Observations on Christmas “Being Lonely”

Do you know someone who is alone on Christmas Day?  Or a couple who won't have their children with them?  For parents, that's "being alone".

One Thanksgiving in San Antonio, Jimmy & I issued an open invitation to ANYONE in our church who wanted to join us for dinner at our house.  We specifically said married, single, divorced, widowed, just passing through, any age and bring your kids.  My sister and husband, Ron & Earline Mumme did the same with the Divorce Care Group they were overseeing.

I was amazed at who came to our house!  Was it a zoo?  Yes!  Were kids all over the place?  Yes & no - we sent them upstairs!  We had couples our age that had children they weren't able to be with, families with children whose "home family" were too far away, military people with no leave to go home, divorced people, widowed people.  Our house was bursting at the seams!  My mother and father were still alive.  They loved it! 

One of the reasons we did this was my father LOVED Thanksgiving.  He wanted a crowd on Thanksgiving Day.  It was his favorite holiday.  However,  at every Christmas, our house was filled with people other than just our family. 

My father was a minister.  My mother grew up in a minister's home.  As pastors of churches, they always made sure no one in the church was "left out".  My father had the true heart of a shepherd.  My parents taught their children to always look for people who might be overlooked and invite them to join in.

This Thanksgiving we had one couple from church that were a particular blessing to me.  The husband and father was in a wheelchair.  The wife and mother had MS I believe.  They had a 7 year old son who was definitely ADHD.  They were in our Sunday School class.

They sat at the table in our breakfast nook through most of the day.  Other people who had never spoken to them at church, sat and visited with them.  As usual, I looked to see who were overlooked and paid special attention to this couple.  I stopped by the table often to see if they needed anything.  Their son was having a blast upstairs with the other kids.

Our music director and her husband and children were there.  We had been practicing for six weeks for the choir's Christmas program.  I knew our director was exhausted.  She asked if they could come because their "family" was on the east coast.  She said she would bake three pies.  I told her I really wanted them to come, but she wasn't to bring one single thing - just show up.  She didn't want to do that but I finally extracted a promise from her they would just come.  She sat at the end of the sofa in the living room the whole day, laughing and talking.  Her kids were upstairs.  At one point I looked at her and she was sound asleep in the middle of all the noise.  She later told me that was the best gift anyone had ever given her - time to rest!  And know her family was still having a "family Thanksgiving".

The couple where the husband was in a wheelchair and wife had MS told me before they left - THAT NO ONE HAD EVER INVITED THEM TO VISIT IN ANY CHURCH THEY HAD EVER ATTENDED!!!!.  You see, they didn't exactly "fit in".  They had very visible physical and some psychological problems.  They were poor.   They were also so very grateful and thankful to have been included in "a huge family" get together with some of the other people from church, they cried when they thanked me. 

One couple our age were spending Christmas with their children but were alone on Thanksgiving.  At one point I saw the husband sitting at the table playing dominos with three other men.  His wife told me had hardly gone to any functions outside the church, and for sure hadn't played dominos in years and years!  She couldn't believe what a good time he was having. 

After that Thanksgiving, the husband’s activities at church really picked up and they “belonged” somewhere!

I’m not writing this to brag about what I did in inviting all these people.  As I have sat thinking this evening about all the people I know who are alone this Christmas, my heart hurt for them. 

Ironically, Jimmy and I are “alone” this year.  We did have plans to be with family for Christmas.  Jimmy’s knee replacement surgery was pushed out from November to December and he is not physically able to go anywhere!  We also aren’t up to having company come to us.  And we are OK with this because we know our families WANT us to be able to come for Christmas.  We aren’t sad and lonely.  We are rejoicing that Jimmy is healing so great!

As I looked over my Facebook friends and thought about people I know who have lost someone they love this year either through death or divorce, or children moving far away, or are in the hospital, it bothers me that anyone of these people will be alone.  None of them live in St.  Charles, MO so I can’t invite them.

Because of sad circumstances, there are people we all know who are lonely.  They may have their family with them, but are lonely because they have lost a parent or grandparent or other loved one.  Their family circle has been broken.  They will try and stumble through all the Christmas activities, but their hearts are sad. 

Do you know someone like anyone I’ve described?  If you are having Christmas dinner at your house, I guarantee you could probably feed an additional 10 people!

I have had people tell me “Christmas is just for family”.  That isn’t what Christmas is.  Christmas is to celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  All the traditions we have established for our family are wonderful.  It’s why they are “traditions”.  Most every lonely person at one time had “traditions”.  Now they are just alone – or lonely in a crowd!

May I ask as you read this, to think about who you would be able to invite to share your Christmas dinner and “traditions”?  You don’t have to buy them a gift.  It’s about sharing the love of Jesus. 

By the way, the family where the husband was in a wheelchair?  He died not all that long after our Thanksgiving dinner.  He wasn’t well.  I met his wife in the foyer of the church just prior to his memorial service.  I told her I could not stay as I had made an appointment I could not break, but I wanted her to know that I loved her and that we knew her husband was in Heaven.  She thanked me again for the Thanksgiving they spent at our house.  It was worth every minute of every hour that my sister and I stood in the kitchen cooking – if just for that one little family.

If you are alone but able to physically do so, look around for other lonely people, call them on the phone Thursday or Friday, and invite them to your place for a potluck Christmas dinner.  It’s not about the food, it’s not about the traditions, and it’s not about being so lonely yourself you don’t plan to get out of bed on Christmas Day.  It’s all about Jesus.

Denise Ball Carrigan

South of Sixty

12/22/2010

Observations on “Needing Shoes”

I believe almost all women are born with a passion for shoes.  I love shoes.  Hot high heels.  Flashy flats.  Sexy sandals.  Clunky clogs.  Super sneakers.  I love shoes.

Unfortunately, I was born with really flat feet.  I also was born with very narrow feet.  My shoe size is 9 ½ 4AAAA.  I haven’t hired a pollster to see what population of the world wears my shoe size, but it has to be maybe five other people. 

My sister, Earline, was born first.  Unfortunately, she had exactly the same flat, long, narrow foot as I was born with.  Our brother on the other hand, was born with perfect feet.  Is that fair?  Men don’t want hot high heels, flashy flats, sexy sandals.  They probably want clunky clogs and super sneakers though.  I often asked God why brother got the great feet and sister and I who were BORN to wear beautiful shoes got the ugly feet.  God never bothered to answer that question.

It’s safe to say I had a shoe fetish.  Only problem was finding a shoe that would fit.  As my father was a minister, there wasn’t a lot of money in our house for two girls with flat, long, narrow feet to feed our shoe fetish.  So we went through our teenage years with shoes that never fit.  They all flopped because they were too wide.  With flashy flats it wasn’t such a big deal.  With hot high heels, it was a big deal.  We walked out of those heels quite often.  Or in my case, turned my ankle or tripped and fell.  I was the clutzy child.  I could find an accident when one wasn’t looking for me. 

My husband, Jimmy, God bless him, early on in our marriage decided he should have checked my “hoofs” before marrying someone who could only be fitted properly in a shoe that carried the name  “Stuart Weitzman”.  I realize for men that name probably doesn’t mean anything.   For women, it means bunches of bucks to buy a pair of shoes. 

After twelve years of marriage, Jimmy and I had jobs that paid decent wages.  I bought my first pair of Stuart Weitzman shoes.  They FIT!  I had never had a shoe that had FIT before!   There were black high heels.  Then I needed navy high heels.  Red high heels.  White. Yellow (yes, yellow).  Brown.  Taupe.  Bronze.  Silver.  Gold.   And a few colors “especially made by Stuart Weitzman”.  I didn’t buy them all at once.  I accumulated them. I NEEDED them!  Except for black and those were twice a year because my very flat foot stretched them out and I was again walking out of them. 

Several years ago my shoe salesman called to tell me he was having a special trunk show of spring and summer shoes.  I’d never been to a trunk show of anything except at garage sales!  We didn’t actually move in the social or financial circle that attended trunk shows. I had to ask him what a trunk show WAS! This trunk show was in October.  Mr. Salesman convinced me that I NEEDED to order the shoes I would need in the spring and summer to make sure I got what I NEEDED because Mr. Salesman didn’t carry a lot of my size shoes on a regular basis.  I grabbed that hook like a starving fish.  I’m sure women reading this understand that NEED!

And so, I ordered shoes.  Hot high heels, flashy flats, sexy sandals.  I ordered in bulk.  I NEEDED all those shoes.  I NEEDED ten pair of shoes.  I PAID for ten pair of shoes.  Shoes I wouldn’t even see for six months!  I told my husband.  He said “you did WHAT?”  But being a great sales person, I convinced him I NEEDED those shoes.  Well, that last sentence might be an untruth.  More likely he mentally threw his hands in the air and reminded himself of the wedding vows we made!  I think he’s had to do a lot of that in these 43 years!

Six months later my shoes arrived at Mr. Salesman’s store.  I, with great joy in my heart, drove to the store to pick them up.  They were beautiful.  Hot high heels, flashy flats, sexy sandals.   I experienced the strongest surge of endorphins I’d ever had. 

I wore the black, brown, navy, and bronze a lot.  Not so much on the other colors.  In fact, five pairs of those shoes only walked three steps on carpet as I modeled my shoes for a loving husband.  Those five pairs of shoes have never been worn again.

Out of nowhere, one of my very flat feet had an instant sharp pain as I walked to my car.  The pain was so bad; I had to take my shoe off.  The next day I couldn’t walk on that foot.  In desperation I called my foot doctor and told him it was an emergency.  I hobbled into his office; he took x-rays, felt around on my foot and said the dreaded words no woman wants to hear.  Plantar fasciitis.  I didn’t know it, but my fate was sealed.  I was in a “walking boot” for six months. 

I had lots of physical therapy.  I even took a month off from work.  To no avail.  I would never wear those hot high heels again.  I did wear the flashy flats a few times and the sexy sandals once.  Then I had to wear the super sneakers all the time.

In my dress for success business suit, I wore super sneakers.  Every day.  Until those didn’t work anymore.  The surgeon fused bones in my foot so I could walk.  And gave me braces to support both feet until I could have surgery on my other foot to fuse it.  Now I wear combat boots with my braces so I can walk.  Remember that insult when we were kids “your Mother wears combat boots”?  I do.

I was terribly upset at having bought all those shoes, never having worn some of them, and knowing I never would be able to wear them.  I wasn’t just upset.  I was almost physically sick over it!  I’d even had a special shoe closet built in the new house.  So, my shoes sat in the shoe closet until we moved from San Antonio to St. Charles, MO.  Now they are still in the same boxes in which they were moved almost seven years ago. 

When I knew I could never wear them again, I had a REAL hot flash and told my husband that I’d bought those shoes, paid a small fortune for them, and was taking them with me when I died.  I wanted them in my casket.  Yes, he thought I was crazy.  He still does.  So does everyone else who has heard my story.  When I wrote in my first story that I wanted my shoes in my casket, I had a lot of questions from friends who asked if I was serious.  So far, I’m holding strong for those shoes to be in my casket.  Reality?  I’ll be dead to this world, won’t care what’s in my casket and Jimmy and/or my family can do what they want!

I’ll never go to a trunk show of anything again.  And too late I remembered the scripture “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth….but lay up for yourselves treasures in Heaven…..for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.  Matthew 16:19-21.

My treasures are in Heaven.  I believe I’ll be walking on streets of gold in shoes made by God.

Now you know the rest of the story!

Observations on Dressing South of Sixty

South of Sixty is a strange place for me to be.  Sixty-four!  How did that happen? 

On reflection, there are advantages to being South of Sixty.  I’m old enough to be eccentric.  I’ve probably been eccentric since birth.  I’ve finally grown into who I’ve always been.

I no longer am that concerned about what people think of me.  I’m just me and that’s OK.  I no longer have to obsess that I have matchy, matchy outfits with all the right accessories.  It’s OK to choose to just wear big, flashy earrings in lieu of any other jewelry.

Jewelry always bothered me.  Necklaces were too long or too short, too light or too heavy.  They slipped into strange positions.  I was always adjusting a necklace.  I had an epiphany.  Necklaces’ weren’t a requirement of life!

Bracelets were pretty.  I wore lots of bangles on my arms.  I liked the flashy kind.  But a bracelet also began to bother me.  It touched my wrist.  My wrist had begun to hurt. Another epiphany!

Rings.  Oh, I love rings.  Only on my fingers.  Only on my ring finger and little finger.  I had all kinds of rings.  They were all flashy also.  I still wear some of my rings on special occasions.  My fingers have begun to hurt.  Epiphany number three!

I was part of the first year of baby boomers – 1946.  My childhood was the heart of the ‘50’s.  I still miss putting on a hat and gloves for church.  Don’t know why because I pulled the gloves off as soon as I walked through the church doors.  Being as my father was the pastor, it didn’t take long to get from the parsonage to the church.  Pull gloves on in my bedroom.  Ninety seconds later, pull them off in the foyer of the church.  A proper, prim, young lady. 

Hats always gave me headaches.  Thankfully, the hats had to go when big hair became popular.  A beehive was in and of itself a “hat”.  Epithany.  A real hat looked really funny perched on top of the beehive. 

The gloves were the last to go.  I kinda liked carrying them in one hand in southern lady type fashion. 

Did I mention hosiery?  Oh, what joy when I was old enough for my first “hose” and heels.  I never liked “hose” from the beginning.  I had to have something to hold them up.  Choices were a garter belt or girdle.  There I was.  Thirteen years old and wearing a girdle with those weird hooks that held the hose up.  Girdles gave me gas.  Garter belts seemed too risqué for a preacher’s kid.

Oh, joy again!  Pantyhose were invented in the ‘60’s!  No more girdles.  No more gas.  Did you ever try to pull a girdle on while in an un-air conditioned house in Texas in the summertime?  You get the picture.

So here I am South of Sixty.  Great big, flashy earrings.  No necklace, bracelet, hat, gloves, girdle OR pantyhose.  The year my hip broke followed by the year my foot was fused, made it possible to never wear “hose” again.  I cover the combat boots I have to wear now with black slacks.  There are a few advantages to broken body parts!  Comfort while wearing clothes and shoes.

I have to make an “aside” here: I do still have all my beautiful high heels.  Lots of beautiful high heels.  I have given instructions to every person in my family that upon my passing, all my high heels are to be put in the casket with me.  I may not be able to wear them here on earth anymore, but I’m dancin’ in Heaven in beautiful high heels!  I’m sure women won’t have to wear hose or girdles in Heaven.  End of  “aside”.

Now back to the point of comfort.  South of Sixty I am now comfortable with what I wear.  Except for the bra.  Being amply endowed was OK when I was a teenager, young married woman in my twenties, career woman in my thirties and forties.  By fifty, I began to wish to have needed a training bra at twelve rather than a C cup.  Knowledge gained with age – cup sizes cover the entire alphabet!  Who knew there was a cup size HHH!

Epiphany!  I don’t have to get dressed to go to work anymore.  Now I just wear a robe all day but I’m not saying what I might or might not have on under the robe.  My robes are nice robes.  I have a few ratty ones still for even more comfort.

Another “aside” here - I used to have ratty nightgowns but the morning my hip broke while trying to sit on the toilet, I had my husband pull it off me and pull a nice robe over my head!  So now I have nice nightgowns in case another hip decides it’s had enough up and down on toilets.  End of “aside”.

But most of all, my robes are nice.  So nice in fact, that there have been a couple of occasions I actually wore my nice robe to the vet’s office to drop off the dog for grooming and to the massage therapist because I was just going to get undressed anyway so why get dressed to get undressed.  Eccentric has its advantages.  Oh, I wear nice house shoes as well. 

South of Sixty is OK.  As long as I can wear big, flashy earrings!