Right after reading this I was on the verge of abandoning a dog walk because of forecast rain. I looked at the dog, who is about to fall into a deep depression because I'm such a boring dog parent, and I looked at the rain, which hadn't yet started (although my phone said it had) and, with your essay resonating, I decided to go anyway. It turned into the most lovely experience with exactly the kinds of connections you mentioned. The nice PGE man who was friendly to the dog but clearly wary from experience. A neighbor with another dog, that, like mine, can be very grumpy when out on a leash (we commiserated). Another neighbor who never ventures beyond his gate except in the car was actually walking somewhere. We walked together. I stopped at the neighborhood free food pantry (like the little libraries but food) and read the sign from the owner of same scolding people for leaving opened containers or food that is off. Annoyed but kind nevertheless. I looked into the window of my close friend whose husband died yesterday. I saw she had friends over visiting and they were chatting. So rich - little snapshots of lives, little moments of connection in passing. The dog got walked. I got walked. The dog still guilt tripped me when we got back because I was still a very boring human so I gave her a treat toy, which I haven't done for a long time. Now she's crashed out asleep on the floor.
The pink section ornament balls were lovelier than can be imagined. Leah's description of crumpled balls of newspaper is accurate, but doesn't quite convey how they looked in real life: like pink snowballs, textured and bouncy and light.
I’m sure I’ve never told you this (the topic has never come up) but one of the two good pieces of advice my mother imparted came when my 2nd grade self & best friend, both of us singers, were singing and mocking Christmas carols. My mother scolded us and told us to enjoy the music and ignore the words. This has stood me in good stead while singing in choirs throughout my life, including the singing of the entire Messiah with UMS Choral Union which I do every year.
Also I never understood why we couldn’t have blue and white lights on our house since Hannukah was, after all, the Festival of Lights
Thank you, Leah! As a lonely Jewish girl on the outskirts of Atlanta, I had a brief fling with Jesus. In fact, I loved joining the gang on the school bus in singing 'Jesus Loves Me, This I Know.' No tree at our house. Actually, no tree or God, thus, the longing that I soon outgrew. Reading you always stirs memories of one's own. That's a gift! Happy New Year!
I enjoy these stories so much, but even more so after I finally met Greenberg. I took a photo recently of how our neighborhood handles Christmas tree collections for City Park composting. They create a square dumping ground out of standard metal barriers on the sidewalk, along with a sign indicating that this area is a Christmas tree recycling spot. Many buildings require that a tree must be bagged before residents schlep them through halls and lobbies, and some forget to remove the plastic bag. I'm sure the City can manage that. I'm extremely fond of the Christmas tree selling sprees before December 25th, because the stands of cut trees on the sidewalks smell wonderful as they wait to be sold. These little piney groves also remind me of the entrance to Narnia C.S. Lewis described at the back of the large wooden wardrobe.
Peering ahead into this scary new year, and considering the acres of documents of misinformation with which we'll be confronted, Greenberg needs to keep his peeing skills honed.
A wonderful story, well said. Just today, as I was unwrapping the lights from the tree in the family room, I thought to myself, am I really glad to do this every year? Certainly jewish enough not to. But as I finished and thanked the tree for being perfect in a wonderful family gathering, I knew I was glad I did! Happy New Year, my friend!
Right after reading this I was on the verge of abandoning a dog walk because of forecast rain. I looked at the dog, who is about to fall into a deep depression because I'm such a boring dog parent, and I looked at the rain, which hadn't yet started (although my phone said it had) and, with your essay resonating, I decided to go anyway. It turned into the most lovely experience with exactly the kinds of connections you mentioned. The nice PGE man who was friendly to the dog but clearly wary from experience. A neighbor with another dog, that, like mine, can be very grumpy when out on a leash (we commiserated). Another neighbor who never ventures beyond his gate except in the car was actually walking somewhere. We walked together. I stopped at the neighborhood free food pantry (like the little libraries but food) and read the sign from the owner of same scolding people for leaving opened containers or food that is off. Annoyed but kind nevertheless. I looked into the window of my close friend whose husband died yesterday. I saw she had friends over visiting and they were chatting. So rich - little snapshots of lives, little moments of connection in passing. The dog got walked. I got walked. The dog still guilt tripped me when we got back because I was still a very boring human so I gave her a treat toy, which I haven't done for a long time. Now she's crashed out asleep on the floor.
The pink section ornament balls were lovelier than can be imagined. Leah's description of crumpled balls of newspaper is accurate, but doesn't quite convey how they looked in real life: like pink snowballs, textured and bouncy and light.
I’m sure I’ve never told you this (the topic has never come up) but one of the two good pieces of advice my mother imparted came when my 2nd grade self & best friend, both of us singers, were singing and mocking Christmas carols. My mother scolded us and told us to enjoy the music and ignore the words. This has stood me in good stead while singing in choirs throughout my life, including the singing of the entire Messiah with UMS Choral Union which I do every year.
Also I never understood why we couldn’t have blue and white lights on our house since Hannukah was, after all, the Festival of Lights
The joy of weak ties!
Thank you, Leah! As a lonely Jewish girl on the outskirts of Atlanta, I had a brief fling with Jesus. In fact, I loved joining the gang on the school bus in singing 'Jesus Loves Me, This I Know.' No tree at our house. Actually, no tree or God, thus, the longing that I soon outgrew. Reading you always stirs memories of one's own. That's a gift! Happy New Year!
I enjoy these stories so much, but even more so after I finally met Greenberg. I took a photo recently of how our neighborhood handles Christmas tree collections for City Park composting. They create a square dumping ground out of standard metal barriers on the sidewalk, along with a sign indicating that this area is a Christmas tree recycling spot. Many buildings require that a tree must be bagged before residents schlep them through halls and lobbies, and some forget to remove the plastic bag. I'm sure the City can manage that. I'm extremely fond of the Christmas tree selling sprees before December 25th, because the stands of cut trees on the sidewalks smell wonderful as they wait to be sold. These little piney groves also remind me of the entrance to Narnia C.S. Lewis described at the back of the large wooden wardrobe.
Peering ahead into this scary new year, and considering the acres of documents of misinformation with which we'll be confronted, Greenberg needs to keep his peeing skills honed.
A wonderful story, well said. Just today, as I was unwrapping the lights from the tree in the family room, I thought to myself, am I really glad to do this every year? Certainly jewish enough not to. But as I finished and thanked the tree for being perfect in a wonderful family gathering, I knew I was glad I did! Happy New Year, my friend!
A lucky buck, a new year’s omen! A wonderful read!
Your walking stories make me green with envy.......................Say, can you do one about woks?
Happy This Year, Leah!
Well done, Leah, and happy new year!
Always delightful and inspiring dear Leah!! Thank you and Happy New Year!! Sandy
That’ll teach us all to say “Thank you” when necessary, like now. Thank you for this lovely December/January revery. Still fresh in early February.