“Carolers” looks funny, but so does “carollers”. Surely I have seen this word in print many times, why does it seem so foreign now? Oh, well, one of my life’s minor questions . . .

This group came to the nursing home during supper one night this week and then went up and down the halls. Kathryn listened to them in the dining room, and when they came down her hall, she sat in her doorway and listened. Two of three adults came to her and shook her hand and complimented her on her smile; several of the kids also gave her big smiles as the passed the door – I guess she is helping build that bridge between elderly and young whippersnappers.

Yesterday afternoon on the way home from Fort Wayne, I hurried into Meijer’s to take advantage of the Diet Coke sale. When you first go in the FOOD entrance, you find yourself in the bakery section; and, oh,my, it is a very big section. A week before Christmas, I discovered it was also a “tall” section – cookies, cakes, fancy breads, pies and lots of brightly-packed sweets were stacked high on the shelves. It was almost magical.

I think, had I taken a moment to consider it, I would have enjoyed walking around, looking at everything, and then picking out a special treat for myself this holiday season.

However, my first thought that it was really too much, and that people could get carried away . . . carrying way too much to their carts. I thought about my ongoing diet and actually mentally snorted at the “obscene” amount of unnecessary calories. That was such a stupid reaction.

But I can learn. So soon I’m going to prowl a bakery and select something very special . . . and enjoy it. After all, I don’t want to make the sugar plum fairies feel not appreciated.

Yesterday I was spending time with my friend Kathryn at North Ridge Nursing Home; it was evening-time and we’d been down to supper and back and she’d been readied for bed. I was sitting beside her (in her wheelchair) all comfy, reading my kindle with my feet propped up on the edge of her bed.

Her roommate, Clara, came into the room and said, “Good, AmeliaJake, you’re still here; I won’t feel so alone.” So there we were – we three . . . and I felt so blessed to be welcomed and accepted.

The tree, all green and still soft-needled, is up and decorated – although we will probably add some extra touches here and there and now and then. It is a family tree, so there is no particular style to it. Do I hear an undercurrent of: Well, it could have been better in my comment? Of course I do. Tomorrow I’m going to decorate an old artificial tree for my sitting room with all the special ornaments dedicated to that tree; I handle each one with special feeling and sometimes my eyes water. Often it is one of those tightening of the throat, quiet little weeping and then, well, sigh, deep breath and go on times.

The tree is in the middle of a big second story panel of windows that looks down a road. I have stood and gazed down that road, imagining seeing the characteristic gait of one who is not here. I imagine I’ll be doing it again while nutcrackers and Santa’s and homemeade ornaments stand – or more accurately – hang vigil.

I woke this morning feeling sorry for myself – a visceral kind of downer emotion that was an easy background for negative thoughts. Crap! What a way to be in the Christmas season. And, for that matter, this isn’t so much the Christmas season, as it is Christmas itself anymore. Christmas isn’t a moment or a minute or even a day; it is an awareness – and it is worthy of cultivation.

Now, not only did I have to realize that enabling morose (I’ve made it a noun) is really stupid, and, am as I wont to tell my grandchildren “not in my best interest.” Then it hit me: Wow, my cousin is going into surgery this morning – in face, it is scheduled to begin at this very time I am typing. It is a delicate operation and things could go wrong; I am not on that operating table – I am cleaning the spot for the Christmas tree. But, wait, there’s more: Someone very dear to those of us here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse is also having a bit of a health problem that could lead to a hospital stay for observation.

We want the best for these people and our best Christmas present will be good things happening to them. I’d better shape up or my “kicked up the side of the head” situation will make me into someone they visit at the (cough) “home”.

We got our tree on Tuesday and it has been leaning against the corner where the house meets the fence out back. It’s in a bucket of water and is still wrapped in that net stuff.
So, I guess we need a swift kick in our Christmas spirit butts. Der Bingle is coming tonight and he probably thinks he will come in and find a decorated tree, sparkling with good cheer. I must put a good spin on this: We saved the tree so you could enjoy the warm family moments of Christmas Present. You know, the moments – more like many minutes – of getting the tree hauled in, straight in its stand, the lights untangled, extension cords located . . . Ah, yes, I think he may need some helping spirits – like eggnog or Sam Adams Christmas Ale or lots of Christmas Peeps.

Oh, yes . . . I was going to post the Cow Tree. Well, okay, finally.

While feeding sparkling rope lights through the greenery hanging from the ceiling of the bunker, I stepped into the fruit cellar and pawed around looking to see what Christmas things Mother might have stashed there. I found her Christmas cards – so to speak.