My memories of Christmas in my childhood are all positive. This is amazing. I grew up during the Great Depression and my family had very limited financial resources. I am one of nine children and so there must have been illnesses. Early on I believed in Santa Claus and so some disappointment must have accompanied that. But all of those negatives have been erased.
The anticipation of Christmas still stirs my heart. On December 10 we were allowed to “hang stockings”. And we did. They were those long ugly woolen grey things we hated to wear. But always on December 10 (my birthday) there would be something in that stocking; maybe an orange or a pencil. It was great discovering them.
We had a German song we sang counting off the days. The literal translation of the title is “Tomorrow Something Will Happen”. The key line (which rhymed in German) was “Once more must we awake; then it will be Christmas Day”. We changed the words to, for example, “ten more days must we awake” and we counted down the days.
About two weeks before Christmas I had to leave my precious (and usually rusted and in poor state of repair) little tricycle out over night. During the night the birds would come and whisk away my trike. It was taken to Santa who happened to be my Uncle Walter who ran a blacksmith shop that doubled as Santa’s workroom where trikes got repairs and repainted, always in red!
I attended a Lutheran parochial school and we were responsible for the Christmas Eve Church Service. It was as far from today’s Disney-like productions one finds in many churches. It was utterly simple and maybe simplistic. No costumes, magi gifts or manger scenes. The teacher would ask a question e.g. “Which high feast are we celebrating in these days?” The answers were all assigned ahead of time. And the previously designated student would be called up to give the answer “The high festival of the birth of the Christ Child” and thus the Christmas Eve catechism went on for about 75 questions and answers. In between, some of the students would march to the front of the church and recite a little poem. This was followed by the entire classroom singing a traditional Christmas carol. (Throughout my eight years of elementary school this program was always conducted in German.)
It was tough to keep our focus on our assignments. Distractions were everywhere: We were wearing our new Christmas clothes, carefully sewn by our mother. To our left stood a massive cedar Christmas tree. In the early years an usher was positioned nearby with a wet rag on the end of a stick to douse any flames that might erupt dangerously from all the wax candles which lit the entire tree. And our eyes could simply not be diverted from glancing at what was piled under the tree. Under that big tree were arranged piles of plain brown grocery bags, one for each child! The bags held dreamed-for treasures: a fresh orange; several walnuts, some loose peppermint-like Christmas candies, and chewing gum (if it was a bit better year there might be a full package of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit gum in each bag. In leaner years there was only one stick.) We pondered for days as to just when we would chew that rare gum.
The Christmas Eve Service was always early enough to allow families to go home, open their gifts, enjoy them, and return for early worship services on Christmas Day. At my home everything was according to ritual. For days we had not been allowed into my dad’s study where Santa would decorate the tree and bring gifts. When it was time to enter we lined up outside the door, eventually all nine of us kids, always by age, from the youngest to the eldest. The tree was full of fake icicles, homemade decorations and lights. The gifts were opened in reverse birth order and for at least 3 consecutive years Santa had brought me my incomparable trike all decked out in new paint.
Christmas Eve celebration continued at my Grandmother’s house. I have no memory of any gifts being involved. I do remember the food, fresh pork sausage and ham, homemade candy and cookies everywhere, freshly made eggnog with gallons of whipping cream, in enormous punch bowls (duly spiked with bourbon.) To the side was a smaller bowl without the alcohol for some delicate women and little children - and to the best of my memory no one ever monitored who drank from which bowl.
Then came a Christmas tradition apparently unique to Texas, the fireworks. We shot firecrackers, and rockets, roman candles and sparklers. Once a group of cousins of mine got very brave. They “borrowed “ a couple of massive anvils from local blacksmith shops. Filled a cavity in one of them with powder extracted from other fireworks, placed a fuse appropriately, positioned one anvil on top of the other, lit the fuse and produced the loudest Christmas Eve blast ever acknowledged in all of Williamson County, Texas.
Finally home to bed so we could get up very shortly to head for Christmas Day Worship services - and for the special dinner to follow!
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Memory Loss
I just had my 83rd birthday. I am grateful for overall good health. Of course, I notice a diminution of some skills: my golf drives are much shorter; my body strength is less, my libido diminished. But overall I think, and my Dr. confirms, that I am doing well. However, one aspect of ageing that is becoming more apparent is memory loss. I have decided to document and share my history. My goal is to (if I can remember) each year after my birthday post a blog on “Memory Loss”; so here goes.
The first evidence of my memory loss had to do with the inability to recall numbers. I found that I have great difficulty, for example, remembering house numbers. Another disturbing symptom: remembering specific places not having to do with numbers. Just this morning I went shopping with my wife and agreed that after an hour we would meet at a specific location in the mall. An hour later I was waiting for her at the wrong place. I experienced a different kind of embarrassment with my Christmas letter. In writing of my son’s health situation I wrote that our son had a routine “autopsy” when I meant “biopsy”. After that was called to my attention I made correction to the next batch of letters and then promptly forgot to make the change in the next batch. (This resulted in son David having to post a message on Facebook that his father’s announcement regarding his son’s death was premature.
It is interesting to reflect on areas where memory seems to have remained the same. Crossword puzzles are no more difficult than ten years ago-even when the clues require significant memory. I find I can still deliver a speech of 15 minutes or more without consulting my notes. Class lectures seem not to be affected. I am not finding it necessary to reread articles or sections of books.
So I am wondering what brain specialists would tell me. Are some synapses being disconnected? Do brain cells die or is plaque being formed? How much is it a matter of attention or focus? Consciousness and self-awareness are just a couple of the characteristics that define us as humans and so also, losing some bits of memory are defining who I am at this stage in my life. And how I cope with it will be a part of that continuing definition of self.
The first evidence of my memory loss had to do with the inability to recall numbers. I found that I have great difficulty, for example, remembering house numbers. Another disturbing symptom: remembering specific places not having to do with numbers. Just this morning I went shopping with my wife and agreed that after an hour we would meet at a specific location in the mall. An hour later I was waiting for her at the wrong place. I experienced a different kind of embarrassment with my Christmas letter. In writing of my son’s health situation I wrote that our son had a routine “autopsy” when I meant “biopsy”. After that was called to my attention I made correction to the next batch of letters and then promptly forgot to make the change in the next batch. (This resulted in son David having to post a message on Facebook that his father’s announcement regarding his son’s death was premature.
It is interesting to reflect on areas where memory seems to have remained the same. Crossword puzzles are no more difficult than ten years ago-even when the clues require significant memory. I find I can still deliver a speech of 15 minutes or more without consulting my notes. Class lectures seem not to be affected. I am not finding it necessary to reread articles or sections of books.
So I am wondering what brain specialists would tell me. Are some synapses being disconnected? Do brain cells die or is plaque being formed? How much is it a matter of attention or focus? Consciousness and self-awareness are just a couple of the characteristics that define us as humans and so also, losing some bits of memory are defining who I am at this stage in my life. And how I cope with it will be a part of that continuing definition of self.
Monday, December 6, 2010
DMV
I wonder if there is any state in which the DMV (Dept of Motor Vehicles) is considered a paragon of efficiency and courtesy. The DMV in California is famous for the effort required to utilize its services, which are essential for anyone desiring to operate a motor vehicle in this state. I just had my once every five years opportunity to enjoy this service.
The truth is: it wasn’t too bad. I was told that it really doesn’t save much time to get an advance appointment. So I just showed up, navigated the system and in less than 2 hours was on my way home set for five more years, pondering if at age 88 (five years from now) I will be around to get another five year extension.
While waiting for my number to be called I decided to take a good look at my fellow seekers. Here is what I saw: The room was full of people of all ages. Just to my left an infant only a few weeks old was nursing at its very young mother’s breast. The mother was completely unselfconscious and was obviously just doing what comes naturally with no attempt at what someone else might call modesty. . The mother had simply pulled down her blouse, fully exposing herself and invited the child to get nourished.
At the other end of the age spectrum I watched with some trepidation as a gentleman (obviously older than I) tried with difficulty to navigate the system. His solicitous wife told him when his number was called, stood next to him as he gave personal info, wrote out the payment check, escorted him to the photo department, literally ed him by the arm to the written examination section, stepped back when asked to do so by an attendant and then waited while he (apparently) met all necessary requirements to drive the streets and freeways of this state for another five years. I tried not to shiver in anticipation.
I tried to assess the percentages of the various ethnic languages, skin color, native country groups. Didn’t find many who shared my Germanic background, but saw many of Hispanic origin, surprisingly few blacks, only one who seemed Arabic, Chinese, Indian, and either Korean or Japanese.
I soon observed that people do not dress up to go to the DMV. I saw not even one woman in a dress. The one gentleman wearing a tie seemed to be a supervising employee. Footwear ranged from heavy-duty work boots to flip flops, to furry high-tops, to sandals to high-heeled shoes that seemed very fancy under well-worn jeans.
Activities to take up time while waiting for one’s number to be called were as varied as the clothes. Some were obviously doing school homework. One read a mystery. Dozens were on cell phones, pods, blackberries et sim. One gentleman was engaged in conversation loud enough for us all to hear whether we were interested or not. I got interested and learned that he was disappointed that a bit of the tattoo ink which seemed to cover all available body parts was beginning to fade in places. He was a committed lover of women with no intention for matrimony. This was a pretty good day to be at the DMV as the surf wasn’t very high this morning anyway.
Meanwhile my sub-conscious was creating its own scenarios. Maybe my mind really was slipping and I would fail the written test, forgetting those numbers for unacceptable alcohol blood levels, or how may days in which to report a change of address, sale of car, or to report an accident when the driver of the other car isn’t around…and how many feet does it take for a car to stop if it is traveling 55 miles an hour. Then I wondered if my new glasses would really enable me to read Line 4. Naturally it all went as smooth as the gentlest skid on ice. The first representative used to deliver the newspaper to where I now live, the photographer had personal comments, and the test giver recommended I post my 100% test results on my refrigerator. And I was on my way home with all due and proper permission to navigate the lanes, streets and freeways of California for another five years with the full permission of the California DMV.
The truth is: it wasn’t too bad. I was told that it really doesn’t save much time to get an advance appointment. So I just showed up, navigated the system and in less than 2 hours was on my way home set for five more years, pondering if at age 88 (five years from now) I will be around to get another five year extension.
While waiting for my number to be called I decided to take a good look at my fellow seekers. Here is what I saw: The room was full of people of all ages. Just to my left an infant only a few weeks old was nursing at its very young mother’s breast. The mother was completely unselfconscious and was obviously just doing what comes naturally with no attempt at what someone else might call modesty. . The mother had simply pulled down her blouse, fully exposing herself and invited the child to get nourished.
At the other end of the age spectrum I watched with some trepidation as a gentleman (obviously older than I) tried with difficulty to navigate the system. His solicitous wife told him when his number was called, stood next to him as he gave personal info, wrote out the payment check, escorted him to the photo department, literally ed him by the arm to the written examination section, stepped back when asked to do so by an attendant and then waited while he (apparently) met all necessary requirements to drive the streets and freeways of this state for another five years. I tried not to shiver in anticipation.
I tried to assess the percentages of the various ethnic languages, skin color, native country groups. Didn’t find many who shared my Germanic background, but saw many of Hispanic origin, surprisingly few blacks, only one who seemed Arabic, Chinese, Indian, and either Korean or Japanese.
I soon observed that people do not dress up to go to the DMV. I saw not even one woman in a dress. The one gentleman wearing a tie seemed to be a supervising employee. Footwear ranged from heavy-duty work boots to flip flops, to furry high-tops, to sandals to high-heeled shoes that seemed very fancy under well-worn jeans.
Activities to take up time while waiting for one’s number to be called were as varied as the clothes. Some were obviously doing school homework. One read a mystery. Dozens were on cell phones, pods, blackberries et sim. One gentleman was engaged in conversation loud enough for us all to hear whether we were interested or not. I got interested and learned that he was disappointed that a bit of the tattoo ink which seemed to cover all available body parts was beginning to fade in places. He was a committed lover of women with no intention for matrimony. This was a pretty good day to be at the DMV as the surf wasn’t very high this morning anyway.
Meanwhile my sub-conscious was creating its own scenarios. Maybe my mind really was slipping and I would fail the written test, forgetting those numbers for unacceptable alcohol blood levels, or how may days in which to report a change of address, sale of car, or to report an accident when the driver of the other car isn’t around…and how many feet does it take for a car to stop if it is traveling 55 miles an hour. Then I wondered if my new glasses would really enable me to read Line 4. Naturally it all went as smooth as the gentlest skid on ice. The first representative used to deliver the newspaper to where I now live, the photographer had personal comments, and the test giver recommended I post my 100% test results on my refrigerator. And I was on my way home with all due and proper permission to navigate the lanes, streets and freeways of California for another five years with the full permission of the California DMV.
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