Heart Book Series

Looking at the calendar I realize how close we are to the vernal equinox. Since Tita died last December, I have not taken a walk in my neighborhood. I just became aware of this; I have missed watching the trees at the end of Park Boulevard dance with the breeze, apparently unaware of their bareness, on this soon to end winter.

I have lived in University Heights for almost six years. Through all this time, Tita and I tried different routes on our daily walks but we always returned to the northernmost block of Park Boulevard. Tita loved being recognized and petted by the storekeepers along the street and I loved keeping track of the passage of the months by observing the trees lining the street. Those trees were the constant measure, the chart by which I knew the season we were in. Those trees marked consistently the perimeter of the circles in my life.

Whoever says we have no seasons in Southern California is not very observant. It doesn’t matter how much we humans wish to detach ourselves from nature, we possess an innate internal compass pointing toward it. This compass is not obvious to everyone. Most of us live life immersed in what we call “life and living;” our daily routines of ‘important’ jobs, superfluous diversions, inadequate nourishment for our physical survival, and a lack of awareness of who we are and what we are doing.

To keep it all in context, I wander through life watching the sun’s light change its hue, angle, and intensity; tracking the phases of the moon on the firmament; and absorbing the subtle changes around me. One thing I have observed so far, and of this I am certain: life is a puzzle of cycles, of circles. We journey through intellectual, physical, emotional, as well as spiritual cycles. And it all moves forth in such a flux of experiences that, oftentimes, we are unaware of their endless repetition.

Some of the cycles we go through that appear more relevant to some of us are the emotional cycles. Often, when we experience loss, we focus so much on loss that we do not realize it is only one aspect of a much greater cycle, but not its entirety. To experience loss, we have to experience its opposite, the prior absence in our lives of that which we have lost. We also dismiss the process by which what we lost came into our lives, how we became engaged and related with someone or something. The intensity with which we experience loss has to do not with a constant that applies to everybody, but with a variant that is our own individual perception of emotions and values.

I grew up in Mexico, where pets are not part of the family but rather third-class members of the household. I remember our poor dog, “Consentido”—his name means spoiled and trust me he was far from that—eating leftovers at the very end of our meals. There were no pet stores where one could walk in with a dog to buy toys, special food, treats, and all these things Americans afford their pets. Hell, for all I remember, we were struggling to feed ourselves!

Then I moved to the U.S. where I met Cuauhtli and Tizoc, two beautiful Xolo Izcuintle breeds who taught me a different way to relate to dogs. They were walked twice a day, ate special foods, and slept at night with Kish, their owner, who preferred to sleep with them instead of his human lover.

 A few years later, after I begged my friend Kish for a dog, and after I put up with him for months on end telling me I would never make a good parent, Tita, a perfect mix of Xolo and Italian Greyhound, arrived one Christmas day and life was never the same.

Falling in love with her was very easy. It was essentially love at first sight. I remember Kish walking in with this tiny, dark charcoal-colored bundle in his arms. He laid her on the floor; she looked up at me and then started shaking violently. She was afraid of those strange surroundings. My parental instincts kicked in instantly.

Kish told me I needed to find a name for her. I didn’t hesitate for a moment—the scene in my favorite movie, Like Water for Chocolate, in which the main character, Tita, had been beaten by her mother and was hiding in the dove cot, where the doctor came and found her shaken and bloody, came rushing to my head—and in one breath I said, “Her name is Tita.” Never mind that was the name we grew up calling my older sister. In Mexico it is not considered an honor to have a pet named after a human, particularly a family member, but I did it anyway. That was the first huge sign that my attitude towards pets had changed greatly.

Staying in love with Tita was not as easy; it was somewhat challenging at times. I look back now and I can think of more than one thing I would happily give to relive the same situations all over again.

I remember her as a puppy, waking me up in the middle of the night. I would get up thinking she needed to go out to do her business, but she would look at me happily wagging her tail and all she wanted to do was play. She did this at two or three a.m. I must tell you here that I am a Leo. You can mess with anything but my meals and my sleep; so you can imagine how ‘excited’ I was.

I also remember taking her to the park one cold winter morning. She was wearing her brand new sweater when she took off running and disappeared for a while. After I saw no sign of her coming back to me as she always did, I started calling her. She returned covered in human poop, proud as could be, and very eager to kiss me showing off her newest favorite scent. I was irate. I threw her in the back of my red pick up, took her home, and hosed her down with freezing water—I know, all of you dog-lovers hate me right now…but it worked. She never did that again. She would find poop along our walks and she would pretend it wasn’t a big deal; and she made sure I saw her ignore the poop.

Then there was the time she ran right into a cactus and came back to me screaming with needles all over her butt. When she tried to take them out with her mouth she got them on her tongue also. So I sat there, on the side of the road, plucking needles out of my dog’s mouth and butt. She cried with every needle I pulled out.

It was not only trouble she got into. She would also make me feel very special. Anyone who has a dog knows about those welcome-home displays of happiness from the little ones. When I was coping with my mother’s passing, Tita would lick my tears at night whenever I was having some distressing dream and woke up crying. There were also those times when I would catch her looking at me as if I was the most beautiful and perfect thing on the face of the earth. I don’t know if she was thinking of a juicy steak but it certainly felt good to be looked at that way.

I watched her grow old and slow down. All that energy she had as a puppy and as a younger dog was gone. A calm ease took over her and she was content staying on the sofa, always looking at me, always trying to take in as much of me as she could. I would go to work and leave the soft music playing for her all day long. When I returned, I would find her on the couch in a reverie, drooling all over the pillow.

When she was diagnosed with cancer, I promised her I was not going to let her suffer while I told myself that I was going to be strong and live up to that promise.

She had surgery one morning in late September. I went to the veterinary to pick her up in the evening expecting a limp dog, all drugged and knocked out. I found a very happy and alert Tita, wagging her tail, excited to see me. When we got home, I looked at her and she reminded me of an old stuffed animal with many stitches on her belly. I felt very sad. I told myself she would be fine and I told her she better hang around for a few more years. She looked great during the following days and I believed she would be around for a good, long time. A couple of months later I realized I was in denial when I saw her energy drop and her health decline rapidly.

Some people believe in reincarnation but I do not know what to believe in that regard. Lately I have been reflecting on my life repeatedly and I realize I have gone through so many seasons, so many cycles that I feel I have lived several lives and I have traveled a long, long way. Internally, physically, intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually, I think of myself as an ancient tree: I have a ring for every one of the lives I have lived. Tita is one of those rings, one of the bigger ones perhaps.

Life does present itself to us in cycles, in circles. Things, people, friends, lovers, and yes, pets also, come into our lives and leave an indelible mark on us. We are left transformed forever when they leave us. At one point, it will be us who will leave others, and we become another season, another cycle or circle in someone else’s life.

I had Tita put down early on December 9, 2005. It was one of the saddest days in my life. The previous two nights we didn’t sleep well. She struggled to go outside to do her business on the first night, and on the second night she peed, pooped, and threw up all around even though she had not eaten for three days. She looked at me and I could see in her eyes how sorry she was, embarrassed perhaps—we tend to anthropomorphize our pets too much sometimes—but I knew the time I feared the most had come. At 3:00 a.m., I made the decision I was going to call the veterinarian in the morning and went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep.

When I came back from the veterinarian my cultural beliefs in dealing with the deceased took over me and I made a shrine with Tita’s picture, her collar, flowers, candles, food and water. I also kept her bed intact for three months and I have allowed myself to cry as I please.

“Our life is an apprentice to the truth that around every circle another can be drawn; that there is no end in nature, but every end is a beginning; that there is always another dawn risen on mid-noon, and under every deep a lower deep opens. There are no fixtures in nature. The universe is fluid and volatile. Permanence is but a word of degrees,” Ralph Waldo Emerson also wrote.

I know that another pet will come into my life, a wonderful pet indeed, because there is a history that is waiting to be repeated; there is a circle whose circumference must encompass some of me, there is a cycle that cries to be circumvented again. I also know that I will not forget my beautiful companion of ten years; an unforgettable animal soul that taught me about love and responsibility, a dog that tamed me, trained me, and made me hers.

This spring equinox I will walk the 4600 block of Park Boulevard in University Heights, I will look at the trees lining the street, I will think of Tita when I see on them the new growths, the harbingers of yet another season, and I shall smile and rejoice.

Today I will make a difference. I will begin by controlling my thoughts. A person is the product of their thoughts. I want to be happy and hopeful. Therefore, I will have thoughts that are happy and hopeful. I refuse to be victimized by my circumstances. I will not let petty inconveniences such as stoplights, long lines, and traffic jams be my masters. I will avoid negativism and gossip. Optimism will be my companion, and victory will be my hallmark. Today I will make a difference.

I will be grateful for the twenty-four hours that are before me. Time is a precious commodity. I refuse to allow what little time I have to be contaminated by self-pity, anxiety, or boredom. I will face this day with the joy of a child and the courage of a giant. I will drink each minute as though it is my last. When tomorrow comes, today will be gone forever. While it is here, I will use it for loving and giving. Today I will make a difference.

I will not let past failures haunt me. Even though my life is scarred with mistakes, I refuse to rummage through my trash heap of failures. I will admit them. I will correct them. I will press on. Victoriously. No failure is fatal. It’s OK to stumble – I will get up. It’s OK to fail – I will rise again. Today I will make a difference.

I will spend time with those I love. My spouse, my children, my family. A man can own the world but be poor for the lack of love. A man can own nothing and yet be wealthy in relationships. Today I will spend at least five minutes with the significant people in my world. Five quality minutes of talking or hugging or thanking or listening. Five undiluted minutes with my mate, children, and friends. Today I will make a difference.

“I got divorced about 12 years ago and at the time, I felt really isolated.”

I felt like my married friends didn’t really want me around for many reasons, and I didn’t feel comfortable around couples because my lifestyle had changed. Because my son was only five at the time, I had to make sure that he felt safe and that he knew he didn’t cause the divorce and couldn’t fix it, so I reached out a therapist.  It was also very important for me to be financially secure for him because I was no longer part of a two-income household. I was really confused, and I needed support. I needed advice on how I would juggle my life, a home life, homework, work and finances as a newly single person. The first place I went was the internet, but I could hardly find anything.

“I came up with a great idea in the shower, where I get all my great ideas.”

I came up with the idea for an internet source for single parents. I got out of the shower and bought the domain name MakingLemonade.com, which has always been a phrase that kind of dictates how I live my life. When life hands you lemons, make lemonade and share it with people.

Ten or more years ago, the Internet was just developing. I noticed some resources on mothering and working moms, but not as many on single parenting. I went to those mom web sites to start collecting information. I e-mailed experts constantly to seek out resources and got really deep into research on single parenting, making notes every step of the way. That’s how I started building my website, my cyber child, Making Lemonade. Eventually, I became known as an expert, which was pretty funny for me since I started out not knowing anything and just contacting everyone trying to find information that would help me be a successful single parent.

“Creating a network of support around you is really important. It’s the best thing I did.”

I approached the principal at my son’s school and told him I wanted to start a single parent’s group because at PTA meetings, nothing was addressed to single-parent-families. Whether you create your own support group in your community, in your church or in your school, it is really important to find other single parents that you can talk to or create childcare co-ops with because it can be very isolating sometimes. People can feel very alone and lost in this world of single parenting.

My first husband and I were never big party goers. We never went out on New Year’s Eve. As our daughters got bigger, we started staying up to watch the New Year’s Eve shows on TV. I would buy sparkling cider and we’d celebrate with toasts at midnight. I had only done this for a couple of years. It turned into a girls’ night when my husband stopped staying up with us. One year, as New Years approached, I had not really given it any thought. The girls were about 8 and 10. My younger daughter asked if we were ready for New Years? I asked what she was talking about and she said, "You know, the sparkling cider!" I had no idea we had a started a tradition, but apparently we had. I rushed out that afternoon and when the crystal ball dropped at midnight at Times Square, we were ready with our champaign glasses filled to the brim with sparkling cider. My daughters are grown and married with their own children now, but we still get together for girl’s nights with a video, popcorn and yep, sparkling cider!
~Joan Enguita, www.joanenguita.com

Lovers of carols and Christmas parties know that this season has 12 days, packed with golden rings, calling birds and various kinds of gentry, musician and domestic workers. December 25 is Christmas – and 25 minus 12 does equal 13. Do the math and you will see why shopping malls, newspapers, television networks, and other cultural fortresses annually deliver some kind of “Twelve Days of Christmas” blitz, beginning on December 13.

The problem is that for centuries church calendars in the East and the West have agreed that there are twelve days of Christmas and they begin on Christmas and end on January 6.

The twelve days of Christmas end with the Feast of Epiphany also called “The Adoration of the Magi” or “The Manifestation of God.”  Celebrated on January 6, it is known as the day of the Three Kings (or wise men/magi): Caspar, Melchior, and Balshazar. According to an old legend based on a Bible story, these three kings saw, on the night when Christ was born, a bright star, followed it to Bethlehem and found there the Christ child and presented him with gold, frankincense and myrrh.

January 6, the last day of Christmas, comes with its own traditions, rituals and symbols.  Carolers are going from house to house; in many homes the Christmas Tree is taken down and in some areas is burnt in a big bonfire.  For the children, this is an especially joyous occasion because, associated with taking down the tree goes the “plundern” (raiding) of the tree. The sweets, chocolate ornaments wrapped in foil or cookies (which have replaced the sugar plums) are the raiders’ rewards. 

The history of Christmas (the festival of the nativity of Jesus Christ) is intertwined with that of the Epiphany.  The commemoration of the Baptism (also called the Day of Lights, i.e. the Illumination of Jesus) was also known as the birthday of Jesus, because he was believed to have been born then of the Virgin or reborn in baptism.  In some records, Christmas and Epiphany were referred to as the first and second nativity; the second being Christ’s manifestation to the world.

In the fourth century, December 25 was finally adopted by the Western Christian Church as the date of the Feast of Christ’s birth.  It is believed that this change in date gave rise to the tradition of the “12 Days of Christmas.”  While the Western Christian Church celebrates December 25th, the Eastern Christian Church to this day recognizes January 6 as the celebration of the nativity.  January 6 was also kept as the physical birthday in Bethlehem. In the Teutonic west, Epiphany became the Festival of the Three Kings (i.e. the Magi), or simply Twelfth Day.  

The longest night of the year bears within itself the promise of the return of the light, the “rebirth” of the Sun. Thus, the Winter Solstice is a time to celebrate the darkness of the womb from which creation arises. We honor the cycles of life, death and rebirth, the dark night of the soul and the rebirth of new hope and vision. When we move deeper into the darkness instead of avoiding it, we find the gifts the darkness holds. To some, that may mean moving into the shadow aspect of self. What needs to be released, to be brought into the light of our awareness? Even in our darkest moments we can find the seeds of growth and healing within.

The darkness of the long winter nights that culminate in the Winter Solstice is also a time to honor and celebrate the world of the unseen, of dreams and of intuition. When we cannot see with our physical eyes, we learn to trust the inner vision, the power of insight and inner knowingness. The journey into the darkness prepares the way for celebration: in gratitude we rejoice in the return of the light, the promise of the Sun/Son lighting our path, the promise of new beginnings.

A Winter Solstice Meditation:
Begin by taking a deep breath in and then exhaling slowly. Relax as you release the breath. With each breath you take, you move deeper into the silent space within, into your inner world.
Imagine yourself now walking through a desert landscape at night. The moon is not visible to light your path, and at first your steps are unsure and tentative. The more you attune yourself to the silent world around you, the more your senses begin to perceive details along your path. The desert air is clear and cold, fragrant with the aroma of sage. Now you move with confidence, you can “see” with your inner eyes. You are comfortable with the darkness that reveals its gifts: you can hear sounds of life around you – what do you hear? You see things you have not seen before – what do you see? You trust your inner sensed, your intuition guides you on your path. Answers reveal themselves as you surrender to the power of the unseen. You feel safe and protected.

A warm feeling starts to bubble up in the your solar plexus. The warmth spreads to your arms and legs, to your whole body. A pleasant tingling sensation accompanies the warm glow that now seems to emanate from your body, creating a field of pleasant vibrating energy throughout and around you. The source of light and warmth is within, always accessible, your internal sun. You are equally comfortable with the dark as with the light. You are balanced, in harmony with Mother Earth and Father Sky.

As you turn your eyes toward the night sky above you, a blanket of brilliant stars illuminate the sky. Gratitude washes over you as you open your heart to the beauty of this sacred time and space. A granite bolder offers a place to rest and relax. Hours seem like minutes, a sense of timelessness prevails.

Yet, almost imperceptibly at first, you notice a change on the horizon. The light of the stars begins to fade, and toward the east, the first light of dawn colors the sky with shades of purple, pink and orange. Slowly the landscape around you reveals a new face of beauty and harmony. Soon the radiant disk of the Sun appears and bathes the desert in its warm glow. You are reborn to this new day, and you greet it with joy and gratitude. You can trust the sacred circles of nature that always offer new beginnings. Bless the return of the light as you have blessed the womb of darkness that preceded it.

With you next deep breath slowly begin to bring your awareness back to the here and now. Feel yourself grounded, balanced and in harmony. When you are ready, you may open your eyes, fully back in the here and now, bringing with you the gifts of this sacred journey. And so it is. Thank you God.

Holidays and joy are two elements of our lives that are naturally intertwined. Traditional celebrations awaken within us an ardent desire to reconnect with the people we care about and to share our abundance. During the holiday season, we feel more driven to actively practice compassion, tolerance, selflessness, and gratitude. When we feel stressed, we find peace in the company of loved ones. And, filled with warm thoughts, we endeavor to ensure that others can share in our celebrations. Yet while happiness and holidays go hand in hand, the serenity and optimism that blossom within as we act on our festive feelings need not be relegated to a few days or weeks each year. We can carry the holiday spirit within us all year long if we make an effort to embrace a celebratory frame of mind no matter what the date.

Christmas With Louise

As a joke, my brother used to hang a pair of panty hose over his fireplace before Christmas.  He said all he wanted was for Santa to fill them. What they say about Santa checking the list twice must be true because every Christmas morning, although Jay’s kids’ stockings were overflowed, his poor pantyhose hung sadly empty.

One year I decided to make his dream come true.  I put on sunglasses and went in search of an inflatable love doll.  They don’t sell those things at Wal-Mart.  I had to go to an adult bookstore downtown.

If you’ve never been in an X-rated store, don’t go.  ; You’ll only confuse yourself.  I was there an hour saying things like, "What does this do? You re kidding me!  Who would buy that?"  Finally, I made it to the inflatable doll section.

I wanted to buy a standard, uncomplicated doll that could also substitute as a passenger in my truck so I could use the car pool lane during rush hour.

Finding what I wanted was difficult.  Love Dolls come in many different models. The top of the line, according to the side of the box, could do things I’d only seen in a book on animal husbandry.  I settled for Lovable Louise.  She was at the bottom of the price scale.  To call Louise a doll took a huge leap of imagination.

On Christmas Eve and with the help of an old bicycle pump, Louise came to life.

My sister-in-law was in on the plan and let me in during the wee morning hours. Long after Santa had come and gone, I filled the dangling pantyhose with Louise’s pliant legs and bottom.  I also ate some cookies and drank what remained of a glass of milk on a nearby tray.  I went home, and giggled for a couple of hours.

The next morning my brother called to say that Santa had been to his house and left a present that had made him VERY happy but had left the dog confused.   She would bark, start to walk away, then come back and bark some more.

We all agreed that Louise should remain in her panty hose so the rest of the family could admire her when they came over for the traditional Christmas dinner.

My grandmother noticed Louise the moment she walked in the door.  "What the hell is that?" she asked.

My brother quickly explained, "It’s a doll."

"Who would play with something like that?" Granny snapped.

I had several candidates in mind, but kept my mouth shut.

"Where are her clothes?" Granny continued.

"Boy, that turkey sure smells nice Gran" Jay said, to steer her into the dining room.

But Granny was relentless.  "Why doesn’t she have any teeth?"

Again, I could have answered, but why would I?  It was Christmas and no one wanted to ride in the back of the ambulance saying, "Hang on Granny, hang on!"

My grandfather, a delightful old man with poor eyesight, sidled up to me and said,  "Hey, who’s the naked gal by the fireplace?"

I told him she was Jay’s friend.

A few minutes later I noticed Grandpa by the mantel, talking to Louise. Not just talking, but actually flirting.  It was then that we realized this might be Grandpa’s last Christmas at home.

The dinner went well.  We made the usual small talk about who had died, who was dying, and who should be killed, when suddenly Louise made a noise like my father in the bathroom in the morning.  Then she lurched from the panty hose, flew around the room twice, and fell in a heap in front of the sofa.

The cat screamed.  I passed cranberry sauce through my nose, and Grandpa ran across the room, fell to his knees, and began administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. My brother fell back over his chair and wet his pants.

Granny threw down her napkin, stomped out of the room, and sat in the car.

It was indeed a Christmas to treasure and remember.

Later in my brother’s garage, we conducted a thorough examination to decide the cause of Louise’s collapse.  We discovered that Louise had suffered from a hot ember to the back of her right thigh.

"Sir, sir."

He glanced in the direction of the frail voice to find a well-dressed, elderly lady attempting to get his attention.

He closed the car door and walked towards her. "Can I help you, ma’am?"

The older woman explained that the gas pump was not working properly, and asked if he knew what she was doing wrong.

"These are new pumps and very touchy-even for me. I’ve found the easiest thing to do is forget locking them while I fill; they keep shutting off for some reason."

"Oh my! I can’t keep pressure on that handle until my tank is full. My hands don’t have much strength in them anymore." She cast her blue eyes to the ground in frustration.

"I’d be honored to fill your tank for you!" The man’s Texas accent was gentle and he gave her a little wink. "By the way, I love your British accent."

"Yes, a British accent in Texas.people always notice!" She smiled. "We just came to the States a few years ago. That’s my husband in the car." She paused for a moment, "He has Alzheimer’s now."

"I’m so very sorry for both of you." After a slight lull the gentleman continued. "Why don’t you get back in the car while I do this; the snow is picking up and you’re going to get wet."

She was a lovely woman with snowy-white hair; her attire was prim and proper as one would expect from a Brit. "I’d rather visit if you don’t mind. Our son is out of town for Christmas; he’s with his wife’s family this year and I’m feeling a bit blue."

A knot formed in the Texan’s throat and he hoped to change the subject. "Just what are the two of you doing out in this weather? I hope your drive home is a short one. You know these Texas drivers aren’t the best when it comes to snow and sleet," he teased.

"We’re on our way home from a Christmas party. The medical center has one each year for the Alzheimer patients. They are rather like children’s parties-and they have Santa visit. Oftentimes patients will have moments they recall things from their past. Some sing along to Christmas carols when they haven’t carried on an actual conversation in quite a long while."

"Did anyone recognize Santa today?"

"Oh, yes, my husband recognized Santa and tried to steal his hat! He even said, ‘Ho, ho, ho-Merry Christmas.’ His recollection was rather brief but it was the highlight of my day." She grinned.

The gas pump clicked off, the woman swiped her credit card to make payment, and turned to thank the man who had been willing to help her. The two were saying their farewells when the squeal of brakes, a thud, and breaking glass at the intersection caught their attention.

"Oh, my!" The lady whimpered with a distressed expression. "It’s getting so slick. I’ve got to hurry and get home."

"Ma’am, I’d be honored to follow you in case you have problems."

She hesitated momentarily and then appeared relieved, "Oh, I’d be so grateful. I can’t thank you enough. And by the way, my name is Margaret." She reached out to shake hands with her new friend.

"Margaret, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Ray." He patted her hand gently before they released their grasp. "You just drive slowly; I’ll be right behind you."

When Margaret pulled into her garage Ray stopped curbside. "I just want to be sure you get inside safely," he shouted.

Margaret waved and asked him to wait for a moment-then nodded and spoke to her neighbor hanging Christmas lights. She guided John into the house, quickly reappeared in the garage, and motioned for Ray to pull into the driveway.

She thanked Ray again and soon mentioned this being the first Christmas she and her husband had ever spent alone. Ray, always a soft touch for older folks, was happy to listen. She spoke fondly of traditions her family adhered to when she was a child in England and revealed an interesting glimpse into her past.plus a taste of her cherished memories from across the pond.

"You know mistletoe is very traditional in England. My first "real" kiss was under the mistletoe when I was a teenager. Oh, what memories I have." For a split second, Margaret looked like a young girl again.

Several minutes passed before Margaret began to shiver and they were forced to say farewell.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Christmas morn found Margaret peeking out her front door just as the sun crested the horizon. She stepped outside, instantly clasped her hands like a small child, and peered up and down the street. With not a soul in sight she began to examine the items discovered on her porch.each one dredged up memories of years gone by in Merry Old England.

Just above her head hung an arrangement of mistletoe adorned with elegant lace; she touched it gently. Bedecked with Victorian ornaments, a small, lighted Christmas tree sat in the corner-beneath it a homemade mincemeat pie wrapped securely and tied with golden ribbon. The card attached said only, "From: Santa." Hanging from the doorknob a brilliant red Santa Claus hat with tag, "To: John."

Margaret called to John; he slowly made his way and stepped outside. Nothing on the porch sparked his interest until Margaret placed the Santa hat in his hands. After staring at it and stroking the velvety softness, he plopped it onto his head. It sat askew but John’s face beamed as his voice rang out across the neighborhood, "Ho, ho, ho! Ho, ho, ho!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Parked several houses away, a Secret Texas Santa sniffed and wiped at a lone tear. a happy tear. "Merry Christmas and God Bless." He smiled and drove towards home.
 
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kathy was born and raised in the small town of Augusta, Kansas, a few miles outside of Wichita. She married a native Texan, Jerry, in 1977 and was soon transplanted to Dallas. A large city offers many things, but she misses the slower pace of small town America. Kathy has two stepchildren and four grandchildren. Pets have always played a huge part in her life. In fact, they were her inspiration to begin writing. Kathy’s website can be viewed at: YELLOW ROSE (www.txyellowrose.com) or she can be contacted at Lnstrlady@aol.com

It’s just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past ten years or so.

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas–oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it–overspending… the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma—the gifts given in desperation because you couldn’t think of anything else.

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.

Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler’s ears.

It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn’t acknowledge defeat.

Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them." Mike loved kids – all kids – and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That’s when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition–one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas , and on and on.

The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.

As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn’t end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more.

Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing to take down the envelope.