Posted on by lgandre

A Year Ago, at Christmas (Part 5)

Missed the beginning? Click here.

Woodstock, Vermont at Christmas
A Year Ago, at Christmas

The two did not exactly spring out of bed early on Christmas Eve.  Stuart was exhausted from his 16-hour work days and Julia still had catching up from her sleepless night.

But by mid morning, Julia’s Subaru was making it’s way out of the neighborhood.  Julia chuckled at all the deflated blowups that littered the neighborhood lawns.  “It’s like Christmas threw up in the officer housing,”  Stuart joked.

The five-hour car ride to Woodstock was slightly awkward.  Julia could see that despite Stuart’s enthusiasm, he was still a bit nervous.  It had been a long time since they had tried to do something not related to her illness.  And for her part, even though Julia’s fear of the worst had passed, she still felt keenly the distance between them and the rawness of the terrible twelve hours she had lived only a short time ago. 

But soon, Stuart was telling her about the remodel he had done and she got to see pictures on his phone.  Julia told Stuart about little screaming Malachi and how she had helped Carrie get ready for their family festivities.

“Didn’t you used to say she intimidated you?”  Stuart asked.

“Yes…well…not anymore.  I am still impressed with her though.  I don’t know many women who could handle that much screaming and not lose their minds.”

“Or men.”

“Yeah, I don’t know any men who could,” Julia said teasingly.

“Well…you’re not wrong.”

“I’d be open to doing foster care one day.”  Julia kept her eyes on the road; not sure whether she dared read the expression on Stuart’s face at that.

“I’m listening,” he said finally.

And Julia found herself continuing.  “It’s funny, as I held that little guy and felt him squirm and kick and scream, it taught me something.  I saw myself in a whole new way…”

Stuart truly was listening.  It felt so good to communicate about something besides doctors and medical bills.  “He taught me something, in fact.  Probably sounds silly…but the first day I was there I just saw how he cried and cried; so unhappy with his life even though all his needs really were being met.  I thought about you…how you’ve held me through it all.  You’ve been there each step of the way.  You’ve been patient with all my mood swings.  You’ve loved me in sweat pants and no make up.  You haven’t complained when we’ve had to spend your hard-earned money on traveling to Boston for second opinions…I realized how thankful I was for you.”

“It was nothing.”  Stuart replied in a husky voice that Julia knew was attempting to cover tears of his own.

“But then…I don’t know if I should tell you this part…”

“Tell me.”

“Then I was leaving the Grimsley’s house around ten or so.  For no real reason, I decided to drive around the long way back to the house.”  Julia still hesitated.  “And I saw…your truck.”

They both were silent for a moment.  She could see he was absorbing what she was saying.

“I saw your truck at the Greens.  I knew Eric was gone; but I didn’t know—”

“Olivia was out of town.”

“Right.  The only thing I could think of was that you were lying to me—”

“Why didn’t you ask?”  Eric seemed slightly irritated.  “Surely, you know I wouldn’t lie to you.  I was only there a few minutes.”

“You hadn’t been answering your phone.”

There was silence again.  Julia wasn’t sure if she should regret telling him or be glad it was done.  She did feel like saying it to him had brought her a sense of relief.

But once it sunk in, Stuart seemed to understand.  “I didn’t answer my phone because I was so determined to surprise you.  I was afraid you were going to start asking questions and I didn’t want to have to lie.”

It felt so good to be talking again.

He continued.  “I know you’ve been through a lot this year; I wanted to make Christmas special.  Get you to a different setting where you didn’t have to think about…things.”

“To your credit, even though the facts looked bad; and even though my mind was running away with things; I couldn’t quite believe it.  And what’s more, I didn’t want to believe it.  There’s nothing like feeling like you’re losing something to make you appreciate it.”  She echoed Julia’s words from earlier.

“Boy, don’t I know.”  Stuart looked at Julia with a tenderness in his eyes that made her fall in love all over again. 

There is nothing as wonderful as falling in love with the man you’re already married to, she realized.  Nothing.

There was silence for a moment and then Stuart talked.

“I was feeling pretty low that night too.  We weren’t talking much—maybe I shouldn’t have tried so hard to keep a secret.  It was all I could think about and I didn’t want to blow it.  But anyway…I couldn’t talk to you.  Eric’s gone.  Most of the guys on base lead pretty different lives…we talk some, but it isn’t the same.”

Julia nodded.

“And this may seem childish to you…but I was really missing my family.  Christmas was always a huge deal at our house.  We would always have a pickleball tournament—Dad and Mom would buy the winner a new pair of tennis shoes.  Brian and I would get pretty cutthroat.”  He laughed, then continued.  “Mom would made prime rib and Aunt Sally would bring a chocolate cake that’s just out of this world.”

Julia reached for his hand.  Stuart had never told her this.

“I missed last Christmas because of our engagement.  And the two years before that because I was deployed.  I feel like my nephews and nieces are growing up and I’m missing it.  You know?  I want to be the fun uncle.  Especially since…”  he drifted off and Julia knew what he was thinking.  She gave his hand a squeeze to make sure he knew it was okay to keep talking.  But he didn’t finish.

“Next year,”  she said, “next year, we will go spend Christmas with your family.”  But then she caught herself.  “Actually, I think I’m just going to let you plan.  I think you do just fine.”

Stuart squeezed her hand and then seemed to find his voice again.  “That next morning, my Bible reading was especially meaningful to me.  It was about Immanuel.”

“God with us.”

“Yeah.  And it was just a perfect reminder for me, right then.  I wasn’t alone.  We aren’t alone.  He will always be with us.  And that’s enough.”

The two finished the ride holding hands.  The silence no longer felt awkward or sterile.  It was warm and comforting.  They had a Savior.  That was enough.

———————————-

Woodstock was beautifully decorated for Christmas.  The hotel was like a storybook.  There was a big roaring fire in the lobby and festive trees at every corner.  The place was buzzing.

“I thought we’d go to that little church in town for the early Christmas Eve service,” Stuart told her.  “Then, I made dinner reservations at 6:30.”

Julia opened her suitcase and started to unpack.  “I don’t know if I brought anything to wear to church,” she bemoaned. She hadn’t dressed up in ages.

“How about this?”  Stuart was taking her burgundy engagement dress out of his suitcase.  “It’s Christmasy.  And it looks beautiful on you.”

Stuart wanted to walk to the church so they wouldn’t lose their parking place.  It was a little cold for that, but Julia decided not to complain.  It wasn’t far and it would be fun to peak in the store windows on the way.

As if God was smiling on them, a light sprinkling of snow began to fall.  “This reminds me so much of last year!”  Julia commented.  And just then, they reached the wooden covered bridge where Stuart had popped the question one year ago, today. 

It was still just as quaint.  The falling snow hadn’t started to stick yet, but it did make it even more romantic.  Julia was trying to find the words to say something more when Stuart interrupted her thoughts.

“Look at that dog over there.”  Julia turned to see where he was looking.  That was something they had noticed last year; everyone seemed to have a dog in this town.  But this time, she didn’t see one.

She looked back to see Stuart, down on one knee.  “Julia, I can’t imagine my life without you.  I believe God has made us uniquely suited to do life together as a family.  I love you and I always will.  Would you grow old with me?”

“Yes.”  Julia said.  Because, in that moment, she could think of nothing else to say.  But yes was not enough.  So she said it again.  “Yes…yes…YES!”  And with that, she threw herself into his arms.

And this time, he caught her.

Posted on by lgandre

A Year Ago, at Christmas (Part 3)

Woodstock, Vermont at Christmas

This is part 3…if you missed 1 and 2, click here to read the beginning.

At five a clock, Julia was standing on Carrie’s doorstep.  She knocked softly when she saw the sign that said, “Sleeping baby.  Please do not ring the bell!”

But even a moment of experience told her that there was no sleeping baby and that a soft knock was going to get her nowhere.  Screaming and wailing was emanating from inside at a terrifying decibel level.  Julia thought about jumping back in her Subaru.  But alas, the concert tickets.

Julia knocked, rang, and finally called Carrie’s phone.

When Carrie appeared, she was barefoot but impeccably clad in a classy, black, knee length dress with flowing sleeves.  Her hair was twisted up on her head beautifully—quite a transformation from the Door Dash in blue jeans earlier that morning.

“So sorry!”  Carrie was warm and apologetic.  He just woke up and he’s…he’s…he’s…

“Screaming,”  Julia finished for her.

“Yes, I was trying to think of a nicer word.  Hungry, maybe?”

Carrie quickly showed Julia around…The changing table…the formula…the pajamas…the swing…all the ways they tried to keep him entertained. 

“It doesn’t work…he basically has two modes, sleep and scream.  But we keep trying.”

Julia nodded but was secretly convinced that she could get him to be happy.

“Sorry about the house.”  Carrie apologized as they finished.  “I wasn’t expecting to get another child right now—especially an infant.  As you can see, I was just about to decorate for Christmas when they called and I’ve never gotten back to it.”

Julia did see.  Red tubs were stacked in the hallway.  A few decorations were strewn here and there.

“As Rick says, I have a hard time saying ‘no’.  But this one has definitely given us a run for our money.  They just can’t seem to be able to find someone else for him at Christmas.”

“That’s okay.”  Julia was really trying to reassure herself.  “Don’t worry about your house; You have a lot on your plate.”

“I do…and that’s why I really want this evening to be special.  Rick puts up with so much of my nonsense.  He hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in three weeks.”

Julia nodded.  “Go on and finish getting ready.   I’ll get him fed.”

“Would you?  That would be so awesome.  Rick’s supposed to be picking me up any minute.”

Malachi screamed as Julia changed his wet diaper.  He screamed as she mixed and warmed the formula.  He screamed as she offered him the bottle.  He screamed between anxious sips.  He seemed hungry, but didn’t want to stop screaming even to eat.

Julia waived Carrie out the door, sat in the rocker, and crooned to the wriggling, crying creature in her lap.   He would stop for a moment and she would sigh with relief only to find that he was just recharging his batteries to scream some more.

No wonder the babysitter had called in sick.  No wonder none of her other friends could watch this little guy “so close to Christmas.”  No wonder poor Rick needed an evening out.  This powerful set of lungs that, by all rights, should secure him a lead role as an opera singer somewhere.  No microphone needed.

Julia rocked him.  She walked with him.  She bounced him.

It made no difference.  He cried on.

He was changed.  He was fed.  He was in a warm, dry house.  He was held close by tender arms.  But the unhappy little guy wormed and wiggled, kicked and screamed.  Julia had never experienced anything like it.

It was only 5:30.

Julia mustered all of the mother instinct she could and started talking to the little guy.  When she ran out of small talk, she began to tell him all her troubles.    She explained all about the cancer, the treatments, the medicines, the side effects, the loneliness, the depression.

Perhaps he was sympathetic, but if so, he didn’t show it.  Then she heard herself say, “Malachi, you remind me of myself.  You’re acting like I’ve been acting.”

The revelation was transformative for Julia.  She continued.

“I’m cared for.  I’m fed.  I have clean clothes.  A warm roof over my head.  A loving husband.  A kind family.  But I don’t like my circumstances.  And I’m being a pill.  I’m miserable.  And I’m making everyone around me miserable.”

Somehow, expressing that out loud brought a flood of release.  Even Malachi seemed to sense it.  Or perhaps exhaustion was taking over his tiny frame.  His cries were weakening into a fitful sleep.

Julia continued to hold him and rock, thinking about what she had just said aloud.  She was loved.  She had received excellent health care.  She had a warm, safe place to live.  She had good food to eat.  She had a beautiful life with the man of her dreams.  Why was she acting like a screaming infant?  Why was she putting Stuart, of all people, through such misery?  When had she last thanked Stuart for standing with her through this traumatic year?

When Julia had rocked a long time, and when her soul had found a place of peace, she gently laid Malachi back in his crib.   It was only 6:30.  She tried to call Stuart.  There was no answer so she left him a quick message.

“Hope you’re having a good evening! Love you!”  she said in the happiest voice she had used in a long, long time.

The sudden calm sparked something else inside her.  Her years of babysitting were replaying in her mind.  Not only did the kids love her best, the parents did too.  She prided herself in never letting parents come home to a messy house.

She began to load the dishwasher.  She folded a mountain of laundry and started more.  She swept the floor and wiped the counters.  Then she eyed the stack of tubs and the untrimmed tree.  Did she dare?

She dared.

It was a pre-lit, fake tree and the lights were the soft gold color she liked so much.  She laughed as she thought about how disappointed she had been with the stark white lights.  Why had she made such a big deal about that?  Stuart deserved a medal for putting up with her.  Quickly, the tree came to life with a bucket of red, blue, and silver bulbs.  She found a spool of silver ribbon and began to twist it around and around.  An enormous red bow made the perfect crown on the top.

Julia felt the best she had felt since…she couldn’t remember when.  She found herself humming softly and even started playing some soft Christmas music on her phone.  She pranced…maybe even danced a few steps.

She was surprised Stuart hadn’t called back, so she sent him a quick text.  “Sorry about earlier.  I know you’re trying.  I love you.” 

Julia was exhausted but happy when Rick and Carrie pulled into the driveway.  They thanked her again and again, glancing around the orderly home, illuminated by the glow of the tree.  Carrie even had a tear or two in her eyes.  Stockings were hanging over the fireplace and the table was set with candles and garland.

Rick pressed some cash into Carrie’s hand.  She tried to refuse, but they insisted.

Even though she was tired, Julia decided to take the long way home, around the block.  There were a lot of young families in the officer housing and many had their houses decorated with lights and blow up yard ornaments.  She had yet to go out to see them.

She was humming softly to herself as she turned the corner.  Then something caught her eye.

It was Stuart’s truck. 

Stuart’s truck was parked in Eric and Olivia Green’s driveway.  Eric, she knew, was deployed.  Only Olivia would be home.  It was 10:15 pm.  There was only one soft light on that she could see; everything else was dark and still. 

The joy that she had permitted back into her life began escaping like air from a bike tire punctured by a nail.  Why?  Why would Stuart be at Olivia’s house?  Why would he lie to her about working late?  Why…just when she was starting to feel good again…this?

Julia stumbled into her house and sank onto the couch.  It seemed as if she was going to lose Stuart too.  The only thing she had left.

She looked up at the tree they had decorated together only the night before. 

The porcelain ornament she had admired was illuminated by the ultra-white lights.  The smiling face seemed to be taunting her.  The photo told the fake story.  The staged version.  In real life, there had been a large, messy splat. 

Perhaps, in that moment, one year ago, she should have been a little less confident and a little more cautious.  She remembered lying on that bridge, tangled in her dress, with the white fur cape choking her under the chin for an unfortunate moment.  She had that choking feeling again. This time, she was not laughing.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there before she heard Stuart’s truck pull up outside.  She didn’t know what to do, but she knew she couldn’t face him.  Quickly, she grabbed a blanket, curled up, and pretended to be asleep.

Check back soon for part 4.

Posted on by lgandre · 2 Comments

All I Want for Christmas…

30 years…how could it be that long?

I finished writing my first children’s book, The Jolly Jeromes, Christmas of 1995.

My sister, Allyson, drew some pictures of each of the characters to illustrate it; and I spent hours formatting each of the ten chapters on our home computer.  We edited multiple drafts; but I kept getting confused so I don’t think all the errors ever got fixed. Reading it was a little like completing a school language assignment. 

Erin and I literally spent days and nights printing out the novel on our small laser printer.  Double sided printing was quite a pain as it had to be fed through twice; and the glossy paper kept jamming in the printer and wreaking havoc. More than a few tears were shed trying to coax those pages out of the printer.

Nonetheless, we found a book binder that did a sewn, hard back binding of the book for $5 each.  We ordered a whole 25 copies— quite the major investment. 

If you have a copy of that limited edition work of fiction, you are close friend or family. Not only because there were ever 25 copies in print, but because it’s been 30 years.  Only a true friend would keep a child’s work that long.  In fact, I haven’t even been brave enough to read it myself since then. 

Everyone was encouraging though, and after the books were gifted that Christmas, I thought surely I would write a second children’s book.

And I…didn’t. Well, I didn’t and I did. But mostly I didn’t. 

Until now. 

And I’m reminded that times have sure changed.  Not only the price of hardback binding. Everything has changed. 

So here I am to introduce you to my second children’s book, A Cell Phone for Christmas. The story of a fifth grader who desperately wants to find a phone under the tree on Christmas morning…and whose parents don’t think it’s the right time for him to have one. 

This book is dedicated to my daughters, especially the power-button-loving one who would gladly trade me for a cellphone and not ask for change back.  And, of course, to my loving husband who knows the joys and struggles of parenting low-to-no screen time kids. 

This time, as much as I’d love to gift you a book, I’m hoping you will go on Amazon and buy it so that you can leave a review.  In this digital selling era, positive reviews are everything. Okay, almost everything. So… if you like it or love it, leave a review. If you don’t like it or hate it…you can just send me a private message, and I’ll send you your money back. Deal?

In all seriousness, if you are a parent or know a parent who appreciates resources that respect your authority and affirm your desire to shepherd your children by guiding their use of technology, this book is for you.

If you have a child, grandchild, friend, or library that could use a unique Christmas gift, I hope you’ll consider A Cell Phone for Christmas. Just think of all the fun you can having telling them you”re giving them A Cell Phone for Christmas. 

Maybe, just maybe, we can sell enough to motivate me to publish another…this time before the world changes. 

Posted on by lgandre · 1 Comment

Christmas Alone – 4

Part Four – A Celebration of Christ

As they were nearing home, Patrick was getting hungry. He had an idea. “What if we go to Dennys for lunch? It’s not like your cooking, of course, but there’s someone there you should meet.” 

“Sure… actually, do you mind if we swing by and get Gram? She’s probably through most of the ritual mourning and tired of being home by herself.” 

Betsy was kind. He liked that about her. So even though he didn’t love the idea, he agreed. It was Christmas after all. No one should be alone. That was the whole reason he was going to Dennys to begin with. 

“She was such a good cat.” Gram said as she got in the car. Not ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’ or even, ‘Merry Christmas.’ 

“I’m sorry, Mrs Little.” 

He meant it. Maybe Betsy was rubbing off on him. 

“I thought you should meet Chandra. She’s the lady that tried to help save Sunshine and got us connected with Dr. Snyder.”

Patrick wondered for a second if he shouldn’t have said that. Mrs. Little might be angry at the vet for not saving her cat. But she sniffed a few times and nodded. 

To their surprise, Dennys was a madhouse on Christmas Day. The place was loud and the hostess informed them there would be a 20-25 minute wait. The vestibule was packed and any time the door opened, a cold blast of air numbed the senses. 

Two young boys sat on a waiting bench. One was engrossed in an iPad while the other was driving a remote control car between the customers. They had clearly been there a while. 

Patrick was questioning whether his idea was a good one when he caught a glimpse of Chandra, carrying two trays of food and nearly tripping over a tray stand that was draped over her arm. 

He waved at her and she nodded recognition but the distraction cost her. Right then, the boy with the remote control car sent it racing directly in front of her. She swerved to miss it and in the process, one tray tipped, sliding plates of pancakes and chicken fingers onto a nearby table. Not the reception he had anticipated.

The car was not seen by the customers; but they were clearly not pleased.

“Rory!” Chandra snapped. Then she turned around and started to apologize to the family whose food had just been dumped on their table. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The manager quickly appeared on the scene and said some things to Chandra that Patrick couldn’t hear. Chandra started to walk toward the vestibule and Patrick thought she was coming to say hello.

“Hi Chandra. I wanted to tell you thank you for your help and try to give you some company today. But it looks like you’re pretty overrun. Merry Christmas to you, though.”

“It’s not a Merry Christmas.” Tears were welling in her eyes. “I’m going to lose my mind. My kids’ dad and his wife and her kids all got a surprise trip to Disney from her parents.  They flew out this morning. My parents had left town a few hours before that. Of course, I couldn’t take off, we’re short staffed as it is.  My neighbor who sometimes watches the boys is sick. So my boys have spent their Christmas sitting here.” She gestured toward the two boys on the bench. “This place has been busier than the mall on Black Friday.” She looked desperate. 

The mall! Patrick had another idea. 

“This is my friend Betsy and her grandma. We’re just kicking around this afternoon. Why don’t you let us take them to the mall? We’ll let them ice skate or watch a Christmas movie or something.”

Chandra turned around toward the scene she’d just left. The manager was trying to smooth things over while the bus boy cleaned up the mess. Then she surveyed the three of them. 

“Well…yes. I-I think I have to say ‘yes.’  Let me just get your number real quick. We’ll connect as soon as I get off.”

“We’ll take good care of them, I promise.”

Chandra hurriedly introduced her boys, Rory and David before bustling back to work. 

“I hope this is okay?” He turned to Betsy and Gram. “I guess I should have asked you first.”

“Goodness no!” Mrs. Little was quick to answer. “You don’t have to ask us. Kicking around with these boys at the mall sounds like great fun, doesn’t it Betsy? I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve ice skated.”

Patrick tried to picture Mrs. Little in ice skates, but he could not. Regardless, her mood seemed to have improved considerably.

She kept talking as Betsy helped the boys get their coats on and pack away their toys. The gaggle was soon stuffing itself in the Tesla. Mrs. Little had to sit up front while Betsy made the boys comfortable in the back. They seemed instantly at ease with her and glad to be getting out of Denny’s. 

“Sure, you can have one.” She heard Betsy say and he looked in the rear view mirror. The boys were helping themself to the cookies Mrs. Little had given him on Sunday. Evidently, the box had been found. 

“What a strange Christmas.” Betsy’s words from earlier echoed in his head as they found a parking space and slushed their way inside. They satisfied their hunger at a soft pretzel stand next to the rink. 

“Thank you.” David was polite enough to say.

“Is this better than sitting at Denny’s?” Betsy asked, fishing for a smile. David shrugged, but Rory nodded. “I hate that place. It smells funny.”

Soon, Betsy was lacing up skates and the four of them were bobbing their way around the oval while Mrs. Little looked on, sipping a cup of hot tea and smiling. 

It was a strange Christmas. Patrick had not opened a single gift. He had not had any good meals. He had not spent even one minute with family. 

And yet… and yet it was a good Christmas just the same. It was made up of the simple love and kindness that all good Christmases should be made of. 

Christmas is, after all, a celebration of Christ. What could be a more fitting celebration of Christ than meeting the needs of the prisoner, the widow, and the fatherless? 

He thought back to that moment a few short days ago when he had stood staring at that wall of paint chips. He had felt so alone then… so different from the way he felt now. Reagan, David, Rory, Betsy, Mrs. Little, and Chandra. Even a short time could turn new faces into friends when he chose to think of others instead of himself. 

Patrick’s phone rang and he tried to answer it. “Hi Mom… Yes… in fact… Can I call you back? It’s loud in here and… No, I’m not painting. I’m with some friends… I’ll tell you about it later. Love you. Merry Christmas to you too.”

When the Tesla pulled back up to Mrs. Little’s home, the lights were coming on. Patrick was pretty sure there were more fake snowmen in her yard than there were real ones in all of Colorado but he didn’t care. He tried to think of a reason to stay, but he knew Marley really needed to be let out. Sometimes it stinks to own a dog. 

“Thanks for a great day!” Betsy said as she jumped out. And then, “You know, we never did paint that bathroom.” 

“You promised to help.”

She nodded. A tiny gleam in her eye. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

“Me too.” He agreed. 

And he meant it.

When he got through the door of his own home, Marley was howling. Patrick didn’t blame the little guy. 

“Okay, okay. Don’t worry, I’m taking you on a walk,” he said while clipping on his leash. Marley wasted no time tugging him toward the door.   

As soon as the cold blast hit, Marley turned around as if to give Patrick a reproving look.  “Hey, don’t give me that. Even Mom said she hoped I wouldn’t spend Christmas alone.”

Marley didn’t stop raising a fuss until they reached the hedge and he had relived himself.

“Feel better now?”  Patrick asked his furry friend. Marley immediately busied himself with sniffing into the hedge.  “C’mon, really?  It’s 25 degrees out here!” Patrick continued his monologue aimed at Marley, but Marley was intent on something and not to be dissuaded.

Marley started barking again and Patrick leaned over to see what had him worked up.  

“What in the…?”

Tucked in a small hole in the hedge was a pathetic looking white cat. There was no collar. It was thin and shivering.  Even with Marley’s excited barking, it didn’t try to run. 

Patrick’s mind processed quickly. He didn’t recognize this as one of the neighborhood cats. He couldn’t leave it outside in this cold. He couldn’t expect it to get along with Marley. A plan was forming.

Thirty minutes later, Mrs Little’s phone gave a ding. She had a text from a blocked number. 

“Your Christmas present is on the porch.” Is all the text said. 

Betsy opened the front door and returned carrying a large box. A cat head soon popped up over the side—a warm bath and can of tuna had done wonders.  She had a tag around her neck that read, “My name is Snowflake. But you can call me Sunshine if you want. Merry Christmas.”

“That Patrick!” Mrs Little said, without missing a beat. “That was so thoughtful!  I knew I picked a good one for you.”

“Wait…what?  Gram, what are you talking about?”

“Well, you know. Some things need a little encouragement.”

“Gram!”  Some pieces were falling into place. “Did you…did you feed Sunshine that chocolate on purpose to get Patrick over here?  I thought that story seemed really strange.” 

“You might say I made the cookies easily accessible.”  She replied.  “You said it yourself, Sunshine needed to be put down.  And I needed a way to get you two together. Patrick wasn’t eating my cooking.”

“Gram!  You beast!”

“I didn’t actually plan to take her to the vet, just keep Patrick here with me somehow until you got home; but he got it all set up. It worked out in the end though.  He’s happy, you’re happy, and even Sunshine is happy.”

“Gram!  Let’s not get ahead of ourselves! All we have is a vague plan to paint a bathroom. That’s it.”

“Nonsense.  In fact, he couldn’t have gotten far. Call that boy and tell him you’re cooking.  Christmas is a celebration of Christ. We’re not done celebrating just yet!”

“Gram, you’re a mess!”  Betsy protested but she reached for her phone nonetheless.

And that is the story of Patrick’s Christmas—a wall of paint chips, a cat, a dog—a simple day filled with kindness. 

And that is why, when he pulled into his driveway the final time, he said to Marley,

“This was the best kind of Christmas.”

And he meant it. 

Posted on by lgandre

Christmas Alone

Part One – Home for the Holidays

The party promised to continue for some time, but strangely, Patrick had the irresistible urge to sneak off and head home. He didn’t feel much like celebrating. 

He noticed Ben, the other “Best Man” collecting his wife and their flower girl daughter. They were headed for their car as well. 

The deed was done. Jeremy was married at last and Patrick’s face muscles were exhausted from the 2,000 photos he’d been subjected to. 

He waved at Ben before jumping in his Tesla and peeling out of the hotel parking lot. Ben had an obvious excuse for leaving early—two small kids and another on the way.

If Patrick needed an excuse to leave early, Marley was his fall back. Marley had been in a crate since 10:00 a.m. Approximately 2,000 pictures ago. Maybe even 12,000. 

Chances were, he didn’t need an excuse. No one would really notice or care.

The drive home was depressing. This event wasn’t a surprise; it had been on the calendar for a year. But now that both of his best friends were married, Patrick felt especially hollow. 

The red glow of the stoplight was innocent enough, but it reminded Patrick that Christmas had arrived. 

Today was December 22nd. Patrick should be in Maine right now getting ready to enjoy the holidays with his parents, sister, brother-in-law, and nephews. 

But no, he had elected to stay in frigid Denver for the holidays. Jeremy’s wedding had been the driving factor. Trust Jeremy to pick a highly inconvenient time to tie the knot. 

Originally, when thinking through his plans, it seemed like it would be too much to try to fly across the U.S. two days before Christmas. And besides that, Christmas had the audacity to hit on a Tuesday—super inconvenient for someone who couldn’t take more than a couple of days off work.

At the time, he figured it would be simple to just hang out with friends for a few days over Christmas and actually enjoy some rest instead of fighting his way through crowded airports, eating junk food, and risking weather delays during his few precious days of vacation. 

But right now, as the red glow of the stoplight changed to green, Patrick was regretting that decision. For a split second, he wondered if a ticket to Augusta could still be bought. Jeremy would be on his honeymoon in Florida. Ben had invited him over, but Patrick had heard enough of his evil mother-in-law stories that he fully intended to stay away from Ben’s house until the all clear was given on Thursday. Besides, it was always chaos at their house anymore. Gone were the days of kicking back and watching an entire Broncos game uninterrupted. 

There were other friends, of course. But most were traveling or spending time with their families. Some had invited Patrick to tag along. But he was tired of tagging along. 

So that’s why he would be alone for Christmas. Well, he and Marley would be together. Four-legged company is still company after all. 

Sunday morning Patrick willed himself to church for the late service. The sanctuary was beautifully decorated—unlike his stark house. But it just seemed to serve as another reminder that he was missing Christmas. Nevertheless, he dragged out what he could of his smile. It was still exhausted from the day before. 

“Merry Christmas!” Fellow church goers waved at him across the sanctuary. He waved and nodded. 

Mrs. Little bustled over and pushed a box into his hand that held promise of baked goods. Before he could get away, she had engulfed him in a giant hug. How he hated those squishy hugs. She was about as wide as she was tall and had a high drama personality that seemed to seesaw quickly between laughter and tears. 

Thankfully, he was saved by another acquaintance. 

“Do you have plans for Christmas?” Eric Cate asked him.

“Y-Yes.” He stammered. Not really sure what plans he was alluding to. Doing nothing, he told himself later, is a plan. 

He exchanged awkward greetings with Mrs Faber. This would be her first Christmas without her husband who had recently passed. Patrick wanted to be kind but he wasn’t good at thinking of things to say in the moment. 

As he navigated toward the exit, an idea came to him… it was something to do anyway. Patrick stopped at Home Depot. Since he purchased his home four years ago ago, the hall bath had been painted an awful, Pepto Bismol pink. It would seem that now was as good a time as any to give it a fresh coat of paint.

The momentary uplift of having a project to tackle dissolved after a few minutes of perusing the wall of paint chips. Patrick once again began to feel himself giving in to the funk that had been pecking at his emotional well being. 

Alone. He was trying to do this project alone. 

There were hundreds of colors. More than a hundred shades of the color white. Funny how little things became so big in moments like this. He did not know what to choose. He did not know who to ask. Jeremy and Anna were good with this sort of thing, but it didn’t seem like the thing to do to call friends on their honeymoon to ask what color paint to buy. 

He picked up a few colored pieces of cardstock. How hard could this be? Really. How hard is it to choose a neutral color to paint a bathroom?

But what if he didn’t like it? What if it clashed with the trim…the flooring…the other wall colors…?

This was why he was still living with Pepto-Bismol pink. In fact, this was demonstrative of why a lot of things in his life went the way they did. Thirty-two felt like a strange no man’s land between college and life. 

Determined not to be defeated by a relatively simple decision, Patrick grabbed a chip and headed toward the paint counter. 

“How can I help you?” A lovely voice asked and Patrick looked down. A cheerful reddish face was looking up at him. Her orange apron had the name “Betsy” in cute black Sharpie lettering. The “e” had been turned into a smiley face. 

“I-I’d like to buy some paint.” He heard come out of his mouth. 

“Okay. We sell paint.” She said with a laugh. “What kind do you need?”

“Uh. I don’t know.”

“What are you painting?” 

“A bathroom.”

“Okay, so interior. You probably want a satin or a semi gloss…”

Patrick felt himself being led through a series of choices. Type. Brand. Amount. Putty. Sand paper. Brushes. Rollers. Dropcloths. Soon, he was loading $120 worth of stuff into the passenger seat of his Tesla. But he had a small sense of victory. He had bought the paint. 

It was probably too much to expect two victories in one day. He did not actually intend to start putting paint on the walls. Truth be told, he had never painted a room before. He would never admit it, but he was intimidated to start. There may or may not have been a deep down hope that a secret paint fairy was going to show up in the night and apply the paint. 

But he did carry in his purchases and set them by the bathroom door. Marley was very proud of him and came bounding with his approval. Or maybe he was just anxious for a walk. 

Patrick checked his phone a dozen times. It was strangely silent. For the rest of the world, the holidays had begun. Other people were doing whatever it is they do on Christmas Eve eve. He kept fighting emotional gravity but it was hard not to feel very, very alone. 

He tried not to sound entirely pathetic when he talked to his sister and nephews a little later. But there was a slight choke in his voice that was difficult to hide. He blamed it on the brisk walk with Marley in sub zero weather. 

He checked flights again. The soonest flight he could get was tomorrow and the series of flights available would make it a 16 hour journey through Atlanta. It made no sense. 

He was stuck. The two days that had seemed like a great opportunity to rest and relax now seemed like a punishing sentence with a bathroom as a jail. 

How different life would be with a family of his own. Singleness was freedom and desolation all in one package. 

Patrick had made a few attempts in the past to find the right girl. It had felt a lot like those moments at Home Depot staring at the wall of paint chips, but with much higher stakes. 

That was then. Now, at thirty-two, there were not so many options. There was not a Home Depot for life. 

To be continued…

Posted on by lgandre · 2 Comments

The Sweetest Tradition

Simplify seems to be the word of the season for me this year. I’m scaling back and letting go and feeding guests pre-made Costco meals and store bought desserts.  I’ve said no to parties and gatherings. I have no cards to send.

But there is one tradition I cannot bear to let go.  You see, every year since I can remember, my mom made Christmas candy called “almond roca.”

Even if we didn’t bake Christmas cookies, even if we didn’t decorate gingerbread, even if we didn’t see extended family at Christmas, there was almond roca. 

And Christmas caroling. (But that’s another blog.)

Mom only made almond roca at Christmas time. Maybe because it was expensive to make. Maybe because it’s difficult to make. Maybe because one of my sisters is highly allergic to nuts.  Whatever the reason, the unique smell of toffee, almonds, and chocolate brought the immediate association with all things Christmas. 

One year, when my dad was out of work, Mom started early December making the batches (you can only make a single batch at a time) and sent us kids door to door selling tins of it to our neighbors.  We probably would have done better if I wasn’t constantly having to explain what it was.  Finally, our marketing director (aka Mom) started making peanut brittle too and sold the tins with half and half. People bought the first one for the peanut brittle, but they came back for more because of the almond roca. 

We earned a small fortune…$55.1 Enough to buy my dad a winter jacket that year for his December birthday. We counted it a win although I don’t think my mom had the heart to tell us that was not a net profit number.  I’m glad I didn’t know about net profits back then…A lot of love went into earning that money so dad didn’t have to wear his college letterman’s jacket while he crawled under the cars to fix them every weekend.

To be honest, I didn’t much like the stuff as a kid. I later figured out why. You see, because it’s difficult to make and because it was only made once a year, there was usually a batch or two of “almost roca” before the good stuff began. And because the stuff was expensive to make, Mom didn’t throw the rejects away.  The good stuff got packed in tins and went to neighbors, teachers, and friends. The “almost” would show up in our stockings to be enjoyed by the peasant children. 

I knew it was good though because people raved about it when they got it. Some would tell me how it was rationed or even fought over by their families.  We figured it out when we started trying to snitch bits that hardened to the bottom of the pan or spatula.  Peasants were some times allowed to glean among the leftover bits after the tins had been packed. 

As I got older, I thought I had seen my mom stirring the candy over a hot stove enough that I should be able to do it as well. My first few batches turned out great. I thought I had the touch. Apparently, it was just beginners luck. 

Since then, I have made many batches—some for kings, some for peasants. I have meticulously followed the directions only to end up with expensive almond mush many, many times. 

I have given up and then tried again the next year on multiple occasions and often thought I had figured out problem—cooked too short…heat too low…wrong pan…butter wrong temperature…wrong kind of stove (gas is better)…wrong kind of butter…and finally this year: too much butter. Butter, it seems, is a slyly complicated ingredient.  Who knew. 

So anyway, I hate to brag, but this year, despite my time crunch, I did manage to make the perfect pan of almond roca. 

Unfortunately, my kids will not know. They are eating the pan of “almost roca.”  We have to keep these traditions alive after all. 

  1. Roughly $55,000,000 when adjusted for inflation.

Note: I googled the recipe to see what was online. There was a lot of nonsense. Here is the real recipe if you want to try it:

1 lb of salted butter – 1/4 inch cut off the end (at room temperature)
2 cups sugar
1 1/2 cup of almonds
1 tsp vanilla
1 8 oz package semi sweet chocolate
2 cups ground walnuts

Cook butter and sugar on high heat for five minutes (time from the moment you put it on the burner. Add almonds and lower the heat and cook five more minutes. Add vanilla and cook 2 more minutes until nuts crackle (this is the tricky part…don’t know that I’ve ever heard “nuts crackle” but the substance should be brown, and pulling from side).

Quickly pour it onto a cookie sheet and immediately sprinkle chocolate chips onto the hot mixture. Spread with rubber scraper and then sprinkle walnuts and press them in gently. Let it harden–if it’s done correctly, it should harden within minutes. You can put in in the fridge to continue to cool and set the chocolate.

After chocolate is set (but when AR is at room temperature), flip it over, melt the rest of the chocolate and put it on the other side and again sprinkle with nuts. You can refrigerate again until second side sets.

Break it into bite size pieces and store in airtight container.