll put the turkey in a roaster, not the oven, and it will cook in less than half the usual time.

There are no little ones to wake before the sun rises and come running to the tree to see what Santa left them, but that’s OK. I can wait, and truth be told it’s nice to have an hour or so to myself this morning to reflect on this most beautiful of holidays. Family memories like these are meant to be cherished slowly and with a deep thankfulness.

Merry Christmas, dear readers. It’s a blessing to share this day with all of you.

Baking goes "smoothly" at our house

Here's the dessert bar at the latest family cookout a couple of months ago. We also enjoy homemade yummies throughout the year, and sometimes, most times, it's as much fun to make food for people to eat as it is to eat it. That, and the fellowship around the table is priceless.



Faced with a “what to bake first” dilemma the other night after supper, I unwisely asked for an opinion.

The choices were banana bread, yellow cake with milk chocolate frosting, or apple or peach pie. One wise guy came up with a solution: “Bake ‘em in alphabetical order,” he suggested. “Not according to flavors, according to product.”

That night I mixed and baked banana bread, since the word bread came first. I wasn't supposed to put in walnuts because a certain someone thinks such additions don’t belong in breads, cakes, ice cream, cookies or even—get this—peanut butter. “Ice cream and peanut butter should be smooth,” he often says with authority. Whose authority he speaks with I have no clue, but you won’t find Super Crunch at our house any more.

The next day was a special birthday; OK, a birthday for the special guy in my life so a cake was next on the list. I gazed longingly at the chopped walnuts still nestled in their bag; I wanted to sprinkle them in a pretty pattern on the frosting but that would have ruined the cake for you-know-who so I shut the drawer and never looked back.

The apple pie will come next (“a” comes before “p”) but I’ll have another choice to make here. Should I attempt to make my own pie crust (again?) or simply roll out the prepared crust from the box in the fridge?

Years ago I was interviewing a couple at their home and almost the entire hour I was there, the wife was preparing pies. She was whipping out one crust after another with an ease that blew my mind. I didn’t have the nerve to ask her for her recipe at that moment so I waited a few weeks. Before I could call her, she passed away.

In mid-August a friend and I were having lunch. We began discussing recipes of all kinds and since I knew her to be a great cook I asked if she knew of a pie crust recipe that used oil. Did she! She told me the ingredients, and I asked her to repeat them a few times. Neither of us wrote them down, but I kept repeating them to myself until I got home, at which point I promptly forgot one or two items but I figured, hey, I can just call her sometime and get the recipe. She passed away a few weeks later.

Why bring up such sadness in the midst of a baking tale? I guess it’s because cooking and baking for loved ones is one of the best ways I know to show how much I love someone. I don’t think we consciously realize that love enters into the process; after all, we just throw together the eggs, flour, oil, sugar or whatever we use to make something yummy. If we get a compliment, great; if all you get is a plate licked clean, all the better. If they didn’t enjoy what you made, you’d know it.

If you’re the cook in the family, take a moment to remind yourself who you are cooking for. I’m thankful beyond words to have someone to prepare meals and goodies for, and while the compliments are nice, it’s the presence of those I love I find to be the greatest gift. If you’re the recipient of a mouth-watering piece of pie or a still-warm chocolate chip cookie (without nuts, of course), take a second to thank the cook. She (or he) will appreciate it more than you know.

My four-legged therapist gives great advice

So, here she is, our Sarah Jane. She's such a good listener, and she has a heart of gold. I plan to have more "therapy sessions" with our pooch.


Can you believe it’s December already?

Family and friends have taken off for either a few days, weeks or months and that’s interrupted the usual gatherings. We had our breakfasts on Sunday mornings after church, and the Monday-night round-table discussions in Mom’s kitchen, but when most of our group is gone we have to fill in the time somehow.

And that didn’t take long.

Frankly, I don’t know how we found the time to meet and chat with one another. No sooner were our buddies gone than we were busy doing something else. How does that happen?

I certainly don’t feel any more rested now that we’ve dropped some items off the schedule. We must have filled those holes immediately with other stuff because neither of us is lounging around waiting for everyone to return. It’s going to be hard to get back on track. Weird.

We didn’t participate in Black Friday, Small Business Saturday or Cyber Monday. We read the newspapers, watched the news, and I read a whole book (and it was good!) There was work, dog-walking, cleaning, making meals and all the other stuff most of us do on a daily basis.

It makes me wonder if our priorities are in the right place. Could be we’re supposed to sit down and look over our to-do lists more often to see what we can mark off to make room for new things. Or, how about this? How about if we cross some things off and we don’t put anything in their place? What would we do with a little extra time?

I’m not sure some of us could handle that. Personally, I have projects waiting in the wings for when my list is whittled down a bit. There’s a memoir and two novels in various stages of non-completion, and it seems like forever since I’ve seen my sister. I’d love to find the time to talk, laugh and share Christmas with sis before the snow flies and socks us in.

Sometimes when Sarah Jane is the only one around, I’ll talk to her about what I would do if I just had a bit more time. For a dog, and a lab at that, Sarah’s a good listener. She looks me straight in the eyes, wiggles her eyebrows and pays close attention to every word. If she detects a hint of sadness, she’ll pad over to me and put her head on my leg, look up and wag her tail. “Everything will be OK,” she seems to be saying, and I can’t help but believe it.

I guess I’ll take another look at that to-do list. December is a busy, busy month and it would be wise to schedule some regular time with our four-legged friend, just to remind me that we all need to take time to share quiet moments with those we love, and who love us.