Thursday, December 3, 2020. It’s about 4 p.m. and I honestly lost Wednesday. After getting injections in both my knees and feeling kind of punk last night and into today, here we are. I’m caught up with the minor sewing project for a friend. This weekend, I believe we’ll see some Christmas decorations in our future. I’m getting to feeling a little festive, we only have one gift left to purchase, and that’s for our grandson in Maryland. It’s hard to know what to get for a thirteen-year-old young man. Next week, I’ll send gifts to the grandkids in Colorado. I wish so hard we could see them. Not yet. COVID is rearing its ugly head still. Someday, we’ll have a normal world. Not a new normal, but a normal one.
Hope keeps us alive and thriving. I hope sincerely we have normal again. I don’t want to forget the good things about life before COVID. At our stage in life, we were enjoying our time immensely and have endless discussions about many things. Life is wonderful. There are not enough hours in the day to accomplish everything we really want to do. Not travel, not feats of adventure, just simple, everyday life. We talk a lot about how our parents sacrificed for all of us, and about we never knew we were “poor.” We were the same throughout our neighborhoods, and as kids, we didn’t know better.
I believe the sacrifices of our parents were proof of their generosity, and their hope to provide us with the magic and wonder of Christmas. I used to love to make gifts for people. One year, I made seventeen tied blankets for various neighbors, friends, family, others. I’ve made quilts for people, embroidered Christmas pillowcases for the Grandkids, and want to continue doing things like this. I may make them and sell them at a craft show, because not everyone likes handcrafted items. I’ve crocheted afghans for people, one year, everyone received one. Nieces, nephews, everyone. I enjoyed it so much. It’d be wonderful to have that type of Christmas again. Giving from the heart is what I enjoy the most.
I think it will be harder this year with Christmas since the churches are not holding services. It was always a big deal, attending a Catholic grade school, after fourth grade, almost all the boys were altar boys, and all the girls were in the choir. We practiced those expected duties until we were blue in the face to assure near perfection. No excuses. No missing rehearsals. No one questioned.
Come Christmas Eve, at about 10:15, my brother Tom and I would walk the three and a half blocks up F Street in South Omaha, and arrive in time to take our appointed stations. The organ played Christmas Carols solo for a while, then the choir sang with the organ. They blessed me to play the organ after proving I could. I didn’t take lessons from the nun who taught piano; I took from a neighbor lady. I will never forget our enormous church, packed to the gills by worshippers, the smell of incense, and Monsignor chanting in Latin. Brother Tom and I practiced the Latin just to make sure we could both pronounce it,
We sang many of the songs in Latin at first. By the time I graduated from eighth grade, it was all English. Amazing times they were. I still love Christmas music. Come to think of it, it’s time to gather up those CDs for my music of the day to create by. Note to self: Don’t forget Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Michael Buble, Harry Connick, Jr., and all the others. There are a lot of memories in those old songs. Good memories, worth keeping.
I have to say if you need a gift for a laptop user, get one of the laptop ergonomically correct holders I bought from Amazon. I swear by it, it’s improved my neck pain 50% in the couple weeks I’ve had it. Worth the $60.
After an unplanned day off, know I missed visiting with you. I cannot imagine performers, musicians, small theater actors, and others how they miss their people. Yes, I hope things pick up for them. I’m going to try to not miss visiting with you again. Be Kind, Be Careful, Be Courteous, and Be Safe out there. You don’t want to pass the virus to someone who may not make it out the other side. Thank you for reading, I’ll see you again tomorrow.
Kathy Raabe 