Kris Kringle

Holiday memories. I reach for an old mug at the back of the cupboard this morning and smile to myself. It is tall and thin and has a picture of a snowman skiing down a snowy slope. His hands are outstretched. In the background, pine trees and a few little houses are sketched, snow dripping off the roof tops. Indeed it is my favorite coffee cup. It cost Janna only one dollar. My Kris Kringle had forgotten to give me the first gift of the week and I was complaining all over the Center. Before long, that darling mug showed up in my mailbox wrapped in some sort of festive paper. An act of kindness, caring ... or was it just to get me to hush up and stop complaining? How I loved that game! Everyone hiding little gifts everywhere and no one knowing who was giving them. I would have the most fun calling over the intercom all sorts of messages to the staff about my Kris Kringle and I, especially, loved to inveigle out of them the name of the person who had me. Ooh, I made them all so mad with that! I miss those good old Kris Kringle days. Even Janna is not there anymore. It seems like such a long time ago even though barely two years have passed since the last one.

Next week we are driving to Buffalo. T and me. Secretly and not so secretly we both hope there will be snow although we would not mention it to anyone. G. won't be coming but Bob, Cheryl and Anya will be waiting for us to celebrate Thanksgiving with them. I cannot remember the last time T and I went off for a long drive like that, alone, together.

And when we return we will spend Christmas alone together. T and me, Ada, Molly and our tree. Who knows, I might even try my hand at some of those cookies. Well, I guess it is about time for putting those wish lists together. T's family love to use our wish lists. Sometimes we write out a whole lot of stuff and e-mail it around, and there's always the Amazon.com list which needs quite a bit of working on. I have the hardest time coming up with things I want ... I mean, other than a BMW Roadster or ...

I sip the coffee from my Janna, Kris Kringle mug and think of the seven feet of snow we had one Christmas in Buffalo. Dick, Nelle, Gilad, Tom and I shoveled the drive creating a huge wall that was taller than all of us. Now that's what I call snow!

Memories warm the cockles ... the core ... but here and now is in the making. Yesterday I was talking to one of my students, a young woman, probably 22 or 23 years old. She sighed while talking about plans for her future, "I wish I could start my life already," she said referring to after completing her degree. "You're living it now, already," I replied softly. "This is it, your life, you're in it." She smiled and nodded her head. As I write this I realize that I think, "Might I be starting to understand, perhaps for the first time ... ? That ..."

... This is it, my life, I'm in it ...

Comments

[Richard Lawrence Cohen]

Sweet! And makes me thankful I only lived in Wisconsin and not Buffalo. Less snow on the western side of the Great Lakes.

[J.R.]

I was thinking about Kris Kringle (and you) yesterday too! For those who are confused, Kris Kringle is like a "Secret Santa" thing--you'd give your Kris Kringle 5 small anonymous gifts during the week and at the Holiday Party, a bigger gift. Your Kris Kringle has to guess who you were.

Tamar made everyone crazy with this. She loved it *so* much but often "spoiled" the fun by getting unsuspecting people into confessing who her Kris Kringle was. (The first rule of Kris Kringle is - you do not talk to Tamar about her Kris Kringle. The second rule of Kris Kringle is - you DO NOT talk to Tamar about her Kris Kringle.) One year, she found out who her Kris Kringle was before the gift giving even began and her presents were subsequently kidnapped and held for ransom. Hey, we had it keep it fun somehow!

If you want to make Tamar completely giddy and crazy, send her anonymous gifts from "Kris Kringle".

[Tamar]

Oh, how I'm laughing - out loud! And also tears of missing you. So true, J.R. So true! How grand it is to still be able to share this memory with you. How strange how quickly stuff becomes a memory!

Ah then Richard you missed out, surely. There is nothing as wonderful as a humungous snowfall!