55. Finding Noel

The moving men stuffed the last box into the van. I took a sad walk around the house that I thought I would live in forever. But life changes, for good or bad, whether we want it or not. The rooms were empty and scuffed looking. I'd come back tomorrow to give it a good vacuuming for its new owners. They were probably excited about moving in and getting settled before Christmas. They wouldn't even notice what I'd done. Oh, well, I would know I had done my best. I looked out the kitchen door at the tiny, snow covered back yard.

I leaned my forehead on the cool glass and sighed. I glimpsed movement below me on the porch. A scrawny, gray and white kitten scratched to get in. I tapped on the glass. His enormous green eyes looked up at me. I could hardly hear the 'mowr' from his pink, opened mouth showing tiny milk teeth.

I tugged the door open. The fur ball hesitated and then with a burst of energy flung himself in as if escaping from a ferocious dog. He wrapped himself around my legs, meowing softly. Now what? I had to go. I needed to be at the new condo to let the movers in. The little guy looked clean. I petted him and he purred like a lion. I could feel his ribs. Was he hungry? I had no food to give him. He had no collar. No ID. But it was below freezing. I couldn't kick him back out in the cold maybe to starve.

He snuggled into my chest when I picked him up. I made a snap decision, hoping it wouldn't be another major mistake. I'd take him with me and when I came back to vacuum, I'd stick up posters in the neighborhood about finding a kitten.

I put him in the tote bag that held my purse and cell phone, grabbed my keys and shut the door on what I had thought would be the perfect home for Jason and me. When I signed the papers I was so much in love I didn't care that it was just in my name. Jason was between jobs and he said he'd just bring down my credit rating. He was so cute, so loving, so attentive. He even brought home a bottle of champagne for the first night in our new home. I think that was the last thing he ever bought.

At first I didn't mind. It's hard for an actor to find jobs that fit his abilities. And my job as an under writer at an insurance company paid all our bills. But I noticed that he never went out for casting calls. His dirty dishes were all around the house. He didn't even carry them to the kitchen sink. I tried to be understanding and considerate. But when I did his laundry--he didn't know how to use a washing machine--I found lipstick on his T-shirts. I was so naïve, I thought it was blood or ketchup. Until I smelled stale perfume that I didn't use.

I took the next afternoon off work, came home and gave him $50 to have a 'nice lunch' with his friends. I shoved his clothes, CDs, Men magazines, and other junk in his duffle bag and put it outside the front door. I put a note on top saying I never wanted to see or hear from him again.

Then I put the dead bolts on the doors and cleaned every nook and cranny to get rid of any sign or smell of him. When it got dark I didn't turn on the lights and took a long, herb scented bath by candle light. I closed my eyes in the soothing water and listened to an audio book, “How to live without a man.” I planned to give it a good review on amazon.com.

Jason came home from 'lunch' around 10 p.m. He banged on the door and yelled until he found my note. I guess he was still sober enough to read. For he picked up his stuff and went back to the bus stop. The next day I put my little 'love nest' on the market and looked for a condo for one, near my job.

I stepped on the gas to get to the one I found before the movers got there. As I drove past all the houses decorated with holiday lights and wreaths, I wished the families inside a Merry Christmas even though I wouldn't be having one.

In the condo, I put the kitten in the bathroom until the movers left. I filled a small box with shredded paper and hoped he'd understand it was his 'litter box.' This little guy was going to be a lot of work. Maybe I had made another error in judgment.

When the movers were gone, I let Noel out. I apologized for giving him a cliché name for a Christmas cat, but I had to call him something. And I pointed out to him, he probably had a real name with a real family who'd come and get him as soon as I put up the 'found kitten' notices. So it didn't matter what I called him. He just looked at me and rubbed against my legs.

There were boxes every where. Noel walked around sniffing everything he could reach. I got two bowls out of the 'kitchen' box and filled one with water. Luckily I had already stocked the kitchen with a few groceries and was able to put some canned tuna in the bowl. Noel started meowing loudly as soon as he smelled the fish. He almost fell in the dish when I put it down. But every few seconds, he stopped gobbling to look up at me and purr. At last there was a male in the house who showed gratitude if nothing else.

I made up my queen sized bed. Thank heavens, I hadn't been able to afford a huge king size when Jason and I moved in together. The acres of emptiness would be even more lonely. I was exhausted, emotionally and physically, and climbed into bed after a glass of milk and a tuna sandwich of my own.

My mind whirled reliving the past few weeks. Christmas was in a few more days and I was alone...

I heard the pad of tiny feet, felt the bed jar as Noel jumped up. He meowed softly, turning it into a purr as he nestled his warm, soft body next to my back. Now I had something else to worry about. What if someone tried to claim Noel?

                                                                     The End

54. A Christmas Gift

Christmas was coming and I wanted to get my best friend, Josh, a special gift. He'd had a bad year. His Mom, diagnosed with cancer, had suffered through some tough medical treatments. She was supposed to be OK eventually but it was hard on her and everyone in their family. Josh tried to act as if everything was fine. He didn't complain and he joked with us as usual but his eyes were sad.
As a 14 year old kid I knew I couldn't solve any of his problems but it"d would be great if I could make his eyes smile again.

“Sam, stop daydreaming and take out the garbage.” Mom's voice jerked me back to our sunny, blue and white kitchen. I groaned but got up to finish my chores. I knew I was a lucky kid to have a healthy family, but it was hard to keep my mind on what I was supposed to do.

I took the black plastic bag out to our snow covered trash bin, my mind running through possible gifts. Electronic games were good, but my budget didn't stretch that far. I suppose I could get him a new CD but that seemed lame. The dog next door was barking his head off. I guess the neighbors forgot to let him back in after his morning run. Hey, what about that? A dog. Who wouldn't be happy to get a puppy for Christmas? I rushed back into the house to tell Mom.

“A puppy? Ohhh, Sam, I don't know.”

“C'mon, Mom. It'd make everyone smile, not just Josh.” I thought my mother would agree that a spunky, little dog would be a great gift. But she pointed out the flaws in my plan.

“Yes, everyone would love the dog, but who'd end up having to take care of it? Josh and his sister and Dad are away all day. His Mom is home but I don't think she has much energy left after dealing with chemo. A puppy has to be trained.”

“Well, then, I'd get an older dog. One who'd be slow and didn't need to be trained.”

Mom put her arms around me. I was too old for hugs but she kept giving them to me. “Sam, it's a great idea, but a family should pick out a pet for themselves.”

I grunted, “OK. I'll think of something else.”

“I'm sure Josh will be happy with whatever you give him.” She patted my head. She actually patted me on the head like a baby kid. Geesh.

I slumped off to watch TV. Not much was on. Sometimes the cooking show could be funny. Especially when things went wrong. Today it was about Christmas cookies. And that's when I had a terrific brainstorm.

I would make Josh a humongous cookie. Everybody loved cookies. I had never baked before, but how hard could it be. My mom, grandma and aunts baked all the time.

I found the show's “Easy Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe” on their web site. The recipe said it would make two dozen--enough for a blockbuster giant one. Three days before Christmas I rode my bike to Kroger's and bought all the stuff we didn't have at home. The streets were a little icy but I kept my balance OK with the bag slung over the handlebars.

Mom was at her weekly yoga class so I had the kitchen to myself. I dumped everything into a big bowl and plugged in the beater. It was like a bucking bronco. Bits of dough flew out all over. I fumbled around but got the speed turned down.

I poured the batter onto a large, round cake pan I had greased according to the directions. It looked lumpy, but it would be perfect once baked in the 350 degree oven. I slid the pan in and set the timer for 15 minutes. It didn't seem very long, but I would test it like I'd seen my mom test cakes. When the timer buzzed I stuck a toothpick in and it came out pretty clean. Hmm, I guess it was done.

I put the hot cake pan on a burner grate from the cooktop to cool off. Then I had a problem. How was I going to get it out of the pan and onto a plate? I hadn't thought ahead about what I was going to carry it on. Our paper plates were too small. I had to take four of them, cut off one edge and tape them together to make a big enough plate for the giant cookie. It was sort of floppy but it'd work.

I put my hand on top the cookie as I flipped it onto the improvised plate. Perfection. It fell out easily. I guess the grease worked. I stood for a minute, wallowing in the successful feeling of an accomplished plan.

I took a red bow from the sack my mother kept in her gift wrapping drawer and stuck it on the cookie. Then I realized I had another problem. How was I going to get the cookie over to Josh. I had planned to ride my bike but no way could I balance the cookie while I pedaled. I would have to walk. It wasn't too far, only about six blocks.

 

I zipped my jacket and carefully picked up the cookie plate. I couldn't wait to see Josh's face when he saw my gift. Everything was fine until I got to his sidewalk. I guess he hadn't done his chores. The walk hadn't been cleared. I took one step on it and skidded like a clown trying to balance the floppy paper plates. My feet went out and I went down, my face landing in my masterpiece.

Josh opened the door and burst out laughing.

“What's so funny?” I muttered. I wanted him to be happy but not by laughing at me.

“You! I saw you dancing or something out there. And you're face is covered with some kind of stuff. You look like you got an outbreak of the plague. You better not come in if you're contagious.”

“Hey, this is a cookie I made with my own hands. I even walked it over here to keep it in one piece.”

“I guess that didn't work. But c'mon in.” He held the door for me. “I'm sure it's delicious. Sorry, I didn't even notice you were carrying something. Your face looks so...so...”

“I get it, no need to say anything else. Here.” I shoved the pieces at him. “It's chocolate chip.”

He started laughing again, “So that's what those brown spots are on your face.”

I scowled at him, but then I noticed that his eyes were smiling. Mission accomplished.

                                                                     The End

23. The Mystery of the Christmas Stocking

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The Holiday season is supposed to be about love and caring and sharing.  Huh, try explaining that to an anxiety ridden and disillusioned 6 year old girl.   I grew up poor but honest, as most of the people on the planet.  We didn’t have a cozy fireplace with a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the hearth for Santa.  But the chimney for our house went from the basement furnace up through the roof alongside a corner in my tiny bedroom.   I don’t know what other kids did with their Christmas stockings but my creative mother hung mine on the corner of the plaster covered chimney.

                I was too young to know that the purpose of the fireplace was so fatty Santa could squeeze himself down it to get into your house.  And I was too dumb to know that there was no way Santa could blast through the chimney to get to my stocking without leaving a permanent crater in the plaster. 

            Young, dumb and innocent I curled up in my quilt covered bed on Christmas Eve.  I gazed with trust at the red and green knitted stocking dangling from the wall.  As I fought against sleep, I tried to remember last year.  I was sure I had gotten important treasurers in that fancy sock.  Of course, there had been walnuts, still in their shells; some hard Christmas candy that lasted a long time if you were patient enough to suck them; and in the toe of the stocking, a small round orange.  I guess Santa thought I should have at least one healthy thing to eat as I tore through my presents. 

            I don’t remember my dreams that night.  It was enough that I slept through until the first cold light peeked in my window.  I was saved from worrying about what the morning would bring.

            My sleep fuddled brain finally got through to me.  It’s Christmas!!  My eyes popped open to discover my reward for trying so hard to be a good little girl.

            AGGH!  The stocking was gone.  I closed my eyes and shook my head, my sleep-flattened curls flouncing.  I squeezed opened one eye lid and looked all around the chimney corner, the floor, even under the chair where my clothes were jumbled.  The stocking was gone.  Not only had Santa stiffed me on a gift, but he had stolen my hand knit stocking.  So much for being nice to my rotten cousins.

            Worried and confused I burrowed back under the covers and waited, and waited, and waited.

            Eventually my mother came in.  “Honey, why aren’t you up?  Don’t you want to see what Santa left you?”

            I had always worried about my mother’s brain power but now I wondered if she had vision problems too.  She didn’t even glance over to where the stocking should be.  She just reached down and picked me up.  I grunted.

            ‘”Grandma and Grandpa are waiting for you.  Daddy’s got the camera all ready.”

            She carried me into the living room where the skinny tree was already dropping needles.  My grandparents and Dad kidded me about being a ‘sleepyhead’ on the most important morning of the year.  I faked a smile and looked at the gimpy tree. 
Whoa, what’s this?  My red and green stocking was under the tree and something very bulky was sticking out of it.

            Mom set me on the floor.  As I scampered over to check out the sock, my Mom was saying something about the toy being too heavy to hang on the wall, so Santa had put it under the tree.

            I pulled out the unwrapped doll.  Wow, A genuine, authentic, General MacArthur doll.  The hero of the Pacific during World War II, he was dressed in his official Army uniform including hat and with his right arm cocked in a perpetual salute.  It was a terrible war and inflicted horrendous losses on many people.  But everyone including children, had hope and trust in our heroes.
            Many years later with my own children grown and scattered across the country I still have a Christmas tree.  My General MacArthur doll, a little torn and tattered, still has a place of honor under it.

                                                                      The End