Oh, wait... those last 3 were it.
Never mind. LOL
LOOKING FOR CHRISTMAS
By Mary V. Young
"Hi, Grandma! What are we doing today?"
"We're going to look for Christmas! Will you help me look?"
Lindsay nodded eagerly. "Where do we start?" she asked.
"Where do YOU think we should start?" Lindsay liked how Grandma asked her that, like she was a real partner, and not just a little girl.
"Ummm.. Is it in the cupboards? Or the closets?"
They looked in the cupboards. In the first cupboard, they found pots and pans, and the skillet Grandma said she would use to fix supper, but they didn't find Christmas.
The second cupboard held cookie sheets and baking supplies. Grandma set those out, saying they could use them later to bake Christmas cookies. They also found Lindsay's' favorite holiday plate - the one with a picture of a snowman next to a pine tree. Underneath the snowman, it read "Lindsay's First Christmas." Grandma let Lindsay put the holiday plate on the table. "We'll use it later to hold some of the cookies," she said. "But we still haven’t found Christmas, so let's keep looking."
"How will we know when we find it, Grandma?"
"Oh, we'll know, Lindsay. I promise you, we'll know. Now, on to the closets!"
In the first closet, they found winter coats, rubber galoshes, and a pair of mittens Lindsay had thought was lost forever, but they didn't find Christmas. Grandma put the mittens in Lindsay's coat pockets with her new mittens, so they wouldn't be lost again.
In the second closet, they found brooms and dustpans, the vacuum cleaner, and all the cleaning supplies, but no Christmas.
Moving on to the upstairs closets, they found clothing that no longer fit Lindsay and her older brother Jimmy -- Grandma put that stuff in a box to take down to the homeless shelter.
And they found a library book that was almost overdue -- Jimmy had forgotten to return it. Grandma set the book by the front door, to make sure it would be taken back in time.
"Maybe it's in the attic" Lindsay wondered. "We probably should have looked there first, Grandma, because Santa always lands on the roof."
Grandma unlocked the door at the end of the hallway, and together they climbed the stairs to Lindsay's favorite part of the house.
In the front of the attic, they found old Hallowe’en costumes, and Grandma's wedding dress. They found Grandpa's old Army uniform, and Lindsay's mom's graduation gown, but they still didn't find Christmas.
In another section, they found the high chair and playpen Lindsay had used when she was a baby. Grandma added these to the stack of things for the shelter. They also found the Christmas decorations, and Grandma said they should take those downstairs, and put them up after they found Christmas.
"Won't we find Christmas faster if we put them up first?" Lindsay asked.
"I don't think so," Grandma answered. "The decorations aren’t Christmas. They're just our way of showing that we’ve found Christmas."
"What's that growling noise? Is there a wolf hiding up here?" Lindsay and Grandma had been so busy looking for Christmas, they’d forgotten to eat lunch! Their growling stomachs reminded them it was time to take a break.
Grandma made tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. They didn't talk much while they ate -- each of them was thinking hard about where else to look for Christmas.
"Have you looked outside?" Lindsay asked.
After lunch, they bundled up and went out into the snowy yard. Grandma helped Lindsay make a snowman next to a pine tree, before their noses got too cold and they had to go back inside.
"It's a good thing we found my mittens, Grandma, but we still haven't found Christmas, have we?"
"Not yet, dear, but you'll know when we do." Lindsay drank a cup of hot cocoa while Grandma boxed up the donations they had gathered that morning.
Lindsay watched out the window as Grandma drove them to deliver the donations. Holly-bedecked houses with snowmen in the front yard gave way to silent apartment buildings with piles of slush by the curb, and boarded up storefronts covered with graffiti. In the midst of the desolation sat a red-brick building that reminded her of a school. The sidewalk was shoveled, and there was snow in the yard, not slush. Children threw snowballs at each other, or made snow angels. A chain-link fence surrounded the property. Grandma pulled into the parking lot.
Lindsay stayed very close to Grandma as they went inside to talk to the manager. Then two grown-ups carried the boxes from Grandma's car into the shelter.
While she waited for Grandma and the manager to finish talking, Lindsay saw a little boy standing by the front window, watching the other children play. An older boy came inside and stood by the youngster, stamping his feet and blowing on his hands to warm them. The younger boy pointed outside, but the older boy shook his head no, then placed his hands on the younger boy's neck. The younger one jumped, as if startled.
The manager saw Lindsay watching the two boys.
"That's Michael and his little brother Andrew", she told Lindsay. "He and his family are staying with us over the holidays, this year."
As the manager sorted through Grandma's boxes, Lindsay kept thinking about the little boy. Finally, she tugged at Grandma's hand, and whispered in her ear. Grandma smiled and nodded, and spoke to the manager, who also smiled and nodded, and then called out: “Michael, please come here for a moment.” Michael looked up when his name was called, and walked over to the manager. He looked at them silently, not sure why he was wanted.
Lindsay put her hands in her pockets and pulled out her mittens. Then she unwound the scarf from around her neck, and handed it all to Michael. "So you won't get so cold," she said softly.
He took her gift and walked away quickly, as silently as he had come. Grandma held Lindsay's hand and started to say something, but Lindsay interrupted.
"Look, Grandma! It's Christmas!" She pointed at Michael, who had stopped next to Andrew. Michael slipped the smaller boy's hands into the mittens, then wrapped the scarf around his own neck.
When Lindsay and her Grandma walked back to their car, Michael and Andrew were in the front yard building a snowman. Michael’s hands were already red, and every so often he would tuck them into his pockets to warm them.
Lindsay put her own hands into her pockets, and felt the extra mittens they had found that morning. She quickly ran across the yard and handed them to Michael, then ran back to her grandma before he could say anything.
As Grandma started the car and turned on the heater, Lindsay felt like bouncing up and down, but instead just kept looking out the back window at the 2 boys, until she could no longer see them.
"We found Christmas, Grandma! We really found it!"
"We certainly did, Lindsay." Grandma smiled at her. "Now how about if we go home and bake some cookies?"
This one also involves a steady hand, calm breathing, a good eye and concentration, not unlike the hobby in part 1, but it's somewhat less noisy.
More photos at: http://pbase.com/fiwit
One of those hobbies involves turning money into noise, and killing a vast army of paper sillhouettes. I have several helpers in that hobby, most of which stay at home and await my invitation to join me for a trip to the range, but one of which should accompany me more often than she does.
I've always said the reason I left snubby at home was because I couldn't dress her properly to be seen in public. That's no longer the case, as of today. A local artisan took a concept of mine and made me a stunning leather beauty for my snubby. She can now proudly accompany me wherever the state of Georgia will allow her to go, if I can find the courage to bring her along.
The inspiration for the stunning leather beauty:
The stunning leather beauty a local artisan hand-crafted for me:
The story you're about to read is true. No names have been changed to protect any innocents. The events I'm relaying took place on the night of Oct. 31, 1997, also known as Hallowe'en (seems appropriate, somehow). I was living in a ground-floor, 2-bedroom apartment in the outer edges of San Antonio (off Eckhert Rd, for those of you familiar with SATX). Used one of the bedrooms as my office, and the other as my bedroom. My computer was in my office (go figure).
Around 11pm, after spending all evening at my desk with my computer (playing with my PC and new modem, making sure they work right), I t scooted my chair back from my desk just missing a mess of coiled up cables. Wait a minute - I didn't have any cables coiled up on the floor behind my desk. I looked again, and froze. There on the floor behind me, scant INCHES from my unprotected bare toes, was a young snake.
Yep. Snake. Of the wild kind. I suddenly found myself in front of the desk rather than behind it, with no memory of moving at all. Left the room (I remember that movement), but when I came back a minute later, it was still there, coiled in the corner (pencil thin, about 12" long). I believe in "live and let live" whenever possible, so I figured I'd grab a shoebox, ease the little guy into a shoebox and take him outside to a better place for him. He was backed into a corner where the bookcase met the wall, so I couldn't grab him from behind, and couldn't just drop the shoebox on top of him.
I kept looking at him, thinking "this is a rattlesnake. I have a rattlesnake in my apartment!" Thing is, I have a tendency to over-dramatize, so I wasn't letting myself believe it was a rattlesnake. That disbelief got harder to maintain when I was trying to corner it and it shook its tail at me before it bared its tiny teeth.
OK, time to get serious. I went to find shovels or rakes or other implements of destruction (had none - don't need them when you live in an apartment), and when I came back it had disappeared. Great. NOW where was it? It had slithered behind the bookcase, to recover from the scare I gave it, I suppose (and where was I supposed to hide?).
I pulled the bookcase out from the wall, and set it to form a barricade keeping some space for the little guy so he felt like I couldn't reach him, and yet I could see him. Then I called a friend's husband, who was both born and bred in Texas.
Chad answered the phone, and my first question to him was "how can I tell for sure if this snake in my office is a rattler?" According to his wife, that galvanized him into a flurry of activity as he sped through every room in their house (and the garage) looking for his own version of shovels and rakes and implements of destruction (he didnt find any, either, having recently moved out of an apartment).
He told me to keep an eye on it and he'd be right over.
Twenty minutes later he was at my door, with a borrowed shovel, a borrowed hoe and his police-officer flashlight. I showed him the snake, and he said "Yep! It's a rattler!" I immediately backed further away from the bookcase, but he called me back to hold the flashlight so he could see what he was doing.
He tried to scoop it up on the shovel, but it didn't want to cooperate, so he cut it in half instead. The poor dead critter was duly disposed of in the dumpster, and I made sure to let the apartment managers know so they could have maintenance try to figure out how it got in.
For the rest of that night, and the next several days, every time I saw a coil of cables, I jumped. And since I had 2 computers at the time, there were lots of computer cables around.
So there you have it, the fascinating story of The Great Rattlesnake Massacree of 1997. We never did figure out how the little guy got into the apartment.
