snow day

we don't get a lot of snow in Oklahoma. usually two or three good snows in a whole winter. sometimes just a dusting, others times a wet snow that melts as fast as it hits the ground. but there are those rare times when it gets good and cold, below freezing, and then a day or two later a big snow storm rolls in. it snows all day, and we end up with 8 inches of the fluffy white stuff. not impressive by snow country standards, but enough to cover the ground and make everything look fresh and white.



that's what happened today. schools were closed, and we all took the day off. the girls went outside and played, and then went sledding. later the daughter made snow ice cream.



wife stayed in and played with her new stamps. i took naps and looked for good things to eat. tomorrow, maybe i'll work half a day, but today was pure slacking!



i love snow. wish you were here to see it.

ghost of christmas past

my depression is seasonal.. i can expect my mood to sink, and to be as dark as the days, when the days grow short. i've wondered if it's because of a psychological need for light, or is it because of the history?


"You and Charlie are going back to spend Christmas with Mom and Pap." all of us kids had moved out after pap's drunken fit. he had raped mom from one room to the next, kicking doors down as he went. i stood helplessly in the hallway and screamed at him to stop, mustering all the bravado i could, until mom said "Just go on to school...it'll be alright, just go on to school. Go on, right now, just go on." feeling useless, a failure, i did. friends of BJ took us in. they had a two-year-old daughter of their own, and one on the way, but they took us anyway. five of us crowded into their tiny house with them. i slept in a recliner, and i hated it. the house smelled of diapers and sour milk, there was nothing to eat, and nothing to do. but the thought of going back... mom and pap had gone to court though, and gotten a judge to order me and my sister Charlie, two years older than me, to go back to the "family home" to spend Christmas with mom and pap.

we had never been a religious family. i had been baptised at a revival when we lived a half-block from the Baptist church in Fort Cobb, but mom and pap never went to church. so for us, Christmas was all about the presents. our "tradition" was to stay up until midnight on Christmas eve, and then open all the presents. we would stay up as long as our energy held out, playing with whatever toys we got and eating candy from our stockings, and then finally collapse from sheer exhaustion. there were frequently years when we didn't have much money, and the words "there might not be any Christmas this year" inevitably were uttered, there seemed to always be a Christmas after all. as a kid, i always hated to get clothes, or gloves or ear muffs. i could usually guess my presents, and when it came time to open them i would always open the least-desirable ones first and save the best for last. but when i was seven i had one octogon-shaped package that puzzled me. it didn't rattle when i shook it, didn't feel like anything i could imagine. on that Christmas, i saved that package to be the very last one i opened, savoring the anticipation and curiosity as long as possible. when i opened it, i found a leather belt rolled up into a thin cardboard wrapper.

we did follow the tradition that year. we stayed up until midnight to open presents but it wasn't fun. there was an uneasy tension, and every present felt like a bribe. i don't remember a single thing i unwrapped. after Christmas, Charlie and I went back to live with BJ's friends. they found a large two-storey house that held us all better. mom and pap separated. they lost the house.


the next Christmas, Brenda was driving Charlie and me somewhere, i don't remember where. the '63 Ford Falcon had water in the gas tank, and at the most inopportune times it would just die and refuse to start again. on this particular inopportune night, it was about fifteen degrees below freezing. finally we gave up trying to start the car and decided to walk the mile and a half to Bobby's. he was a guy our oldest sister was living with. that was a hateful journey. in the dark, cars whizzing past us on Western, we trudged with heads down to keep as much wind off our faces as we could. forty-five minutes later we arrived with ears, fingers and toes stinging like they were on fire, noses running, glasses fogged, cheeks flushed. Evelyn was not expecting us, but of course she let us in. Bobby had a young son, a toddler from his failed marriage. Evelyn had gotten him some presents, trying to give him a sense that she was somewhat of a mother for him. She had something for us too. She dug under the tree and pulled out a present for me and one for Charlie. I tore off the paper of mine and found...a pair of socks. I immediately felt both slighted and ashamed.












my depression is seasonal. 'tis the season.

thanksgiving

"Dear Heavenly Father, it is with humble hearts that we turn to you this day and we pause to give you thanks, to tell you that the burden is on our hearts that we cannot and will not take this gift of life for granted, but we are truly grateful for the many blessings you have bestowed upon us. Yes we are grateful for this bountiful feast, and that we can live our entire lives and never have to worry or wonder where our next meal will come from. We are grateful for the safety of our homes, and that we can live our entire lives and never suffer fear or threat of violence. More than these though, we are grateful for the merciful grace you have extended to us, and the redemption made possible through your son Jesus Christ, and that through that redemption you have given our hearts the capacity to hold the lives of others more dear than our own. If we might petition one request, it would be that on this day throughout all the face of your creation, that you would bless and comfort those who cannot be with their loved ones with the assurance that though they may be far away they are not forgotten. For even though time and distance and circumstance conspire to keep us apart, it is the love that brings us back together again, and that love is enough to bridge the distance."


it occured to me, as we stood in a circle holding hands waiting for someone to ask the blessing, that it has now been a whole year since i said those words. in starts and stops, pausing to fight back the tears that welled up and choked off my voice, i fought my way through it. of course no one knew, and when they asked "what's wrong? what's going on with you?" i just lied and said i didn't know. but the truth is that i was crying for the love i could not have, the love that was completely impossible. we could not have been more different, could not have been farther apart. but it felt good to be in hopeless, one-sided love. even the hurt felt good, far better than the icy emptiness that it had replaced. the good was in the giving, knowing that it would not be returned. to love someone and have them love me back... that would be more than i could hope for. that would be ecstasy.

only the pahlawan understands it all. i will hate myself if i disappoint her, but i am not a better man with each passing day. back then, i wanted to be a better man, wanted to please God and hope that he would reward me with happiness. but now i am sliding back into my old ways. not face down in the gutter, but not a prize either.

coffee

legend has it that i started drinking coffee about the same time i started walking, and by the time i was three no one better try to even talk to me in the morning before i had my first cup. well, i don't remember it that way, but it makes a cute story and my older sisters love to perpetuate it.

i remember it like this.

after we lived at thornton, we moved to fort cobb. to a six year old, that drive takes forever on dark, winding two-lane highways with black-on-white speed limit signs for day, and white-on-black for night, and narrow metal framed bridges. we moved a lot because pap was a construction worker, which doesn't sound like much, but he was a crane operator which kinda put him at the top of the shit heap. he was a good operator too, when he wasn't drinking.

construction workers get up early, because they have to be on the job by daylight. so pap was always up and dressed in his khakis while it was still dark outside. it was on one of those mornings that i woke up and stumbled sleepy-eyed into the dining room where pap sat at the table drinking his morning coffee.

he drank it black, and strong, and i'm sure it was a little of his mischievousness that prompted him when he said, "why g' mornin' fat boy! you want summa this?" too sleepy to even form words, i just yawned, rubbed my eyes and nodded in the affirmative. he got me my own cup and poured it about half full of the steaming brew. cautiously i took a sip. it was bitter, and i made a face. "what's the matter, you don't like it?" i shook my head no. he laughed then and said, "well hyere, let's doctor it up for ya a little bit." he spooned in some sugar and poured some milk in too. "now try it and see whatcha think." he slid the cup across the table to me and i tried it again. the once-bitter black poison was now smooth and sweet, and i took another sip right away.

one cream, two sugars. that's the way i always liked my coffee. the very color of it was a comfort to me, and the smell made me feel at home. i endured endless teasing about it. "you want a little coffee in your cream and sugar?" as kids, it was one of our favorite breakfasts: biscuits in coffee. not biscuits and coffee, biscuits in coffee. mom would make biscuits from scratch for supper and make enough extra so that the next morning for breakfast we would crumble one or two up in a bowl, pour in coffee, add cream and sugar, and eat it like a bowl of cereal. to this day, i've never met anyone who's ever tried such a breakfast, or wants to. but we loved it.

a few months ago i gave coffee up. i was having some headaches and thought maybe it was because of the caffeine. not the first time i gave it up though. when i was sixteen, i had trembling hands but i couldn't just quit the coffee, so i switched to hot tea, and that i could quit. but before too long i was back on it. and now that the days are turning cold, i find myself wanting something hot to drink. and what could be better than a good cup of hot coffee? with one cream and two sugars.