56. New Year Resolutions

A New Year's resolution to be kinder to my older brother backfired. If you have an older brother you know why I should be kinder to him. He's been telling me what to do all my life, treating me like an incompetent baby sister. I'm 25 years old. I can make reasonable, rationale decisions. So what if I invested in a pyramid scheme. The guy who sold it to me was sooo cute. And I only had $100 to invest so it wasn't like I lost a fortune.

Doesn't Matthew have anything better to think about than remind me of every stupid thing I've done in my life. When he does I end up yelling and crying and looking sooo immature. If he'd just stick his hound dog nose out of my business. But you know what, I've made a mature decision that he's not going to change and I can't make him.

How did I get so smart? My best friend, Alicia, has a brother who got hooked on drugs. To help her deal with her confused feelings, she and her mother started going to Al-Anon meetings. These are confidential, group meetings where people dealing with a loved one's addictions can get help...for themselves, not the addict. So I started reading the Al-Anon material she had in her apartment.

It made a lot of sense to me.

“The basic belief you have to buy into,” explained Alicia, “is that you can't change anyone's behavior, only your own.”

“And how is that working for you?” I glanced up from the booklet.

“It's been hard to let go, but I'm feeling better about myself and even about my brother. And I know my mother has stopped crying herself to sleep every night.”

I don't have anything near the problems Alicia and her family have, but I would like to get along better with my brother. I borrowed her paperback on How Al-Anon Works and stayed up late reading.

That's when I made the resolution to be kinder to my brother and not worry about changing him. But I would also take care of myself and do things that made me feel good.

Matthew is a dentist. I mention this because it explains his strange hobby of collecting old tooth pick holders. As I lay in bed the following morning, I tried to think of how I could be kinder to him and also to myself. New Year's Day, which was also Matthew's birthday, was two days away. Since it was so close to Christmas, he always got a combo-present. I thought maybe he felt slighted because of this, but he never said so. But I decided that one way I could be kinder to him was to find a special gift for him on his actual birthday and then let it go. If he criticized my choice or said I was wasting money, I wouldn't react.

I gave him a subscription to Rolling Stone for Christmas, which was mean because I knew he'd go on a rampage about its editorial content. I needed to turn a new page in our relationship. I would go out and find a 'good' present for him, even if it backfired on me.

On my lunch hour from my job as a paralegal, I dashed out to “Second Hand Rosie's”. I didn't know what kind of special item I'd find but I enjoyed browsing there. So I was being good to myself, too.

Short on time, I went right to the owner, Leon—he'd inherited the store's name when he bought it—and asked if he had any toothpick holders.

“Hey, you came at the right time. I just got some boxes of junk—errr, I mean wonderful merchandise—from a house sale. I think one of those old timey ones was in it. It's in that box next to the stuffed bobcat. Look for a flash of red.”

Everything in the box looked old and dirty, but I did see something red. I gingerly pulled it out and smiled. It was the cutest thing. A red headed bird was perched ready to pick up a toothpick from a hollowed out log, about four inches long. It was made of painted metal, dusty but not chipped. Perfect for Matthew.

I bargained with Leon a little and finally got it for only $40. That night, I cleaned and shined the holder and wrapped it in the financial pages of an old newspaper. I figured if Matthew didn't like the gift, he could always read what interested him.

On New Year's Day, we all met at my parents, I brought a cake for Matthew and after we sang the birthday song and he blew out the candles, I gave him my gift. As usual, everyone else had already given him his combo-Christmas-birthday gift at our Christmas get-together.

“You're giving me a birthday present.” Matthew blinked in surprise. Then reverting to character he said, “Oh, it's wrapped in an old newspaper. I guess it's a joke gift then.” He smirked and tore off the paper. His mouth dropped open when he lifted the holder from its wrappings.

“But this, this is marvelous. I don't know what to say.”

If I didn't know better I would have thought I saw his eyes water. But I did know better so I braced myself to not respond when he started criticizing the gift and me. My New Year's resolution to treat him kinder included not allowing him to get me upset.

He stared at me. “I...I really don't know what to say. I truly did not expect you to give me such a fantastic gift.” I could have taken offense at his low expectation of me and I did feel as if maybe my resolution to be kinder had backfired. But no matter what he said I knew he was really delighted with the tooth pick holder.

I changed my usual behavior. I didn't snap back at him. I just said, “I'm glad you like it.” and, wonder of all wonders, he reached over and gave me a hug.

Perhaps my resolution didn't backfire after all.

                                                                           The End

52. A Turkey's Thanks Giving

One November, we drove up from Los Angeles to northern California to visit relatives in the area and then go over to Salinas to celebrate Thanksgiving dinner with our nephew, Sam and his family. He and his wife, Carol, had invited both sides of their families and expected 45 people. With such a huge number, they decided it would be easier on everyone to have a delicious turkey plus dinner at their club house. The menu included roast beef and salmon for anyone who didn't like turkey. But all the traditional side dishes would be served, sage and onion stuffing, mashed potatoes, baked sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, cranberry relish, and of course, pumpkin pie with whipped cream. I knew there would be lots of other dessert choices, too, for non-pumpkin lovers. The star of the table, though, was always the golden brown bird bursting with flavor.

The day before, with the help of their red haired daughter, Morgan, they had set the round tables with rust and brown colored tablecloths and napkins. Each table had a centerpiece of yellow and orange mums interspersed with multicolored leaves.

The fall is my favorite season with its beautiful colors and crisp, fresh air. Of course down in the LA area we don't get too much crisp air, but the Salinas area was beautiful. Thanksgiving is also my favorite holiday—no gifts to buy, wrap and worry about, no major house decorating, and no required church service. Of course, at the dinner table we always go around the table, giving thanks for the past year's blessings. No matter how bad a year it may have been, we can always be grateful for our friends and family and that we have enough (more than enough) to eat.

On Thanksgiving morning my husband, Joe, and I stopped at Sam's for a light breakfast of croissants and strong coffee. Sam and Carol's house is located in a beautiful, wooded area and it was good to see the results of all the work they had put into making it comfortable. Other family members including our son, Bill, and his family were there having just arrived from Idaho.

Will, our 11 year old grandson, was going through his repertoire of turkey jokes. At that time his life's ambition was to be a stand up comic.

We paid closer attention when he qualified one, saying it might be unsuitable for children. His mother jumped in and said, “Well maybe you better not tell it.”

He brushed her objections aside, “Oh, Mom, don't worry. It's just a joke.” Then asked, “Does anyone know why you can't take a turkey to church?”

Grandpa Joe played along with him. “Gee, I don't know. Why can't you?”

Trying to suppress a grin, Will replied, “They use FOWL language.”

When his captive audience finished groaning, he continued on. “What happened when the turkey got into a fight?”

Winn, Will's younger brother, yelled out, “Oh I know that one. The turkey got the stuffing knocked out of him.”

Will gave him a dirty look. “Winn, you heard me rehearsing. You're not allowed to answer any.” But he didn't let the interruption stop him, he went on.

“I bet no one else knows what you get when you cross a turkey with a banjo?”

Before anyone could disappoint Will, I jumped in to reassure him, “I don't have a clue. What do you get?”

This time, Will had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing as he explained, “A turkey that can pluck itself.”

Carol said, “Thank heavens, when you buy a turkey now they're already plucked and ready for the oven. Of course, this year I didn't even have to shop for one since the chef at the club is doing all the cooking.”

Morgan shouted, “Hey everyone. Look out the window. Guess who's coming to dinner?”

We all turned our heads to look out the big picture window overlooking the rural road at the side of the house.

“Oh, my gosh,” I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I and everyone else went outside to get a better look. Mitzi, the little dachshund, was barking her head off.

Down the road, walking erratically as if they hadn't a care in the world, came a flock of white, wild turkeys. Mitzi was going crazy trying to drive off the intruders. It was wonderful. I had never seen a flock of turkeys before.

Winn laughed, “Hey, don't they know it's a dangerous day. They could get eaten.”

Morgan said, “No, they know everyone's already got their turkey. So they're safe for another year.”

I added, “Well, it is Thanks Giving day. They must be thankful they aren't on a dinner table.” Will, of course, had the last word. Although I think he must have been thinking about another holiday, Fourth of July – Independence Day.

He asked another of his 'fowl' questions. “What did the turkey say to the man who tried to shoot it?”

Winn's eyes lit up and he opened his mouth, but Will, with perfect timing, jumped in with the answer.

“Liberty, equality and bad aim for all.”

                                                              The end.

44. Her Last Wishes

Some people might call me a thief. I prefer to call myself a re-distributor of assets. What would you call me?

My Great Aunt Claire was the last of three elderly sisters to die. None of them had married or had children, so Claire inherited what few assets her sisters left. Now the question was what to do with Claire's (and her sisters') remaining assets. She named no executor, but since I lived next door to their home and had helped them in many ways, including fighting with the tax assessor to get their ridiculous taxes reduced, my siblings and cousins decided I would be the perfect person to handle all the minutiae that occurs after a death.

I dealt with the funeral home, cemetery officials, death certificates, and I notified social security and her pension plan of her death. Because I was on her checking account I was able to pay all her last bills. Until a person dies you have no idea how much work is involved in ensuring the deceased can lie easy in her grave.

Although I was sad Aunt Claire died, it was true she lived a long and full life, happy I don't know. But she was 101 when she fell into eternal sleep. She and her sisters must have baked a million German chocolate cookies for me and the others who stole them from my cookie tin in the night. I was glad to do whatever I could to help settle her affairs.

Claire and her sisters had one charity they supported as much as they could with their meager earnings, Mercy Childrens' Home. Since she left no will, no provision had been made for any last donation to help children who needed a home. As 'executor' it was my job to make sure all her funds in her bank accounts or from the sale of her house and household goods were divided equally among her heirs—myself, my siblings, and my cousins.

I was able to do all that without problems, and, even more amazing, without any fighting among all of us cousins. I had heard horror stories of families split apart over the tiniest inheritances or even over a worthless coin collection.

The only glitch was when I was doing a final walk through the house before meeting with the buyers to turn over the keys. We showed the house furnished as the realtor thought that would make it easier for potential buyers to envision how furniture would fit in the rooms. But after a sales contract was signed, we had an estate sale and anything that wasn't sold was given to the Salvation Army, after all the heirs had chosen anything they wanted, drawing numbers to determine in what order they would choose. I tell you, it's details, details, details when someone dies.

I was walking through the house, remembering good times our family had shared. None of us would ever forget the Thanksgiving dinner when the aunts told us they had cooked the turkey the day before to save time. No one said a word but it was the driest turkey we ever ate.

I fondly thought of the little odd things people sometimes did as they got older. That brought to mind my own parents and what they told me when I helped them clean out our family home before their move to a warmer climate. It was a very old house and still had hot and cold air registers in the floor.

My father whispered to me, “Don't forget to get the money out of the cold air registers.”

“What?” Did I just hear him say 'money in the registers'?

“You heard me,” he muttered. “Check all the cold air registers.”

I took the grate off the one in the living room. In it were three cigar boxes filled with $20 bills. The same with the dining room and master bedroom. My parents had squirreled away $2,000.

My husband said to my father, “So that's why you were always asking for my empty cigar boxes.”

“My gosh,” I yelled. “If there'd been a fire, all of this would've been lost. Or if you'd died we'd have sold it not knowing about this money.”

That was when the light bulb turned on, so they say. I started checking the cold air registers in Claire's old house. The final tally was $3,500. And no one knew about this except me. What should I do? What would you do? If I told the other heirs they would want a share of it, especially Hilary who just had a darling baby girl.

I had a few qualms about it but I did what I thought was the right thing. I deposited the cash in my checking account. Then I wrote a check for the total amount to Mercy Childrens' Home. Perhaps the other heirs would have agreed but perhaps not. I didn't want to take a chance with fulfilling what I'm sure would have been my great aunts' last wishes.