A perfect little story…from beginning to end. It is a highlight of this year which I look forward to bidding farewell. Here’s to a better 2023 with less trips and falls for us all.
I will put tangerines on the Christmas list in '23 and think of you. GiGi and I did Christmas dinner at home with our grown son who is between couches, and before that drove to our daughter's house for unwrapping. It was the best as our great-granddaughter is now proficient at unwrapping, walking, and
The image of watching Grandma "unbraid her long hair and brush it at night" is a familiar one. My Grandma was an immigrant from Russian Ukraine at the turn of the Twentieth Century. I once wrote a family story that included the night I discovered that the bun on the top of her head could unwind, and the result was a cascade of silver that I didn't know existed. Hair descending to her waist. When I shared this story with others, I learned that if you are about our age, you had a Grandma from Sweden or Scotland or Russia or Romania or Greece whose hair was a secret during the day to be liberated at night. A cherished memory.
Dear Mr. Keillor, thank you for a wonderful Christmas story, one of, if not the best of your story's this year. I, like many look towards 2023, praying over all, it will be a better year. Yes, 2022 had its ups and downs, and for many like you, it was a life saving year, plus you have had your share of falls, as have I. For me, I find it strange, if not odd, it appears my body picks either outside on the sidewalk in front of a Walgreens, or a Circle K towards the end of my daily walk. There is nothing is front of either place to cause a fall, which always leaves me with why here? They both are on busy streets, traffic drives by, and no one ever has stopped, much less slowed down. I am either lying there, or sitting watching this flow of traffic thinking they can see me. If it wasn't for the kindness of strangers in Walgreens parking lot or car getting gas at the Circle K and their driver walking over to help me up, I don't know what would have happened except I would miss reading you, which I really would. YOU, Mr. Keillor give so many of us laughter and hope, even when we don't share the same memories - Laughter and hope in the times we are living in now means so much, much more than a long winded woman such as myself can write here or anywhere else. Since if I make it that far, in 12 days I will be three years older than you. Because of absolutely un-controlled blood pressure that refuses to respond to any medications (there have been a lot tried) I'm surprised every morning that I woke up again, and I thank the Lord before I shut my eyes each night I made it through another day. Some of these days fly by, others pass slower than snails, the only things left are those old memories filled with laughter and hope, that are now daily realty. So Mr. Keillor, Please, please continue to fill us all with more laughter and hope, and prayers for those fighting for their lives, hungry and cold, homeless and jobless, and for those trapped in wars they did not start, writing and studying in bomb shelters, Hope and Peace - let us all Pray 2023 brings the world forward with love, good health, safety, kindness and generosity, and more on a planet that wants us to thrive, not just survive as we are, or were. I, and I am sure many here wish you and your bride a Very Happy Healthy Blessed New Year!
"Red socks" took me back 52 years to my first week on my first job out of college. The insurance company was very staid, very traditional -- dark suits, white shirts, dark ties, dark socks. I had one navy blue suit, two shirts, and four pairs of dark socks, but no money until payday in two weeks to buy more.
Friday arrived – no dark socks. (Yes, I could have washed a pair, but at 21 a guy didn't think like that.) My sock drawer was not quite bare: back in a corner was a pair of red socks. I had no choice. On they went. All day long I noticed people noticing my socks. No comments, but some curled lips or rolling eyes.
I finally washed all five pair. The next Friday brought the same dilemma and the same result. Still no comments.
With money in my pocket I bought new pairs of acceptable socks. The following Friday I wore a pair. Ditto for the following week. Then something unexpected happened. A few people smiled and asked, "Where are the red socks?" (None of those people was my boss, but he hadn't said anything.) I think some folks saw me as a rebel. In any case, the following Friday I wore the red socks. More smiles. From then on, Friday was "red socks day" for the rest of my career, including self-employment when I finally realized I never did fit in to corporate life.
In retirement, I have added red jeans to the Friday socks. Nothing to do with politics, though.
My French-Canadian great-grandmother, who taught us to make pork pies, popcorn balls, fudge (chocolate and penuche), and taffy, wore her hair in a loose bun. When she spent a week with us in a cottage in Green Harbor, MA in 1955, we watched her take her hair down at night an braid it. She always had a jigsaw puzzle in progress in a tray under her bed (which I sleep in now) and gave my both my sister and me our own adult puzzle on that vacation and taught us how to sort the pieces.
We went to visit her and my grandmother every other week and my sister and I were fascinated by listening to them and my mother chatting in French. My great-grandmother died when I was almost 10, but we still visited my grandmother in alternate weeks. After a while I noticed that she and my mother didn't speak French anymore. I asked my mother why and she said, "Meme liked to swear and she didn't want you kids to hear what she was saying."
The adults in the French Canadian side of my family always switched from English to French when they wanted to discuss something "interesting" that they didn't want us kids to hear. Of course we all took French classes in high school, but by then the grownups realized that they couldn't discuss the juicy stuff until all the youngsters had been sent outside on various missions... I spent a lot of time harvesting veggies and fruits in my grandparents's garden! :)
That's funny! My mother spoke only French until she was 9 when she transferred to a public school from a French parochial school because the nuns mistreated her. She took French in high school, but found it different from the Canadian version her relatives spoke. They weren't educated (my mother was the first to graduate from high school) and some had been in the US for several generations, so they actually spoke a mixture of English and French. I only took Latin in high school, and German and Russian in college, but I did take 1 year of French at my local university after I retired. I can't speak it, but I can read well enough to understand genealogical records.
My idea of a perfect gift is a grapefruit. Just one!
I love grapefruit, but they interact with a lot of medications.
An orange. And walnuts. The magic and peace in those simple Christmas mornings, thank you for stirring those shared memories so tenderly well. ❤
A perfect little story…from beginning to end. It is a highlight of this year which I look forward to bidding farewell. Here’s to a better 2023 with less trips and falls for us all.
I enjoyed the pictures, too.
Many wonderful Christmas memories.I too have wondered about the return of parties, I also wonder if I want them to return. A Covid loss.
You should party like it’s 1999...Covid be damned. We have but one life to live...so live it!
Whether I hear you or read you, I am always grateful for all you add to my life.
I will put tangerines on the Christmas list in '23 and think of you. GiGi and I did Christmas dinner at home with our grown son who is between couches, and before that drove to our daughter's house for unwrapping. It was the best as our great-granddaughter is now proficient at unwrapping, walking, and
showing new teethy- smiles. Happy New Year
You knew Jim Harrison?
Such sweet reminiscences you share, accented by savory insights!
As always a great way to start my day is read you
The image of watching Grandma "unbraid her long hair and brush it at night" is a familiar one. My Grandma was an immigrant from Russian Ukraine at the turn of the Twentieth Century. I once wrote a family story that included the night I discovered that the bun on the top of her head could unwind, and the result was a cascade of silver that I didn't know existed. Hair descending to her waist. When I shared this story with others, I learned that if you are about our age, you had a Grandma from Sweden or Scotland or Russia or Romania or Greece whose hair was a secret during the day to be liberated at night. A cherished memory.
As GK said about holidays years ago, “More we do not need.” And “thanks” we must.
Dear Mr. Keillor, thank you for a wonderful Christmas story, one of, if not the best of your story's this year. I, like many look towards 2023, praying over all, it will be a better year. Yes, 2022 had its ups and downs, and for many like you, it was a life saving year, plus you have had your share of falls, as have I. For me, I find it strange, if not odd, it appears my body picks either outside on the sidewalk in front of a Walgreens, or a Circle K towards the end of my daily walk. There is nothing is front of either place to cause a fall, which always leaves me with why here? They both are on busy streets, traffic drives by, and no one ever has stopped, much less slowed down. I am either lying there, or sitting watching this flow of traffic thinking they can see me. If it wasn't for the kindness of strangers in Walgreens parking lot or car getting gas at the Circle K and their driver walking over to help me up, I don't know what would have happened except I would miss reading you, which I really would. YOU, Mr. Keillor give so many of us laughter and hope, even when we don't share the same memories - Laughter and hope in the times we are living in now means so much, much more than a long winded woman such as myself can write here or anywhere else. Since if I make it that far, in 12 days I will be three years older than you. Because of absolutely un-controlled blood pressure that refuses to respond to any medications (there have been a lot tried) I'm surprised every morning that I woke up again, and I thank the Lord before I shut my eyes each night I made it through another day. Some of these days fly by, others pass slower than snails, the only things left are those old memories filled with laughter and hope, that are now daily realty. So Mr. Keillor, Please, please continue to fill us all with more laughter and hope, and prayers for those fighting for their lives, hungry and cold, homeless and jobless, and for those trapped in wars they did not start, writing and studying in bomb shelters, Hope and Peace - let us all Pray 2023 brings the world forward with love, good health, safety, kindness and generosity, and more on a planet that wants us to thrive, not just survive as we are, or were. I, and I am sure many here wish you and your bride a Very Happy Healthy Blessed New Year!
Please see a nephrologist or an endocrinologist about your blood pressure.
This is what I do for a career.
Hope you have a very happy birthday and a very happy 2023!
"Red socks" took me back 52 years to my first week on my first job out of college. The insurance company was very staid, very traditional -- dark suits, white shirts, dark ties, dark socks. I had one navy blue suit, two shirts, and four pairs of dark socks, but no money until payday in two weeks to buy more.
Friday arrived – no dark socks. (Yes, I could have washed a pair, but at 21 a guy didn't think like that.) My sock drawer was not quite bare: back in a corner was a pair of red socks. I had no choice. On they went. All day long I noticed people noticing my socks. No comments, but some curled lips or rolling eyes.
I finally washed all five pair. The next Friday brought the same dilemma and the same result. Still no comments.
With money in my pocket I bought new pairs of acceptable socks. The following Friday I wore a pair. Ditto for the following week. Then something unexpected happened. A few people smiled and asked, "Where are the red socks?" (None of those people was my boss, but he hadn't said anything.) I think some folks saw me as a rebel. In any case, the following Friday I wore the red socks. More smiles. From then on, Friday was "red socks day" for the rest of my career, including self-employment when I finally realized I never did fit in to corporate life.
In retirement, I have added red jeans to the Friday socks. Nothing to do with politics, though.
Love this, especially the last sentence!
My French-Canadian great-grandmother, who taught us to make pork pies, popcorn balls, fudge (chocolate and penuche), and taffy, wore her hair in a loose bun. When she spent a week with us in a cottage in Green Harbor, MA in 1955, we watched her take her hair down at night an braid it. She always had a jigsaw puzzle in progress in a tray under her bed (which I sleep in now) and gave my both my sister and me our own adult puzzle on that vacation and taught us how to sort the pieces.
We went to visit her and my grandmother every other week and my sister and I were fascinated by listening to them and my mother chatting in French. My great-grandmother died when I was almost 10, but we still visited my grandmother in alternate weeks. After a while I noticed that she and my mother didn't speak French anymore. I asked my mother why and she said, "Meme liked to swear and she didn't want you kids to hear what she was saying."
The adults in the French Canadian side of my family always switched from English to French when they wanted to discuss something "interesting" that they didn't want us kids to hear. Of course we all took French classes in high school, but by then the grownups realized that they couldn't discuss the juicy stuff until all the youngsters had been sent outside on various missions... I spent a lot of time harvesting veggies and fruits in my grandparents's garden! :)
That's funny! My mother spoke only French until she was 9 when she transferred to a public school from a French parochial school because the nuns mistreated her. She took French in high school, but found it different from the Canadian version her relatives spoke. They weren't educated (my mother was the first to graduate from high school) and some had been in the US for several generations, so they actually spoke a mixture of English and French. I only took Latin in high school, and German and Russian in college, but I did take 1 year of French at my local university after I retired. I can't speak it, but I can read well enough to understand genealogical records.