I Forgot to Ask Her Name

Things move around, life puts you in places you might not otherwise be and I think of wings a lot this time of year, of angels flying out of a cold nighttime sky, of silence and stars and candlelight, but I never think of myself as an angel, not even close, no wings on my back, and not even in a good mood much the last few weeks, but I admit to a softness in my heart that brings me to tears at unexpected beauty, at shadows searching for warmth as winter closes in, I admit to all that, and maybe that counts for something, or maybe the Universe or God or maybe even busy angels just need someone else to be somewhere at a certain time and maybe they pick you or me, knowing our true hearts as they do, knowing we'll know what to do.

This busy hard time of year sent me to the vet with Maggie yesterday, she just needing her daily fluids, nothing wrong, the ever-wonderful Michael just needing to be here, unable to leave, photographs needing to be delivered, so Maggie and I were off to the vet's together, she oddly quiet and calm, Christmas music on the stereo, so familiar to last fall's visits, gray skies overhead, rain threatening. As we made our last turn, a white SUV coming from the opposite direction, turned onto the road before us, a woman driving, and I knew in my heart she also was headed for the vet's and something was wrong, I could feel it, I could sense her tightness, her hurry; as we parked she was fast out of her seat, around to the passenger side, grabbing a cat carrier and heading inside; my heart sank for her as I did exactly the same in a not-hurried way, walking around to the passenger side of the Jeep and picking up Maggie's carrier. Inside they were waiting for her and she handed them the carrier, then sank onto a red bench, turning inward - I could see it - turning small, as they hurried off to the back, she not even watching, looking at the floor, at the coffee table stacked with cat and dog magazines and old issues of Good Housekeeping, looking nowhere really but deep in her heart. I gave them Maggie, and though there was no one else in the waiting room, plenty of empty seats, I sat next to her. Soon an assistant was out, reassuring the woman, gathering more answers to more questions, then off again, and the woman became even tighter, fighting tears, and I, who had listened to the questions and answers, and realized the cat was diabetic, had had a bad reaction to his usual insulin shot, said to her I don't know you but you look like you need a hug and yes, she nodded, she did, and so we did, and we talked and we both cried a bit, and I asked her cat's name - Pepper, she said, and she told me where she lived - several miles away in a small community - and how she had flown through the streets to get there, and I remembered the time I, too, had done that very same thing, with Stella, the cat before Maggie, flown 30 miles on a Saturday evening in an old Nissan to get to the emergency vet's, how Stella had not come home with me, I was too late, how Maggie was born that very day; I thought all those things in the twinkle of a moment, and we talked some more and soon Maggie was ready to go home, and before I left, I gave the woman another hug, this stranger who said I have no children, he is like my child, and I knew, I knew, but I felt Pepper was going home with her, felt that he would be okay yesterday, felt that from things said by the assistant, and I hope I am right, that she didn't go home alone. I will ask Saturday when I take Maggie again.

When I talked to my mother later,

I asked her to include Pepper in her prayers,

and also the woman,

whose name I did not get.

pepper's mom

December Views 5: I Thought I'd been There Before

But I hadn't.

I would have remembered.

The street was full of red leaves this morning, calling to mind rose petals strewn across a honeymoon bed, or Beth's bedroom, after her death in Little Women, or stairs in made-for-tv romance movies right after she meets he. They said to me drive, truly they did, in a language I understand only for a moment, could read for just a second before the leaves were scattered by the wind of my car. So drive I did, perhaps looking for Christmas but really not too much, driving through the sun across the flat dry land of a Texas just yesterday dancing beneath tiny snowflakes. With no particular place to go, but remembering a place Margo had talked about, about 35 miles up the road, thinking I'd been there, thinking I'd just - oh, I don't know, not thinking anything, just driving and paying attention to speed limits in small towns and soon I was there, and oh! One step in the door and I was asking permission to take pictures, and take pictures I did. Tons of pictures. Tons. I wanted everything, I wanted to move in, I wanted to sit down and cry from sheer girly Christmas-lives-here-and-probably-the-Easter-Bunny-too, fairy lights everywhere happiness. How has it been here all this time and me not know, I wondered, but still not caring, just happy, happy, happy - I couldn't even begin to think of what to buy. I was just running around taking pictures, putting out so much fizzzz and energy at one point that a customer just had to see what I was looking at.

Oh my. Oh me.

Insert sighs right here.

Oh, I am.

The place?

Winnie & Tulula's.

Athens, Texas.

absolutely

December Views 4: Oranges, Artwalk, Snow Fluffies

Snow fluffies today.

Really.

That's what the weather guy called them.

:)

Tonight, the downtown Artwalk,

despite the 20 something temperature.

On the stereo, Eileen Ivers An Nollaig.

It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.

brrrrrrrrrr

December Truth 1: Craziness. A Momentary Break from December Views. Darlene will Understand.

A small break from December Views (you knew I couldn't last too long, didn't you?), me being a word girl, me walking through the day gathering up the truths as I see them. At work there are white boxes with green labels, stacked and waiting for Christmas cards to be printed, the envelopes - hand counted by yours truly - already tucked inside, with one extra per box; names are on the labels. There are mounds of completed work orders begging to be filed, but on my desk are more important Zip Lock bags filled with not-yet-started work orders + camera cards + special instructions – this mom wants no part of the Christmas background showing, can we crop to here?, this dad wants his name on his daughter’s portrait package, his ex-wife will not give him his order if they are accidentally sent home to her, there are inexplicable phone calls to answer – the mother who insists she has lost her portraits and can she order more, ignoring my explanation that she has yet to receive them, they’ve not been delivered; she wants to argue that point, she’s seen them, she tells me, and she’s lost them and she needs more. Looking at the pictures in question – they are, after all, still there, right in front of me, I finally give up and tell her yes, I’ll print more but she’ll have to pay again, and fine, fine, she says, fine. There are voice mails and answering machine messages that are indecipherable, and I am sorry for all the people whom I don’t call back but I can’t hear you, or understand you, and sometimes I want to change the message on the machine to say we’re Texans, please talk more slowly so I can understand you. There are sports jobs with forms the parents were to’ve filled out but didn’t, so their sons and daughters will receive trading cards with no information on them and I hope their names are spelled right, I have nothing against which to check those spellings. There are calendars showing which schools close for Christmas break when, and there are late orders handed in daily to be added to jobs already started. Everyone needs everything now. There are checks returned for insufficient funds, there are credit cards refused, but everyone wants their pictures before school lets out and it is a constant juggling act of mind, pen & paper to keep track of who’s really paid and who hasn’t yet, and really, they all will, it’s rare that they don’t, and we, too, want those pictures delivered in time, these are pictures of little kids, after all, and it’s Christmas, and we do what we can to get everything where it needs to be when it needs to be. And if something happens, like this week’s delay in receiving chemistry with which to actually print the pictures, we run even harder to stay caught up, even though poor Michael has a cold he brought home for his birthday. But the day finally, finally comes to an end and we are out the doors into the darkness, telling Lily good night.

Tonight, there was a Christmas parade in motion when I left work, cold air making me hurry, hurry, the parade route had changed and now marched by within a block of our business; I could walk to it in a minute, but not knowing that I became snarled in traffic - I apparently not being the only one not knowing this – finding a place to turn around, my usual route home blocked off, the cold air like I said making me impatient although there was a moment, but only one, when I watched high school kids marching by as I maneuvered the Jeep inch by inch, and I thought about just parking and watching from that empty vantage point, but by then I’d made the turn and dialed the ever-wonderful Michael to warn him away, and there were cars everywhere and the moment was gone. And it was cold. 4 blocks later my next turn was blocked by a fire truck, though no fire to be seen, I hope everything was okay, and another 6 or 8 blocks and I was home to Maggie and a warm house and blessed silence and there it is, that is the beginning of my December Truths. That is how things come to be.

December Truth #1 - It will just be crazy.

Accept it and fall into the craziness.

Things will be easier.

santa claus is coming to town & he's riding a fire truck