holidays | Neal Lemery

(published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, 11/29/21

by Neal Lemery

The holidays are upon us, with the usual seasonal barrage of promotions, sales, Black Friday, and an e-mail inbox overflowing with all of those special deals. Bargains galore! A good part of me recoils and rebels from such marketing and promotion. In reality, I really have quite enough “stuff”. And the real pleasures come from time with friends and some peaceful contemplation in the company of some candlelight.

We recently visited a big box store, needing to replace a laptop that had finally died. The aisles were overflowing with at least several hundred flat screen TVs that had somehow managed to get through the supply chain bottlenecks, so they could now effectively clutter up the aisles at the giant store.

Surely there aren’t that many people who have that item at the top of their holiday wish list. I wondered out loud if Americans really need even more flat screen TVs. Can’t you only watch one at a time, and, by now, there have been enough TVs sold so people can have one in every room? Not that I think that there’s all that much being broadcast or streamed that is all that worthy of my time and attention.

I’m reminded of the old hymn, Simple Gifts, its lyrics clearly calling us back to reflect on the “reason for the season”. The song isn’t in the Christmas song books, but maybe it should be.

“’Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,
‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain’d,
To bow and to bend we will not be asham’d,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come round right.”

This year, I’ve shortened my own “wish list”, realizing after all of our pandemic time of reducing the frenzy of modern life, that the simple things are really the best. Quiet, reflective time, time over coffee with a good friend, a walk in the sunshine, or listening to the murmurs of rain on a walk in a peaceful place.

I’ve sorted through some of the stuff that often clutters up my life. I’m giving a cherished family heirloom to my niece, so she and her kids can retell the story of how the ancestors brought the chair over the Oregon Trail, tying it to the back of the covered wagon, and how it occupied my grandmother’s living room, in a place of honor and storytelling. I’ve retold that story enough now and it’s time for a new generation to have that pleasure. And I think Grandma would be happy with that.

The added bonus with that gift giving is a road trip and family time, as well as the passing on of some memories to people who will appreciate it.

I’ll still write my Christmas cards and send out a newsy, perhaps hokey, letter to friends and family I connect with only a few times a year. I could substitute those sentiments via an e-mail or blog post, but don’t we enjoy holding a letter from a friend while enjoying a cup of tea on a rainy afternoon? And, I like the ritual of addressing the envelopes and sticking on the Santa stamps. I’ll probably stir up some Christmas fudge and a batch of cookies, savoring the memories of doing that with family who have long since departed this world, walking down memory lane with some time-worn recipes.

But I don’t need much more than that. A few walks under the downtown Christmas lights, and a cheery concert or two of holiday classics will gladden my heart, without the need for dealing with the mobs on Black Friday.

It is a simple time, celebrating simple things, simple gifts like friendship, caring for others, and just enjoying the simple pleasures of the holidays.

11/28/21

“The Holidays” seem to be the time of story telling. Old family stories, one’s adventures growing up, or work tales, all find their way to the dining room over a big meal, or at some other festive event.

We watch our favorite holiday movies, enjoying the retelling of familiar, heart warming tales. We laugh, we cry, and we find love.

These last few weeks, I’ve heard other stories, stories that we won’t find on the Hallmark channel, or something to share with friends at a party.

These stories are honest, deep, often horrific. Yet, they need to be told, so that we can keep our feet on the ground, and truly know our friends, neighbors, the people we walk with on our life’s journey. In that storytelling, we find our power and we change the world.

A good friend recently responded to a Facebook discussion on white privilege, and shared his childhood and young adult stories. His memories were horrific, chilling, and disturbing in the sense that a family could inflict that degree of pain on an innocent child. He’s one of the good guys, doing amazing service in the community. Seeing him loving others, you would not suspect the pain he’s endured. Yet, he is today because of what he endured.

Several of my buddies I visit at the nearby youth correctional facility shared some of their stories with me, too. They opened up to me, pouring out their pain, their anger, their loneliness, and, their continuing capacity to be loving and kind.

One young man told me of his younger brother’s sudden death last week, how he learned of it five days later, how it feels to not be able to go to his brother’s funeral and mourn with his family.

Another young man told me of being abused and neglected, and then when he told others, they did not listen to him. In listening, I gave him a place for his voice, a way out of his dark tunnel, maybe even lit a candle for him.

Yet another young man ate his first Twinkie as we played cards and talked. He’s seventeen and was locked in the basement for years. I nodded, I smiled. I dealt the cards as he thoughtfully described every aspect of eating the treat, in sweet, delicious detail.

He also talked about learning to write, and hold a pencil. For the first sixteen years of his life, he did not write; he never held a pencil or a crayon. Today, he struggles with his writing, as his fingers slowly are developing the fine motor skills of pencil holding.

I look at my own hands, and wonder, unable to imagine what his life has been like, and what it feels like to hold a pencil for the first time at sixteen, and eat your first Twinkie at seventeen. In between my tears, I listen.

I listen. It is the most important job I have, the listening. Listening with compassion, with all my heart. Not judging, not condemning, not demeaning or minimizing; just listening and opening my heart to their heart. Heart to heart, truly listening and caring. Don’t we need more of that in this world? Wouldn’t lives be empowered, enriched simply because someone listened and cared?

Stories. They are all around us. They are inside of us, each one of us. In the hustle and bustle of the holidays, perhaps we need to just sit and listen to the storytellers.

And be filled with gratitude that we are able to take the time to listen and care. My holiday errands can wait. It is time to listen.

— Neal Lemery 11/25/2016