Santa Spotting

I know that Christmas was almost a month ago but the Santa Spottings go on. Since December 25th, I've had my hair cut and my beard trimmed so at least in my mind, I don't currently feel like Santa.

As I was putting my purchases from COSTCO into my trunk, a young couple and their five or six year old child walked by. The child pulled on his father's coat sleeve and said something I could not hear. As a result of the pull, the father shouted to me, "Nice beard!"

I thanked him and replied, "Did I hear something about Santa?" to which the child hid in shyness behind his father's coat and they moved down the lane towards the store.

I was tickled and made a note to use the experience as a post. So here it is. But then I got to thinking, "Why is being identified with Santa such a joy to me?"

I don't really behave any differently than I usually do although at times during the season I do add to the "role" when approached. "Have you been a good little boy?" or "Have you been naughty or nice. What, I have my list here somewhere," while sorting through my pocket.

Santa, to me, represents a non-denominational aspect of Christmas. While he may have begun life as a Saint, I think that his appeal and his image are mostly universal rather than religious. He represents magic, joy, love, and of course gifts. He meets my nurturing needs without my really having to do anything but look the role.

Santa Claus personifies the good in people. Does he really exist? I believe so if only in concept. It is loving to give. It is joyful to create happiness. So I do BELIEVE!

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

In fact is not only looks like it is beginning to be Christmas time, it is Christmas time. Beginning the day after Thanksgiving when my decorations go up until sometime in late January it is Christmas around my house.

Yesterday I baked a gross (a dozen dozen = 144) of Gregory's Great Grandma Barbara's German Christmas Cookies, a 200+ year old recipe that uses lard, sourghum, and candied citron.

Each year the ingredients are harder to find but thanks to the internet I still am able to find them. Traditionally they are baked the day after Thanksgiving. Because they are made from a "boiled candy" type of recipe, after the cookies are baked and cool they become so hard that they cannot be eaten or even dunked in tea and eaten.

They have to be "cured" with sliced apples in a sealed container until the 25th when they will be soft enough to eat. Taste wise approximately described, the cookies are gingery, molassesy, spicy with a touch of lemony.

Yesterday, after Barbara's cookies, I baked a gross of my mother's walnut cookies. She used to make them into crescents but I use a very small mellon scoop and make what I call Adeline's Walnut Balls. Heavy on the walnuts and butter, sprinkled with powdered sugar, these delightful treats melt in your mouth.

I've started a new tradition this year, something Gregory and I had talked about before. I got a packet of 100 brand new single dollar bills from the bank. I carry them around in my pocket and give one to every beggar, derelict, homeless person who crosses my path (or do I cross their path?)

Even though the words I used are somewhat pejorative (beggar, derelict, homeless) when I give them the dollar bill I remind myself that they are like me: a person with feelings, needs, hopes, desires.

I remind myself that they are no different than I and I am no different then they in our wants and needs. We are of different circumstances, yes, but all living and breathing gifts of the universe.

I may not be able to solve their problems with one dollar, or cure all the ills of the world, but I can take a moment to smile and wish someone Merry Christmas and regard my fellow human beings.

On Being a Nun

I have always wanted to be a nun. Not a priest. Not a monk. But a nun. A Catholic Nun. An old fashioned nun at that. With the flowing black habit, the cross around my neck, a wimple and most of my face covered in the highly starched white headpiece with its black veil. My hands are held together in what I interpret to be a holy, pure, loving way. But boys cannot be nuns!

I remember having had this desire since I was a young boy of eight or nine. I would go shopping with my mother at the grocery store in our neighborhood. I can see it to this day. The store must have been near a convent as most often there would be a nun or two pushing a shopping cart through the aisles. I watched them, thinking how special they were. How loving and kind and giving and helpful. How close to God. Maybe I was right, maybe I was wrong.

I wanted to say, “Good morning Sister,” but held back from embarrassment. I thought that by greeting her, I would be able to tap into that beauty, that purity, that love. But I held back. I watched from a distance and in my child’s mind fantasized about being a nun.  I didn’t really understand what being a nun was really about, the ideal as well as the mundane, but somehow I had a “feeling” of what it meant to be a nun and I wanted to live that feeling.

As I grew older, I was able to displace my desire to be a nun into the behavior of “being like a nun.” In my fantasy, a nun is trusting of God. Goes where she is told to go and does what she is told to do. Obedience. Doing good works. The order of her life was intriguing to me. The simplicity of her life was appealing. Being provided for was comforting. But most of all it was her being a good person, not having “bad thoughts” or doing “bad things,” whatever bad may mean. 

There is beauty in accepting life as it comes and being joyful for it. There is contentment in carrying love with you and passing it out where ever you go, whenever it is needed, and under what ever circumstances might present themselves. This was my understanding of “nun-ish-ness.”

I realize that part of my desire to be a nun was my unhealthy need to be “the best little boy.” Good at everything I did. Loved by everyone. Respected and admired. Able to make all bad into good, all sad into happy, all difficult into easy, all pain (emotional or physical) go away for everyone, especially for my family. 

I also realize that part of my desire to be a nun is my healthy ability to be nurturing towards others. As an adult, I can be all those things I wanted to be when I wanted to be that nun-boy, I don’t need the habit, just the habit.

Originally written in 2009