Special Delivery

One of my favorite things to do at Christmas is to bake some kind of treat for the neighbors and hand deliver it to them on Christmas eve. It's a tradition I started when Teen Angel was little to teach her about showing love to others and giving when nothing is expected in return. It's also a great way to show our neighbors how swell we think they are. We really are blessed with good neighbors. There isn't a dud in the bunch. When Teen Angel was really young I would pull her around the neighborhood in her big red wagon while we delivered the goodies. The last few years we walked. This year's mode of transportation? A golfcart. Sissy says I should have decorated it with lights and tinsel. Maybe next year.

I bake something different every year. Last year was cream cheese pound cake. This year it was Amish friendship cake. Nine loaves of it. It was another baking frenzy around here yesterday. Today was delivery day, and it was as much fun as I expected it to be. That's because I always get invited into their homes for conversation and sometimes a goodie or a beverage. I got all caught up with Miss P. about her engagement. She is possibly the nicest woman I've ever known. The O.'s were already opening a few gifts with their grandchildren. Mr. R. seems to be recovering well from his recent surgery, and M.'s daughter has already arrived for their big family get together.

There is one fewer face on the block these days. Mrs. E. died from cancer a little more than a year ago, and I really miss my Christmas chat with her. She was a kind and loving woman who helped her husband pastor a local church for several decades. She and Brother E. never had children, but they shared their hearts with a whole lot of people. They always invited me in for eggnog and a seat by the fireplace. We would talk and laugh about the neighborhood happenings, and I never failed to marvel at how such a quiet, dignified woman could fill up an entire room with just her presence. She was loved by many. As she lay dying of cancer, a bus load of people from other churches drove more than three hours to her house, just to pray for her. "Mom, come look," Teen Angel said as they pulled up in her driveway and started filing out of the bus. We watched in awe as they encircled her house, held hands and prayed for her. She handled her illness with incredible grace, even when she lost her beautiful long hair to the chemo. Mrs. E. was Pentocostal, making the hair loss that much more difficult. I miss her, but not like Brother E. does. As difficult as it is to visit their house without her in it, those little chats seem more important now than ever before. The same goes for my time today with Miss P.. Even though she's engaged now, she doesn't get a lot of company. For a sixty year old woman who has suffered a divorce and the loss of her mother in recent years, the holidays are somewhat difficult. We spent an hour talking and laughing, and she was in much better spirits when I left than when I knocked on her door.

I've decided that those deliveries really don't have anything to do with the foil wrapped cakes I leave behind. Oh, those folks tell me they enjoy the goodies, but I think they enjoy the company more than anything. Me too. They have no idea how much those visits nourish my soul. Teen Angel learned the lesson of the cakes a long time ago, but I think my lesson from the special deliveries has just begun.

Every Time A Bell Rings....

The Hula's rang the Salvation Army bells today. Me, Hubby, Teen Angel and Sissy manned the doors at the local Wal-Mart for two hours ringing the chimes of America's favorite Christmas charity. We had a fine time. It's always fun to meet and greet people and get into the holiday spirit, but the sight seeing is a blast, too. As mama says, you see a little bit of everything if you stand there long enough.

There were plenty of cute kids. They all wanted to put money in the kettle, and most parents let them. Their stubby little fingers reaching up to drop in change just melts my heart, especially when they give me a big toothy grin. We saw happy kids, grumpy kids, short kids and tall kids, even kids with other kids. Several were coming to the doors dressed in their finest red outfit, no doubt headed for the photography studio. Others were just there to shop and take in the wonder of the mother load of toys within those concrete walls. Their excitement made me smile. Oh, to capture that wonder again. Where does it go when we grow up?

We saw a standoff over a primo parking space. Both cars sat there, nose to nose, daring the other to back away. It lasted for several minutes, and about the time I thought one of the drivers was going to bail out and start a fight, the other car slid into reverse. Ho, ho, ho. We watched another woman drive around the lot ten gazillion times, searching for a parking space close to the door. She could have walked across the lot, made her purchase and been on her way in the time she spent circling for a landing. We flagged down a city bus for two shoppers who didn't quite make it to their stop in time. Five birthday cakes left the building while we were there, and lots of wee ones must be getting Mega Blocks for Christmas this year.

We made conversation with an eccentric man who explained how he'd given away all of his money to his kids, and then moved away so they couldn't find him. As he was locking up his bicycle, he unknowingly dropped a rock of crack cocaine out of his pocket. I didn't know what it was, but my former law officer husband did. "Crack? That's crack?", I hollered liked a hick when he was gone. We watched as the maintenance man swept it into his trash bucket and waited to see if bicycle man realized his rock was missing when he returned. Apparently, he didn't. He was too excited about his new tennis shoes which he put on before heading home. We watched twin boys get an attitude adjustment for their temper tantrum. We saw roughly half of Hubby's former parolees. They might be a tad embarrassed if they knew he can read lips and "read" what they said about him. Ho, ho, ho. We also saw a lot of friends.

Mostly, we were impressed that it was the poor who seemed to have the most generous spirit. It wasn't the folks in BMW's and nice clothing who donated the most. In fact, those people seemed to give the least. It was the people who looked as if they could use a little help themselves who put the most money in the kettle. Perhaps, because they understand the need. I've seen it time and time again, whenever we've rung bells for the Salvation Army and collected canned goods at a Christmas lighting display. I always walk away, shaking my head, amazed at the generosity shown by the poor. It makes me dig for those quarters and dollar bills when I walk by the kettle. I don't want to be the well dressed woman in the nice car who just keeps walking. I have to answer to Grandma when I get to the pearly gates, and she would thump my head if I didn't help. Ho, ho, ho.