Only 11 Months 'Til Christmas!

I'm glad the holidays are over. I used to look so forward to them when I was a child. On some level, i still do; it's the part of me that still believes every day is going to be blue skied and sunny, the part of me that is certain that people would never be mean to me. I'm always wrong about those things, and I'm wrong about the holidays, too. I always think I'm going to make THIS particular Christmas the BEST Christmas ever, and that I'll wake up Christmas morning with that same feeling of excitement and anticipation that I had when I was little. I never do.

I know what it is. I'm still waiting for Santa.

I'm waiting for something wonderful to be given to me, or done for me, that only something or someone magical could create. I really don't mean a gift. I mean a FEELING, an EXPERIENCE. An EMOTION. One that you only feel on a day like Christmas. Somehow, it never quite happens. The one thing I want is the one thing I don't get. There's always that post-Christmas letdown that inevitably comes. For me, the adrenaline rush of Christmas morning is more ominous than joyful, because I know what I'll feel afterwards...

...like Santa didn't come.

Juergen

I was floundering when i met him. I was 39 years old and stuck in some alternative reality. I got up every morning, fixed breakfast, made sure mom was set for the day, then went to work. I came home, got dinner, made sure mom was set for the evening, and went to bed. Mom, job, housework, and...nothing else. That was my life. Then one day Juergen brought his mom in to have her hair done. I havent been the same since. I read an interview with Katherine Hepburn once. She said that meeting Spencer Tracy was like being hit over the head with a skillet. I know that skillet. It conked me on the head 7 years ago. It explains alot about me to say love is like a head injury. It makes you confused and forgetful. It also makes you euphoric. It isnt a bad head injury. And in my case, i get beaned by that skillet every day.

He was born in Germany in 1954. Ive seen pictures of him as a child in his leiderhosen and he looks like a Hummel figurine. His parents, Guenter and Marlene, decided to come to the states when Juergen was 3. Guenter had an aunt and uncle who'd emigrated some years earlier. He came over first and was here nearly a year, finding a job and a place to live. Then he sent for Marlene and Juergen. The photos taken at the airport show Marlene looking so sad. She was very close to her family and didnt want to leave. Juergen is with her, one hand in hers and the other holding a little suitcase. They settled here in Ohio. Marlene learned english by watching soap operas. She and Guenter are so special to me. The minute they met me it was like i was their daughter. And when i think of what my life would be if they hadnt brought their little boy to America, words cant explain my gratitude.

Juergen is 55 years old. Hes 5'9, around 185 lbs. His hair is gray and he has a mustache. He isnt tall or dark but hes handsome. And he seems big to me. He carries himself like a much bigger man. Some people find him intimidating. He drives a truck for an industrial gas company. But if you saw him on the street youd think he was in law enforcement or the military. When hes with me i feel like noone will bother me. Im 5'3" and a little on the chubby side. I'd dated several men before i met juergen. I never felt comfortable with any of them. Theyed put their arms around me and it didnt feel natural. I felt big and fat and i never knew where to put my arms. On our first date juergen walked me to my door. I lived out in the country and some deer ran across the field behind my house. We watched them scamper away, then he turned to me and pulled me into his arms and kissed me like id never been kissed before. I felt like i could fit in his pocket. And i knew just where to put my arms.

Dad

When i think of my dad i think of the way he smelled. That wouldnt normally be strange. Lots of people remember their fathers aftershave. But my dad seldom wore aftershave. He smelled like Lucky Strike cigarettes and paint thinner. My dad was a graphic artist, or as he called himself, "an old sign man". He designed and painted signs for over 60 years. He helped develop techniques that are used commonly in the industry now. He was also a cartoonist and illustrator. I was so proud of him. But he didnt always know it. We werent close. We never had father-daughter talks. I didnt run to meet him when he came home from work. He spent his time at home alone in the den in his lazy boy, reading voraciously and watching the news. He seemed distant to me. He got up at 5 in the morning and went to bed at 8 in the evening. He hadnt always been that way. But the handsome soldier whod been so in love with the pretty hillbilly waitress had turned into a tired old man who didnt want to come home at night. He wasnt in love with her anymore. He just wanted to be left alone. So we did. I used to try to talk to him. I was artistic, i wanted to go to art school. I wanted to learn at his feet. But he was never interested. He used to talk about his coworkers kids and how smart and talented they were. But i never heard him brag about me or my brothers or sister. I wanted him to be proud of me. But i dont know if he was. Then i found out he was cheating on my mother. I remember my mother putting me in the car late one night and going out to look for him. When she saw his car in front of a womans house, she hit the gas and turfed the womans yard. She said it was an accident. I was 12. My dad moved out after that. My parents separated for 6 weeks but they reconciled. When i say reconciled i mean they lived under the same roof. But my mom became guarded, suspicious, and sick. And my dad became withdrawn, secretive, and depressed. I was angry with him for the way he treated my mother. I didnt speak to him for nearly 3 yrs. He developed enphysema while i was living in Nashville. He and my mother had separated again but she and i and my sister were with him when he died. It took 3 days. He wanted no treatment. He wanted to die. They gave him morphine and we waited. The last day i whispered in his ear that i loved him and forgave him. He was not awake. But i think hed been waiting for that. He died that evening.
I was driving home from work one day a couple of years ago. Something made me think of my dad. When i did, my car was suddenly filled with the smell of cigarettes and paint thinner. Thats the truth.

Lori's Lyric of the Day

"TORN"

c.2009 Lori Clevenger theres a box of photos in my mothers closet i went there looking for my dad i never found him but i found a picture that someone had torn in half all that was left was a faded image of me and mom when i was five you could tell someone had been beside us but someone tore him from our side i wonder what he looked like was he there when i was born i want so much to see the entire picture but so much of it is torn i know when he was young he served his country his pension paid my way through school but mama never liked to talk about him and i observed her silent rule but i have freckles, and a certain cowlick i have a dimple when i grin ive never seen these things in my whole family could i have gotten them from him? i wonder what his dreams were and what he went through in the war i want so much to see the entire picture but so much of it is torn i put the box back in my mothers closet but i kept the picture out mom just passed away and never told me ill never get my answers now the picture has one rough and three smooth edges i cant know who was there before hes just a phantom arm around us all the rest of him his torn i wonder why he left us was there someone he wanted more? i want so much to see the entire picture but so much of it is torn i want so much to see the entire person but so much of him is torn

How We Met

I looked up from my clients nails the second i heard the door open. In walked a little lady with a cane. Then i saw the man who had ahold of her elbow, guiding her toward the shampoo bowl. I saw his hair first. Salt with just a dash of pepper, and a mustache. Then i saw his eyes. Deep clear brown with an even darker rim. They smiled at me before he did. I felt my face get hot and a shiver ripple over my body. It was the man from my dream. The dream id had recurrently since id moved back home. I quickly looked back down and tried to file my clients nail and realized my own hands were shaking. I smelled his after shave in the cool breeze his body created as he slowly walked by my desk. "i think ill sit and wait for you today mom" he said in a deep voice that vibrated my soul, then sat down in the reception area directly in front of me. With my head still down i lifted my eyes. They connected with his. And they smiled at me again.

we stared at each other like that for 3 months before he ever spoke to me. then one winter day, after a rather substantial snow, i was in the break room eating lunch when he walked in to get a cup of water. he struck up a conversation by asking me how i liked the snow. "i'm not a fan", i said, laughing nervously. i couldnt believe he was talking to me! "did your husband shovel your driveway?" he asked?

now, a normal woman with no self-confidence issues would have known what he was doing right away. but this is ME we're talking about, so it never even crossed my mind. "No", i said, "its just me and mom, so i did it myself". then for some reason, my face turned bright red, and i got up from the table and said, "oh well, back to work!" and rushed out of the room.

he didnt come back to the salon for 3 whole weeks. i thought i'd blown it.

i hadnt.

Random Recipe From My Mothers Cookbook, c.1953

Cucumbers In Sour Cream
(which is also a traditional German dish called "Gerkensalat" which Juergen's mother makes, and I LOVE)


1 large cucumber, sliced THIN*
1 c. thick sour cream
1 med. white onion, sliced THIN*
3 tblsp. vinegar
1/4 tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. white pepper
* in Mom Lorenz's version, the onion and cuke are so thin you can read through them. a mandolin or food processor would be helpful to achieve this.

combine all ingredients and chill at least an hour. serves 4.

Mom

My mother is 82 yrs old. Shes 4'11". She used to be 5'4" but osteoporosis will take you down a few notches. Shes nearly deaf and going blind. She drives me completely nuts and i love her. She looked like a movie star when i was little. She was so pretty with her pixie haircut in her pedal pushers and black flats. She was a coal miners daughter who married a soldier from chicago and felt like a fish out of water every day afterwards. She had 2 sons and 2 daughters. I was the baby, 9 years after the other 3. She and i were always inseperable. My favorite memory is my mom making apple butter sandwiches, cutting the crusts off for me, then putting cream, sugar and a little coffee in one of my toy teacups. Then we'd sit and watch Search For Tomorrow together. She was and is my rock, my angel, my friend. She lost both her sons to auto accidents. She lost her parents and 5 siblings. Now shes a widow. I take her shopping and to the doctor and help her with her housework and bills. Im the parent now. But she will always be the boss. And my friend.

Gordon and Ruby, Pt. 1

He sat in the booth in the back of the diner, with a hot cup of of coffee and some toast on the table in front of him. He stood out in the bustle of the diner in his crisply pressed Air Force uniform. His dark brown hair was cut close to his head except for the deep wave at his forehead. He had brought the morning newspaper with him and he held it open in front of him. But he wasnt reading it. He was using it to conceal the fact that he was watching the girl behind the counter. His eyes twinkled as they followed her every move. He thought she was the prettiest thing hed ever seen. Her hair was dark blonde, short and curly, and she was petite, and slim. She wore a uniform too but hers was pink, with a white apron. She moved quickly like a nesting bird, wiping down the counter with one hand and setting the shakers straight with the other, pausing occasionally to pick up some coins left behind for her. Another waitress said something to her and she laughed, a hearty full bodied laugh that went through him like a ringing bell. He decided he was in love. 1953 was going to be a good year.