The
details are fuzzy as any old memory goes. The story comes like a pop-up
book for a toddler: pictures emerge here and there but the lines and
paragraphs don’t make sense.
I was four, maybe five, and that year I learned that giving is more fun than receiving.
Her
name was Deidre. She had been in the hospital for a long time for
something chronic like heart problems, not a quick fix like
appendicitis. Maybe we knew her through church or one of my parents’
workplaces.
"We’re going to take Deidre some presents," Mom said. "Why don’t you pick something out for her?"
I hadn’t met Deidre before. What would she like? A doll? A stuffed Snoopy? Could she play with a shopping cart in the hospital?
A book! Who doesn’t like books?
I chose one of my favorites, ‘Twas the Night before Christmas.
My dad read it every Christmas Eve after Luke 2, right before we set
out the cookies, milk, and carrot. My dad’s a great reader: he does
expressions. Not even a mouse!
Okay, and I had two copies of it.
It
was a Golden Book edition with that gold binding and a red cover
(they’ve since changed the cover). Mom and I wrapped it in red
Christmas paper with Santa Claus laughing with that bowlful of jelly in
replica. He had his finger to his nose.
At the hospital, I sat on a
hard chair with my legs swinging in a long hallway. Maybe it wasn’t
long, but it seemed so at the time. The walls were made of cinderblocks
painted cream. I breathed in the dry, isopropryll air and waited.
The
waiting was the best part, I think. Holding the gift, knowing God was
using me to bring joy in a little girl’s Christmas. She was my age, and
she would read one of my favorite books.
I don’t remember what she looked like, but I was shy. What if she didn’t like my gift? What should I say to her?
And then it was over, and we returned to our lives. As always, my dad read Luke 2 and ‘Twas the Night before Christmas.
I didn’t hear about Deidre again, or if I did, I don’t remember. I
don’t know what happened to her. I don’t know if she liked my gift.
But I never forgot her. Every Christmas, I wonder if Deidre likes that story.
My Favorite Christmas Memory
December 14, 2007 By Leave a Comment
Memories, in the corner of my mind
October 11, 2007 By Leave a Comment
I used to remember things. Whole paragraphs I’d tuck into a pot in the back of my mind without needing to write them down. They’d simmer and, when, ready, I’d collect them, full of spices melding flavors.
Now, I have an idea for a post, and by the time I type in the URL, poof! It’s gone.
I make a better magician than an historian.
No matter. I plug ahead.
This morning I have the opportunity to guest teach on writing and being a writer. In one class, we’ll talk about setting and using your five senses to create the stage and how that contributes to the story itself. In the other class, we’ll talk about the hero’s journey. Should be fun. I’ll have to let you know how it goes.
Hopefully I’ll remember things.
It’s a good thing I have my handy-dandy Nancy Drew pad in my purse for just such occassions.
Now, I have an idea for a post, and by the time I type in the URL, poof! It’s gone.
I make a better magician than an historian.
No matter. I plug ahead.
This morning I have the opportunity to guest teach on writing and being a writer. In one class, we’ll talk about setting and using your five senses to create the stage and how that contributes to the story itself. In the other class, we’ll talk about the hero’s journey. Should be fun. I’ll have to let you know how it goes.
Hopefully I’ll remember things.
It’s a good thing I have my handy-dandy Nancy Drew pad in my purse for just such occassions.
