Alison Hodgson

Expert on the etiquette of perilous times.

Archives for December 2011

First Christmas

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One of the good things about having someone burn down your house is that it gives one an appreciation for home.  This is our first Christmas back in the new house.  
Thanks to my friend Jane who, a couple days after the fire, asked my sister and brother-in-law to climb in the rafters of the wreckage to look for our ornaments.  (I don’t recommend this unless, like us, you have relatives who are equal parts dare devil and mountain goat.) Astonishingly the Rubbermaid totes, tucked in the eaves of the side of the attic that remained, survived.  They were melted a bit and suffused with smoke but we were able to salvage a few of our Christmas things including all of the kids’ “Baby’s First Christmas” ornaments.
Christopher
Lydia

And Eden in the little tree at the bottom.

Every year we do a candy advent calendar for the kids.  Of course we lost ours in the fire and I didn’t manage to replace it last year.  When I hadn’t found one by Thanksgiving this year, Eden started cracking the whip.  The paper one to the right is the one she and Paul found the evening of November 30th.  I picked up this cute little gingerbread house a few weeks ago at Kohl’s that has room for her older brother and sister to have a little treat too and she gets to double dip.
You would never know we lost almost all our decorations a year ago.  Some things did survive and I did go into major replacement before last Christmas, and then my mom, who makes Martha Stewart 
look like a slacker, downsized and now it’s as if Christmas threw up in my living room.  It’s a little hard to see from this picture but there’s a flash mob in front of the creche.  The other bookcase is equally burdened with miniature houses and trees that I just set there after Eden emptied all our Christmas boxes onto the floor the day we got the tree. I’m going to pack up everything on these shelves and reassess next year.

Sorting through my mom’s things, I can across a bag of mirrored spheres.  I don’t usually have plates of bowls of decorative things on the table, but miniature disco balls need to be displayed.  They catch the light and reflect it all over the ceiling.

It’s a simple delight.

The Guild Reads

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I am the grateful member of a writer’s group called “The Guild”.  The founding members named it with tongues in cheeks as a rif on traditional Ladies’ guilds which practice the more domestic arts.

We meet monthly and try to have at least one retreat annually (We’re overdue, Ladies!).  In December we have a little party called the “Christmas Tea” despite the fact that it’s always in the evening and tea is never served.
Who hosts shifts from year to year, but what remains unchanging is good food and great books.  We always have potluck and a gift exchange that is entirely, and appropriately, books.  We draw numbers and choose in order, with the next Guilder having the option to steal or choose another.  As we gather before the pile of wrapped books it’s the closest I ever get to that feeling I had as a child on Christmas morning.  I almost always find myself clapping involuntarily.
Every year I carefully choose the book I give.  It’s a point of pride that I introduced the group to Dodie Smith’s (the writer of “One Hundred and One Dalmations”) “I Capture the Castle”.  Another year I gave the Penguin Classic edition of Elizabeth Gaskell’s “Cranford”  another year I found a hardcover of the first American edition of “I Capture the Castle” and gave that.  
This year I am hosting.  The party is tomorrow night and I can’t wait.  I thought I had everything ready to go, nothing requiring a last minute trip to the store, when it occurred to me that I haven’t yet bought or even decided on my book.
!!!
I’ve flatlined and need some help.

Normally, I would look on my own shelves for inspiration, but my personal library has been adversely affected by arson.

What’s a great book you would recommend?

* Image borrowed from Jana Riess’ post on holiday books which I am going to re-peruse for some ideas.

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I rarely complain about the things we lost.

It has been interesting to notice what I miss, the – some times surprising- things I have mourned and, at times, with anger.  This week it was my wardrobe.

I am not a fashionista.  I clapped my hands when I realized that Christopher had outgrown the slew of hoodies I bought him last winter.  It’s safe to say that a woman who gleefully inherits her teenage boy’s hand me downs is no clothes horse.

When I say I mourned my wardrobe this week, it wasn’t really the clothes I missed, it was all that shopping I had done, and now need to do again.  My wardrobe was small, but I had everything I needed.

This came home to me this month as I contemplated Paul’s departmental Christmas party.  I had nothing to wear.  And, unlike those of you who say that in front of loaded closets,  I really mean it.  The invitation explicitly stated no jeans, which is all I got.  I do own a pair of dress pants, but they were a donation after the fire that I kept, despite the imperfect fit, to wear in a pinch.  The pinch came in July and again in November when Paul’s uncle and aunt died in quick succession.

It’s one thing to wear a pair of ill-ish fitting pants at a visitation or funeral and another to wear them at a dressy Christmas party on a date with your fella.

If someone had not burned my house down I would have had several things to choose from.  Perhaps – special treat – I would have purchased a new necklace to bling a little.  I might have checked in with the style of hose most fashionable (sheer?  opaque?) and picked up a new pair, if I was wearing a dress, but I wouldn’t have worried about boots or shoes, or undergarments because I had everything I needed.

This week I found myself shaking my fist at the sky.   Oh the hours of shopping lost!  LOST!  Because of one man’s lack of control!  Oh the humanity! I needed a dress!  And boots!   Or pumps!   And tights! Or hose! And a slip! And Spanx!  Oh dear God, the Spanx!  And we haven’t even gotten to accessories, which I, even for my standards, was poor in, before the fire.

Can you comprehend how much shopping that represents?  During the holidays!

And the arsonist claims he intended no harm…

I do not shop without my sister Torey.  She and I went out a couple of weeks ago and couldn’t find a thing.  We planned to go again, but we’re both busy and I loathe shopping.  Fortunately my cousin wrote a very funny blog post about looking for a dress for a family wedding and I had a breakdown commiserated in the comment section. Torey read it and called.  We immediately went online and ordered a cute black dress from Boden in two sizes to ensure a good fit.  It nearly killed me to pay for two and then express shipping on top of it, but I pulled the trigger and they arrived Monday.  Wednesday I tried them on for Torey and she approved the smaller (!) one.

Yesterday Eden and I went to Macy’s and did a mad shop: hose, boots and pumps, and the gamut of lingerie all in less than an hour.  This morning I took it all over to Torey’s for approval.  The boots got the boot because they were “dated” but the pumps were beautiful and perfect.  The full slip didn’t work, but the half slip I also bought was just right and the sheer hose were fine.  This is a raring success and basically a Christmas miracle.  She liked the necklace I chose, which is antique and gold, but would have preferred something with a little color, since I am wearing black.  I showed her my ruby red nails and we called it good.

As an introvert, in the classic and strictest sense (I get my energy being alone; I enjoy people but socializing is tiring) large parties are hard for me.  I would rather chat with one person for hours, attend a small dinner party or speak in front of thousands over mingling with a crowd.  As the mother of a quirky boy, through the years I have acquired a small library of books on social skills that I usually dip into before an occasion, but I lost those too.

Arson!  More fist shaking.

So I’ve been coaching myself:

“Don’t talk about the fire.”

“Ask questions; get people to tell you their stories.”

“Do NOT grab onto one person and suck the life out of her!”  (Paul is fair game.)

“Have fun!”

Any suggestions?

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A Brief Correspondence

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Yesterday Eden wrote this email to her dad in Toronto.  She had asked to use my computer and carefully typed this: 


Dear daddy, I reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally miss you. did you get the fancy hotel soap?:) well ok please listen, did you love ninja? or did you just love us, and not want to hurt our feelings. I don”t want us to have a dog that you have no part of. that you do not like. daddy I wrote this my self. love Eden. bye-bye.


I love the whole thing.  It’s just a little email and so much more.  I love her concern about Paul, the wisdom in knowing that parents often go along with things for the pleasure it brings our children, for love.  


“…that you have no part of.  that you do not like.”  It’s so easy to just want something and not really care about another’s needs and wishes.


And then, “daddy I wrote this my self.”  This undoes me.


Paul’s reply:

Aw, thank you for your note Eden. I miss you a lot too. I’ve got some soap & its a little fancy – you can be the judge. I thought Ninja was adorable & I’m sure I would love him a lot too if he was ours. You’re so sweet to ask me. I love you. Bye bye angel.

Jet

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After a lengthy application process we went to visit this little guy Saturday. We had hoped to visit him a month ago, but Paul’s aunt died and the funeral was the same day.  The next opportunity was last Saturday.   Paul had a trip for business, but he changed his flight and we drove across the state to meet Jet.

Minutes before we arrived another couple came and said they would take him.  Because I wanted to meet Jet before committing to adopt, the rescue refused to give us any preference.

This, despite the fact that we had been trying to meet him since mid-October, that Paul had changed his flight and that we drove over two hours.

“First come.  First served.”  Is what the rescue…I don’t know his title…told us.  That’s their process for twelve years he also said and they’re sticking with it.  That’s great for hamburgers, or donuts, but we’re talking about a living creature,

 

as well as our children, who all fell in love with this funny little dog.

 

 

 

We’re all sad and disappointed.  Unfairness in the name of perfect fairness is such a drag.  We have cried and prayed and I have written several emails.  Last night, Eden said, “How about we be thankful for what we DO have:  Jackie Boy.”
We are learning to choose gratitude and hope, in the midst of loss.
This is our lament.