‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS’

 

December 24, 2020

‘Twas the night before Christmas, up north at the lake,

Not a creature was stirring, not a soul was awake.

Papa and I were glum and alone...

We prayed that the Coronavirus soon would be gone.

We thought of the grand boys, home in their beds,

While visions of nerf-guns danced in their heads,

Tasso and Leo and Tommy, so dear,

Oh, how I miss them, I sniffed with a tear.

Then Papa decided to set out some poles,

To catch a big fish, that was his goal,

But, also to take his mind off the boys,

To forget how lonely it was without noise.

Down at the pier, Papa cast out his lure,

Crossing his fingers, and hoping to score.

A Bass would be good, or a Muskie, might,

Then he sat down to wait, enjoying the night.

The moon in the sky, shone down on the snow,

And the stars how they twinkled, oh, how they glowed.

As I gazed out the window...I yelped, with a fright!

For there on the lawn, the most preposterous sight...

An animal party, a band so faire,

A badger, a fox, and a big black bear.

They huddled together, out there by the wood,

And, I saw in that moment, perhaps they were good.

They looked up and saw me, and gave a small bow,

Then started to dance, as space would allow.

They all had an instrument, and knew how to play,

Jolly Yuletide music, to honor the day.

I couldn’t believe it, there was magic all right,

A droll little band, out there in the night.

Snowflakes were falling, a full moon, too,

A Christmas miracle, I knew it was true.

Just about then, Papa came up the stairs,

Carrying a bucket and all of his wares,

Startled to see that big wooly bear,

And all of his cohorts, frolicking there.

The spell was then broken, the animals fled,

Except that big bear, ‘Grrrrrrrrowl’, he said.

Papa dropped his bucket, quickly backing away,

And, out jumped a Muskie, his prize of the day!

‘Old Gray’ was a legend ‘round Presque Isle Lake,

Fishermen told stories of his smooth getaways,

Now Papa had hooked him, it was quite a snare,

Only to lose him, right there to that bear.

The black bear leaned over, he grabbed for the fish,

Before it could wiggle away, as it wished.

But, slippery and slimy, Old Gray seemed to know,

He could escape fate, if he didn’t move slow.

A flop to the ground, then a flip to the pier,

Old Gray seemed determined to get out of there.

He maneuvered his way to the edge of the stair,

Then, took a huge leap, up high in the air.

As he headed straight down, back into the lake,

I saw him twist ‘round, and give a sly wink,

And I heard that fish laugh, as he dove out of sight,

HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOODNIGHT!

IRIS OF THE RAINBOWS: A Tribute Spirit Doll For 2020

 I have struggled with creating a meaningful Spirit Doll for 2020. I wanted her/him to bring hope and healing to these turbulent times, as well as joy and magic. 

Finally, I present, ‘Iris of the Rainbows’, the first in a series of Art/Spirit Dolls created especially for 2020.

‘Blue skies and rain are the realm of Iris, The Rainbow Faerie. She dwells at the meeting of air (the element of the mind) and water (the element of emotion). She sits, rainbow-hued wings outspread, suspended in midair, partially wrapped in her deep-sky draperies and crowned with Iris blossoms. The fiery faery archers tip their arrows in her potent handful of iridescent light, firing their arrows, they send polychromatic rays into the storm, bringing light to dismal skies and darkened hearts.

Beneath the Rainbow Faerie, the amphibious creatures of a wet earth crouch. The faery frog maiden peers out from her shelter at the storm wracked world, while the sun is dimly seen above Iris’s head. Sturdy pot-bellied gnomes, their toes rooted in the earth, all-most especially, Iris herself- are fully absorbed in the task of reclaiming the bright sky from the dark storm.

In her hand, the light of heaven’s bow looks a fragile thing, yet it is the light of hope, the promise of healing and joy to come, and that is one of the most powerful things there is.

Iris tells us that light is breaking through our present darkness, and that hope is a powerful factor in speeding up this process. She does not promise us that the storm is over, nor does she say that it will never storm again, but she does say that there is brightness and beauty here. She also tells us that there is something to be gained by this passage through the storm. And, the sooner we learn what it is, the sooner the storm will end.

As always, a passage through the storm is a time of potential growth, a time to allow the dead wood of our past to be blown away to make room for the green shoots of new growth. It is useful to ask ourselves at this point, what we still need to release, and to look after protecting and nurturing the seeds we have planted. 

Iris reminds us, in these difficult times, to remember our aspirations, to consider who it is we are trying to become, and to hold those images surrounded by her prismatic light in our minds as we pass through this time of darkness. All times of hardship offer us the challenge to grow, or to diminish. The choice is ours...but, Iris is ready to lighten our path if we accept her offering into our hearts. No storm, no darkness lasts forever.’

*(some descriptions of this spirit doll from Brian Froud’s The Faeries Oracle’

* Iris of the Rainbows is, of course, for sale in our Etsy store. Www.rhinestonegypsy.etsy.com  (Creative credit also goes to my artist partner, Kristin Gannon, who helps make each and every doll.)

A TRIBUTE TO MY FATHER

I want to begin by thanking my Mother for choosing the most wonderful father for us kids, one that we could respect, emulate, and adore.

My Dad’s story is one of a life well lived. He was the third of four children born to a humble school teacher in rural Wisconsin, and spent his boyhood finding mischief on the family farm.

No matter the role my father played, he did it well. He was a good son, a good brother, a good brother-in-law, a good husband, a good father, and a good grandfather. He was ‘Uncle Jim’ to so many-both Brewers and Neefes-and he loved you all.

My father loved sports. He loved playing them, he loved watching them. He was an outstanding athlete in high school, playing both basketball and baseball. A story he loved to tell us kids was how his baseball team was on their way to the State Tournament his senior year, when his coach decided his star pitcher (my Dad) should have a rest. So, he put in a relief pitcher who in one inning ruined Dad’s no-hitter and lost their bid to the tournament.

My Dad continued to play softball as a young man, and he also took up bowling and golf. He often bragged about how he hit a hole-in-one TWICE in his golfing career! It was another of his favorite tales.

My father was an especially loyal and dedicated Milwaukee Brewers fan. He saw many games in person at Milwaukee County Stadium back in the 60’s and 70’s. We kids grew up hearing about the Milwaukee greats: Rollie Fingers, Eddie Mathews, Paul Moliter, Pete Vukovich, Sal Brando, Prince Fielder, Robin Yount, And, of course, Hank Aaron. My Dad was at the first game Hank played for the Brewers. What a thrill that must have been! Dad was so excited to see what kind of career Christian Yelich would have with the Brewers. He sure loved watching that young man step up to the plate.

Dad was an avid outdoorsman. He loved to hunt and fish, and spent much time in the beautiful wilds of Wisconsin. When we were kids, Dad built a little cabin about an hour or so north of Madison where we spent many weekends traipsing through the woods and fishing the red waters of Castle Rock Lake.

Dad also loved to travel, after he retired he visited almost all fifty states in the US, missing only Alaska and Hawaii. As a family, we took only one vacation-a camping trip to ‘the Great American West’ (Dad’s words). We drove through Yellowstone, Glacier National Park, The Black Hills and The Badlands, Mt. Rushmore; pitched the tent in a new campground every night. I was ten or eleven at the time and what I remember most about that trip was being hot, sweaty and miserable; and also Dad’s cussing out the tent that never seemed to stay up. It must have been just as memorable for Dad because we never did it again.

Dad loved tinkering on old cars. He was very proud of the fact that he ‘never paid more then $50.00 for any car that he ever owned’, but, then of course, spent all his time trying to keep them running.

I don’t remember all the cars we had, the turnover was fairly frequent; but my favorite was an old pink Cadillac Convertible. It was the car I learned to drive with, and after I got my license I was allowed to drive it to school if I took my brothers and sister, too. I felt like royalty as I pulled into the high school parking lot each morning. Sadly, that car didn’t last more then about a year....but, I believe Dad got his money’s worth.

My father was a romantic at heart, and he adored the movies. When we were kids he took us to the outdoor theatre about twice a month. How we looked forward to those balmy summer nights sitting on the hood of the old Rambler in our pj’s, watching the current hits-like ‘State Fair’. (Dad was quite smitten with Ann Margret).

My Dad taught us kids to love country music. As a teenager, I don’t think I ever walked into our house when George Jones, Loretta Lynn, Willie Nelson, Mel Tillis, or Patsy Cline wasn’t playing on the radio. But, I was a hard sell in the beginning-head over heels in love myself with The Beatles. I drove Dad crazy playing ‘Ticket to Ride’ over and over again one summer, until he’d replace my record with his own favorite, featuring the gritty baritone voice of Johnny Cash. Eventually, I did come around. Today I love country music, but, back then I think I only liked it because Dad did.

My father was a book keeper/accountant par excellence. He was respected for his ability and his integrity. When I was in college and had an afternoon off from classes, I would make the jaunt across town and visit him in his offices at Oscar Mayer- where he worked for over 40 years-and it was apparent to me how deeply he was regarded by his co-workers.

When my father was about 40, he and my Mom divorced. A couple of years later, Dad married our next door neighbor. Janet had four kids and Dad had four kids...although by then we were all mostly out of the house and starting lives on our own, I guess having two large families was too much for Janet. She had a hard time accepting my siblings and I, and our growing gang of children. One day, about 10 years into their marriage, she bluntly told me that we were no longer welcome in their lives. She made me believe that our Dad was happy with his new family and no longer needed ours. At the same time, she was telling Dad that we didn’t want to be part of his.

It was a very painful time for Jim, Deb, Dan and I. All our attempts to see or talk to Dad were snubbed. Eventually, we became resigned to the separation, which lasted almost twenty years. It wasn’t until Janet had a stroke fifteen years ago and became quite disabled, we kids began taking some tentative steps toward  ending the near estrangement with our father. When Janet died six years ago, my sister and I decided that we were going to do all we could to not only help Dad rebuild his life, but to also rebuild our relationship. I will be forever grateful we had the past six years together. We came full circle to occupy a special place in his life again, and he in ours.

It is probably obvious that I have been proud of my father my entire life. But, I have never been more proud as in the past few months. I knew he was struggling to survive the Covid lock down, miserable without his family and friends. No sports to watch on TV.  No place he could go. But, he never let on just how hard it was on him.

Then, one month ago, Dad became quite ill. Alone at the hospital, and already emotionally fragile, he was given the worst possible news. Advanced prostrate cancer that had metastasized to his bones.
It tore me apart when I heard...but, Dad handled it with courage and dignity. I know because I read the doctor’s report: how Dad, visibly shaken when told his diagnosis, replied in his calm and quiet way, ‘I knew it was more than the flu’.

Dad declined very rapidly after his admittance to the hospital. Confused, disoriented, and all alone. He was fighting a battle he was not destined to win.

This afternoon my sister and I stopped at one of Dad’s favorite restaurants, and had lunch in his honor. When we told the waitress that Dad had died; she sang his praises, then turned away and started to cry. I know in the coming days, this is a reaction we will get often. He touched so many lives.

How blessed we all were to have had him grace our lives for so long. I know that his mother, father, sister, brother and son are waiting for him with open arms.

Oh, Dad. I miss you already.  I will love you forever.

MY EARTH DAY PRAYER

Dear Coronavirus,

Thank you for saving us from ourselves, for waiting patiently for us...for giving us ample opportunities throughout the years to change our destructive course, to wake up and listen to our earth. Thank you for the opportunity to see that we have been steadily moving toward our own demise, pushing our earth over the edge of what she can sustain.

Thank you for showing us exactly how sick we have made our ecosystem by creating those same symptoms in us. Maybe by our own difficulty in breathing, we will recognize the connection to our pollution wrecking the earth’s atmosphere, the perpetual fire season in her forests, the rising of her seas.   

Thank you for pressing the pause button allowing for the reflection all of us need to rest and recharge, for creating space for stillness, for cultivating an ability to listen deeply. Thank you for showing us how interdependent and intertwined we all are...for we are not separate from one another. 

Thank you for reawakening our creativity and our resourcefulness. Thank you for reminding us of the valuable role of artists, those who remind us of the beauty of being alive, and of those who inspire us to imagine a more magnificent future.

As you teach us, I also ask that you have mercy on us...please be kind to those who already struggle with survival. Please protect all who man the front lines: those who do not have a choice but to continue working in dangerous environments, and those who care for the sick and put themselves in harms way everyday they go to work. I also ask that you are compassionate with those who most need to receive the wisdom you are here to deliver, that you not cause more suffering than is necessary for your truth to be realized. 

When the storm passes, I envision a new world will rise from the ashes, a world where all life is sacred. For my part, I pledge I will slow down to fully receive the messages of what I am being called to create in that new world. I commit to give generously to those who have suffered the most.

I have absolute faith that the end of this story will be one to celebrate a defining moment when we remember who we truly are, that there will be a hidden gift encoded in the pandemic, a prayer for all the non believers: that we really are all one human family, and together we can find a better way.