PAST PRESENT FUTURE

IT’S CHRISTMAS DAY 2020. Our Grand-Kids aren’t here, the pandemic is—well not right here in our bunker, but it’s just outside our door.

This is Christmas Past—1951. In two weeks I will be One.

My Christmas memories are a full sensory kaleidoscope made up of real trees, lights, tinsel, parades in downtown Tulsa, visiting Santa at Utica Square, music, candy, happy happy times.

Looking back, I know that Dad & Mom didn’t have a lot, but there was always an abundance. I remember waking and running into the living room on Christmas morning to see what Santa had brought. By about noon our eyes would be able to focus on the gifts. You see, Dad had an 8mm movie camera and attached to the top of that camera was a bank of blinding flood lights that literally made seeing what was under the tree an occasion of deferred gratification. He would position himself and his camera and light array so he could capture our expression as we came in the room. All of our Christmas morning movies are of me and my little brother trying to shield our rods and cones from the harsh rays.

This year will be the first Christmas without either of my parents. Dad passed in the summer of 2019 and Mom just a few days ago: pneumonia from COVID-19. I say that COVID took my Mom, which is medically true but also humanly speaking. My Mom loved Christmastime, all of it. The forced aloneness of the pandemic was slowly draining the life from her. I’m not sure she could have tolerated a Covid Christmas. As I’ve watched news of people in nursing homes getting the vaccine I can’t help but wonder: if she could have made it just a few more weeks…

This is Christmas present.

The only wrapping paper strewn across our living room floor is from the present my Amazing-Missus gave to me. We watched the unwrapping of gifts for the Grand-Kids via Facetime®. It’s not the same. Maybe I will tune in to Peppa Pig later, just because. In the meantime, I’m writing this essay while listening to The Beatles’ “Revolver” album. As I said, This is Christmas present.

That gift that I unwrapped, the one my Amazing-Missus gave me! I have to tell you about it.

I have always had a tendency to dream big and do little—sort of like Clark Griswald, dreaming of a pool in the backyard and a Norman Rockwell Christmas. Here’s an example: I have a dream house—sort of like Barbie’s but bigger and less pink. I have pictures of this house. I have chosen the rock for the exterior and all the stuff for the interior finishes. The only things lacking are a lot to build it on and any intention of actually doing so.

This morning I unwrapped my gift. It was a round tube. She said, “This is a gift you will never use.”

“A treadmill?” I guessed.

I have a good friend who is one of Oklahoma’s best architects. When I opened the tube, inside were blueprints for my dream house. My amazing Amazing-Missus had contacted my friend and now I have a set of plans for the house that may very well always remain just a dream.

That’s characteristic of Christmas Future. Sort of uncertain. This holiday season has reminded me that life is fragile. Oh! Don’t get me wrong! I would love to one day see our Grand-Kids opening presents in the living room of that dream home.

So, 69 Christmases have come and gone for me. Past, present and future, I know this: that story the one about that baby born in Bethlehem? That’s what matters. I’m not trying to sound holy. I’m telling you what I know, what I’ve experienced. The only lasting peace, the only enduring love, the only truth; is in THAT story.

In the meantime, want to see POPS’ DREAM HOUSE? Maybe you could pretend to come and visit us there.