Christmas lights in the city

Tonight Gay and Stu and I had dinner out. Then we rode around Roswell to see all the homes decorated for Christmas. The houses were strung with white lights from top to bottom and many pretty scenes were set on the front lawns. Some were overdone for my taste and some were simply beautiful. Many had Santa and the Nativity Scene on their lawns, but not together, thank goodness.

I was told that the tall rooftops were adorned by companies that are paid to fasten those strands of lights and I wonder about the cost. I don't have much decoration for the holidays here in my apartment, but I have enough to look festive. I think I might string some lights on my little deck overlooking the lake.

In years past, Barry hung lights on our upstairs and downstairs decks. We have a wreath on the wall of the top deck. It is dark this year. I am a little nostalgic for the way we celebrated Christmas in years gone by when Barry was still a part of me. 

We participated in the music for church, singing special songs all during the month of December. We sang in the choir and for several years Barry was the choir director for our little Presbyterian church in Hayesville. Though small, we had a loyal and devoted group who practiced every Sunday and when we were planning for our cantata, we rehearsed for weeks. 

Barry also sang in a men's group, The Singing Disciples.  

Singing makes you happy. I was always happy at Christmas in our house in the mountains. 

1995, our first Christmas in our mountain house

Barry loved Christmas and never minded going to get a live tree, hauling it up the stairs, and fitting it into a stand. It was lots of work. 

It has become evident to me that when we get older, we have to face the inevitable -- Live trees are too much physical effort for us. In 2008, after he became ill, we bought an artificial tree. It seems like a rite of passage to elderhood. 

Last year Gay and Stu finally gave up the live tree, too. I have given away my most treasured ornaments. I won't be decorating another tree. 

In the years after Barry died, I put up a small tree on a table. I decorated it with tiny ornaments and it was pretty. Gay came and helped string lights on my deck. I liked to have my women writer friends over for a Christmas luncheon. We had such a good time. I miss those days.

But life is different now.  The only thing that never changes is CHANGE. It happens all the time and we must accept it if we are to continue living and doing what is important to us. Every day I find something good in my life and realize that I am surrounded by love and caring people. What more could I ask for?

I hope you, my dear readers, have a safe and happy holiday season filled with love and joy. I hope we can all put aside our differences and remember to love one another as friends, family, or neighbors. 

THE SINGING DISCIPLES
Barry is the second man, left side, second row

Finding old poems, stories and love words in an unmarked folder

It seems we are all using these cold days of winter to go through and discard as much as we can live without. I am no exception. I worked in my studio today. I had a stack of files I had planned to look at for some time. I found the folder I made on the Gibson family and those friends of mine who had donated money to the Katrina victims after my sister and her husband set up a fund to help them save their flooded home. I felt good because the family is now doing fine and Gigi, the mother, started another restaurant but this time in Roswell, GA.

I found lots of stuff that could be tossed, but I felt my heart soar when I came across writing I had done many years before I had a computer. I have wondered for years what became of my poems, a children’s manuscript and some light verse poems poking fun at Barry’s HAM radio hobby. 

The script type took me back to the lovely little blue electric typewriter Barry gave me when he realized that I was a writer and wanted to publish my work someday. Not knowing anything about what I needed, he had no idea that I’d never submit my work in script. Even a novice like I was then knew that would not be acceptable.  Seeing those pages reminded me how he always supported me and what I wanted to do. He thought I was an excellent writer. I thought he was an excellent musician and singer as well as having many other talents. 

Barry Beall

 

Finding these kinds of things is what makes de-cluttering so difficult. Finding my story about Prissy the Pink Poodle stopped my work, and I had to read every word I wrote so many years ago. Among the faded papers was one on which I had written what I loved and appreciated about Barry. It was almost a love letter, but it was not written to him. 

Did I ever tell him all the things I wrote on that paper that day? Did he hear those words come from my mouth or did I just let them flow out of my fingers and embed themselves where no one but I would see them again?

 I titled the piece, Thank you, God, for Barry. It was stream of consciousness writing and no editing.

This is a little bit of what I wrote back then:

“Thank you, God, for giving him blue eyes that sometimes change and almost always twinkle with a little boy type of mischief.  I am grateful for his manly concern for my welfare, for the confidence I can place in him when I need him, which is all the time…

I want to thank you, God, for his tenderness and caring for animals, for his gentle nature and warm love for people.” 

After long years of marriage, we often take for granted that our partner knows how we feel. I hope I told him that I was thankful for all his goodness to me. I hope I said those things, especially at those times when he could use a kind word to boost his spirits and when he just needed, as we all do, to be reassured that he was loved.