The garage sale at our house to let go of more of our parents' things went well. I'm still shocked by the amount left over.
So I will say it again: Every year, I'm going through our things and ridding us of whatever we don't use or enjoy anymore. I told that to anyone and everyone at the garage sale who would listen.
I decided to keep a few more of my parents' things ... chairs that go so well in our living room (so we sold a love seat), some small fiesta dishes and a little dish "thingy" my mom bought years ago from the ABC Catalog. That bowl set is symbolic of the many, many, many Mexican Pile-on dinners we had at my parents' house. It just has to stay in the family and carry on with its beloved duties, I guess.
Today we boxed up and delivered the rest of the things to Downtown Women's Center.
It's over. That's over. (I hate garage sales, and people sometimes simply make me go ... "hmmm.")
Kim and I accepted an offer on my parents' house. It appears that if all goes as planned, that will be over in mid March. I cried when accepting the offer. I only want the house to go to people who will love it and take care of it. My parents poured themselves into it; it was the first and only home they ever owned. That backyard was their pride and joy.
Then it's over. Really over.
Everything but the grief.
Truly, I can't believe it's almost been a year since Mom and Dad died. It feels like yesterday. I cry sometimes like it was yesterday. I cry every time I take Indy for a walk, so lately, that's been about 5 days a week.
And if you're tired of hearing about it, sorry. I'm tired of living it. What I am learning from others who have been through this is that the pain never goes away ... no matter how old you are or how old your parents were when they died. Instead, you somehow just move on to living life without them in it. Woo - effing - hoo.
Whatever. I'm so not in the mood for grief.
*****
Dorsey is still job-searching. It's been a month since he got laid off, and he's worked hard every day in his quest for something new. He's treated the job search like a job. Thankfully, he has a few irons in the fire, which keeps us hopeful and emotionally able to keep going. Of course, we hope something works out soon; it's quite scary to be in this position. I try not to think about a time when no fish are biting, and he's just casting his resume into the big black hole, as he calls it.
Not knowing whether we're staying in Amarillo or moving somewhere else is unnerving to me. I don't know why. I just don't care much for uncertainty. There was a time not long ago when I was adamantly opposed to moving because we were just getting to the point where I could do things to the house I would love. Our home is perfectly designed to house early American antiques, some of which are quite primitive looking. (Plus, I've always thought about how much crap — after 14 years of living here — we would have to sort through, which seems daunting. But I have done a great job of unloading things lately.)
Now, while I still think about those things and have determined I might as well still go on with the low-cost home improvements (painting, etc.) ... one, to stay busy and the other, to help resale potential ... I have resigned myself to moving.
In fact, sometimes I enjoy thinking about making a new start in a new place with new people who know absolutely nothing about me. This is popularly known as the "geographical cure," which really doesn't exist, you know. Still, there could be some fun things about it. But if we're going to move, I hope it's closer to Kim and Vince; our family seems awfully small right now. And I hope that someday, Jordie will settle close to us, too. Doesn't much look like Hart will (he's in Maryland), but you never know.
*****
Speaking of Jordie, baseball is going GREAT for him. (School has never been an issue.) He is doing well in his pitching, and old injuries are staying out of the way. His team is doing well, and I have been able to see him play. When he's been on the pitcher's mound, I've pictured his granddad looking down from Heaven's portal, Grandma by his side, and they're cheering him on. I know my dad would be so pleased. Interesting fact: When I've actively watched Jordie in a pitch, imagining my dad watching, Jordie has thrown strikes.
*****
We finally launched our new business! Wilmarth's Tin Cats Antiques. http://www.tincats.com
Yes, please visit the site, shop, refer it to others and help us to carry on. This business has been the key to my moving on at all during the past several months. And, ironically, it has only been possible because of my parents. My mom would be so proud, I know this is true ...
.... time to go wipe my eyes and blow my nose ...
Grief sucks.
Monday, February 22, 2016
Friday, February 12, 2016
More letting go
The estate sale went well. Still, so much stuff remained, especially furniture and clothing.
Normally, Jan (who did our estate sale) would determine with us a plan to unload the items still left. That could be auction or donation or whatever. And then she and her crew would clean the house and get it ready for sale, because the house goes on the market today.
Instead, Dorsey and I decided we would do a garage sale at our house. We had already planned to have one ourselves, because we have figured that when Dorsey gets a new job, it will not be in Amarillo.
So Monday and Tuesday, I cleaned out the rest of Mom and Dad's house. Jan had already done the hardest part of sifting through and organizing. I really just packed and boxed things up to get them ready for our sale. My mom really liked dishes and serving platters ...
I hadn't really expected the task would be so emotionally daunting, but it was. The first day, I came home and spent the rest of the night in a stupor on the couch. The second day wasn't much different.
Our housekeeper, Anabel, cleaned the house to ready it for sale. Anabel has cleaned our house and my parents' for several years. She started cleaning for Mom and Dad after Mom had her first stroke in 2013. When Anabel walked into the house, she said in her timid English, "Smells like Nicki," and she smiled broadly.
While sorting through my parents' things, I thought about the things left over. These were once special and/or important items to my mom. Or, they were things she had kept from both sides of the family when relatives had died. I wondered how much of the things left were something she would sell in a garage sale. I found myself wondering frequently why certain things hadn't sold. In fact, a few things were left behind that I took home myself ... things I missed the first time. Maybe that's why some were left.
Going through the clothes to donate to the Downtown Women's Center was without a doubt the most difficult experience. Both of my parents took great pride in their clothing. After Dad retired from coaching, he became quite a sharp-dressed man. He had his style, and it was all Dad. On the other hand, clothes to my mom had always been important. I remember reading a series of letters she wrote to her parents when she was away at college. She talked about all sorts of stuff, of course, but "cute clothes" were included in her writings. I remember my mom reading the letters again and saying, "I can't believe how shallow I was!" But we laughed.
I found myself carefully and gently boxing and bagging up their clothes. I was struck by how, when I've donated my own clothing in the past, I just hurriedly tossed them into bags, and that was that. I could not do that with my parents' clothes. The majority were dry-cleaned and perfectly pressed. I wound up packing 15 bags and seven boxes of clothes. And I decided right then and there I would go through my own things once a year to weed them out! That was just way too many clothes!!
I noticed how all of my mother's clothes were "teachery," because she was a teacher/librarian. She had so many holiday-related sweaters! I recognized many of the things she wore and thought, "I remember that!" I pictured her getting ready for school every morning.
It was no different with Dad. Our cowboy. Boots, jeans, hats, shirts, slacks, golf shirts ... All of it quite expensive.
I felt sad to let it all go. It was as if I were having to let go of them ... a huge part of them and their personalities. I told my sister that I hoped whomever would be getting these clothes took good care of them and appreciated them. I've never thought that about my own donated clothes.
While painful, this process was necessary for my own grieving. I think it was a significant task in the letting go process. But as I have thought for some time now, I know my grieving will never completely end. I will just learn begrudgingly how to live with it. I know I will never stop being that little girl inside who wants and needs her parents. A part of me will always think, "This isn't how it was supposed to be."
So here I am again ... gathering things from our house for the giant sale, which will be next Saturday, Feb. 20. It will be more letting go, both literally and symbolically.
But really ... it was never supposed to be this way ...
Normally, Jan (who did our estate sale) would determine with us a plan to unload the items still left. That could be auction or donation or whatever. And then she and her crew would clean the house and get it ready for sale, because the house goes on the market today.
Instead, Dorsey and I decided we would do a garage sale at our house. We had already planned to have one ourselves, because we have figured that when Dorsey gets a new job, it will not be in Amarillo.
So Monday and Tuesday, I cleaned out the rest of Mom and Dad's house. Jan had already done the hardest part of sifting through and organizing. I really just packed and boxed things up to get them ready for our sale. My mom really liked dishes and serving platters ...
I hadn't really expected the task would be so emotionally daunting, but it was. The first day, I came home and spent the rest of the night in a stupor on the couch. The second day wasn't much different.
Our housekeeper, Anabel, cleaned the house to ready it for sale. Anabel has cleaned our house and my parents' for several years. She started cleaning for Mom and Dad after Mom had her first stroke in 2013. When Anabel walked into the house, she said in her timid English, "Smells like Nicki," and she smiled broadly.
While sorting through my parents' things, I thought about the things left over. These were once special and/or important items to my mom. Or, they were things she had kept from both sides of the family when relatives had died. I wondered how much of the things left were something she would sell in a garage sale. I found myself wondering frequently why certain things hadn't sold. In fact, a few things were left behind that I took home myself ... things I missed the first time. Maybe that's why some were left.
Going through the clothes to donate to the Downtown Women's Center was without a doubt the most difficult experience. Both of my parents took great pride in their clothing. After Dad retired from coaching, he became quite a sharp-dressed man. He had his style, and it was all Dad. On the other hand, clothes to my mom had always been important. I remember reading a series of letters she wrote to her parents when she was away at college. She talked about all sorts of stuff, of course, but "cute clothes" were included in her writings. I remember my mom reading the letters again and saying, "I can't believe how shallow I was!" But we laughed.
I found myself carefully and gently boxing and bagging up their clothes. I was struck by how, when I've donated my own clothing in the past, I just hurriedly tossed them into bags, and that was that. I could not do that with my parents' clothes. The majority were dry-cleaned and perfectly pressed. I wound up packing 15 bags and seven boxes of clothes. And I decided right then and there I would go through my own things once a year to weed them out! That was just way too many clothes!!
I noticed how all of my mother's clothes were "teachery," because she was a teacher/librarian. She had so many holiday-related sweaters! I recognized many of the things she wore and thought, "I remember that!" I pictured her getting ready for school every morning.
It was no different with Dad. Our cowboy. Boots, jeans, hats, shirts, slacks, golf shirts ... All of it quite expensive.
I felt sad to let it all go. It was as if I were having to let go of them ... a huge part of them and their personalities. I told my sister that I hoped whomever would be getting these clothes took good care of them and appreciated them. I've never thought that about my own donated clothes.
While painful, this process was necessary for my own grieving. I think it was a significant task in the letting go process. But as I have thought for some time now, I know my grieving will never completely end. I will just learn begrudgingly how to live with it. I know I will never stop being that little girl inside who wants and needs her parents. A part of me will always think, "This isn't how it was supposed to be."
So here I am again ... gathering things from our house for the giant sale, which will be next Saturday, Feb. 20. It will be more letting go, both literally and symbolically.
But really ... it was never supposed to be this way ...
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Estate Sale Weekend
 |
| Home of Jim & Nicki Wilcoxson, 20+ years. It goes on the market Feb. 4. This house is perfect for a young family or retiring couple. Or a single person, of course! |
Kim and I visited the almost-finished estate sale setup today, and I must say, Jan and David Migliaccio (Kim's in-law's) and their employees at Rag and Bone Antiques on 6th Street have done a phenomenal job of organizing Mom and Dad's things and making the house look homey again. The worst part of going over to their house the past year has been the cold emptiness. I couldn't stand it, so I rarely went after Socks and Blaze came to live with us. I feel guilty about that. I know I neglected their house, but I couldn't face it.
So here we are, and I have taken some pictures to share with you. I hope you will come out to find something fun and/or meaningful. (Please know that Kim and I already confiscated the best and most meaningful stuff to us. :-) ) Frankly, I'm not sure whether my mom would want people rifling through her things, judging her tastes and such. But at the same time, I know my parents would be pleased to have others enjoy what they once enjoyed. My mom was a gift-giver, after all.
 |
| Books, books and more books, and Dad's collection of golf books. And if anyone in the coaching business, or Dad's coaching friends are interested, we have tons of my dad's play books and notes tucked safely away. You can contact me about that. What a fantastic way to let his legacy live!! |
 |
| Bedroom suite and odds and ends. |
 |
| Guest bedroom suite plus odds and ends. |
 |
| More furniture. Jan says roll-top desks don't usually sell well. My mom refinished this one and she was so proud of it. |
 |
| The top photo shows all the toys Jordie and Cole played with when they came over. Dad had lots of tools still left, and lots of hand weights and other outside/physical and lawn types of things. We even still have lots of golf clubs left over. |
 |
| Mom loved the country look and country collectibles. |
 |
| Lots and lots of dishes and china. |
And, the Childress house closed yesterday, so all of a sudden, things seem to be moving quickly. It has been close to a year, and it's time. Kim and I have struggled and struggled with our loss that goes on and on. Frankly, I don't expect things to get better and/or easier. Mom and Dad are gone. Period. Hanging on to homes or things will not bring them back. We've already taken home the things we want to use and or have as remembrances.
Another chapter is ending.
The story never will.
Thursday, January 28, 2016
Life happens ... however it's going to happen
AS IF losing my parents, having a sucky Christmas without them and then losing Koda were not enough ...
Our losing streak continues.
Dorsey got laid off last week. Second time in 10 years he's received this gift from the newspaper industry. Need I say we're done with newspapers?
But what a run. Newspapers put a lot of food on our table and clothes on our backs. We've had lots of fun, too. I'm quite thankful for the work we have been blessed with. Just think: It could be way worse. And at least now I have a business of my own we can concentrate on building. (Can't wait to debut my web site!)
The first time Dorsey got laid off — from the Amarillo Globe-News after almost 19 years — I was angry and bitter. I believed that act was personal, and I almost let the bitterness ruin my life. I had no idea it would take me several years to overcome the change of having a traveling man for a husband. Shook my world and my world view.
I've lived, changed and matured a lot since then, thank God. In some ways, this thing is small potatoes compared to other things we've experienced in the last 10 years.
Eh ... this layoff I see as, "it is what it is." I got over the whole "you shouldn't lose your job if you've been a loyal, excellent employee and have worked your ass off for the company" after the first time. I experienced it with Dorsey, and I saw many others over the years go through it, too. Too many to count. It's the nature of the corporate world, and it has no ounce of loyalty in it. (Individuals might, but not the corporate institution itself.) In fact, you ain't lived until you've been laid off, right?!
So, whatever. (OK, not really. I know this can be financially and emotionally devastating for so many; I just refuse to go there this time.)
Still ... it bothers me when I know how talented Dorsey is, and I know and see how hard he works. There's still that thought of, "But, but ... he's so good!" I'm like, "What were they thinking?"
I just hurt for him.
BUT ... life happens. And I know that when we fall, we get up. And Dorsey is way talented and has a phenomenal resume ... maybe I should post it? Heck, if I could hire him, I would.
I know we'll be fine, though, because my faith in God tells me so, and my experience with God is that every single time something terrible has happened, blessings have come out of it anyway. This time will be no different.
I'm tired, though. Physically and emotionally. I still have anxiety and fears. I don't like change. I still cry a lot. I can't sleep much. My body still hurts. (Those injections in my spine a few weeks ago didn't help.) Yeah, it's true. I'm pretty darn down these days ... since the day Koda died, it's like everything with my parents is brand new, too.
What I see is the upheaval of a move. I can't see that Amarillo will work out for us. I dread packing up 15 years worth of stuff and our (nine) animals and finding someone to buy our house and finding a new house and getting used to a new city and being farther away from Jordie (but maybe closer to Kim). Remember, I'm tired.
But if we move, I realize completely that someday, I will look back and be thankful it ever happened in the first place. Because that's life. That's how it happens.
It happens the way it's supposed to. With pain comes joy. With joy comes pain. With pain comes joy ...
On and on.
But, damn ... I'm really, really tired.
Our losing streak continues.
Dorsey got laid off last week. Second time in 10 years he's received this gift from the newspaper industry. Need I say we're done with newspapers?
But what a run. Newspapers put a lot of food on our table and clothes on our backs. We've had lots of fun, too. I'm quite thankful for the work we have been blessed with. Just think: It could be way worse. And at least now I have a business of my own we can concentrate on building. (Can't wait to debut my web site!)
The first time Dorsey got laid off — from the Amarillo Globe-News after almost 19 years — I was angry and bitter. I believed that act was personal, and I almost let the bitterness ruin my life. I had no idea it would take me several years to overcome the change of having a traveling man for a husband. Shook my world and my world view.
I've lived, changed and matured a lot since then, thank God. In some ways, this thing is small potatoes compared to other things we've experienced in the last 10 years.
Eh ... this layoff I see as, "it is what it is." I got over the whole "you shouldn't lose your job if you've been a loyal, excellent employee and have worked your ass off for the company" after the first time. I experienced it with Dorsey, and I saw many others over the years go through it, too. Too many to count. It's the nature of the corporate world, and it has no ounce of loyalty in it. (Individuals might, but not the corporate institution itself.) In fact, you ain't lived until you've been laid off, right?!
So, whatever. (OK, not really. I know this can be financially and emotionally devastating for so many; I just refuse to go there this time.)
Still ... it bothers me when I know how talented Dorsey is, and I know and see how hard he works. There's still that thought of, "But, but ... he's so good!" I'm like, "What were they thinking?"
I just hurt for him.
BUT ... life happens. And I know that when we fall, we get up. And Dorsey is way talented and has a phenomenal resume ... maybe I should post it? Heck, if I could hire him, I would.
I know we'll be fine, though, because my faith in God tells me so, and my experience with God is that every single time something terrible has happened, blessings have come out of it anyway. This time will be no different.
I'm tired, though. Physically and emotionally. I still have anxiety and fears. I don't like change. I still cry a lot. I can't sleep much. My body still hurts. (Those injections in my spine a few weeks ago didn't help.) Yeah, it's true. I'm pretty darn down these days ... since the day Koda died, it's like everything with my parents is brand new, too.
What I see is the upheaval of a move. I can't see that Amarillo will work out for us. I dread packing up 15 years worth of stuff and our (nine) animals and finding someone to buy our house and finding a new house and getting used to a new city and being farther away from Jordie (but maybe closer to Kim). Remember, I'm tired.
But if we move, I realize completely that someday, I will look back and be thankful it ever happened in the first place. Because that's life. That's how it happens.
It happens the way it's supposed to. With pain comes joy. With joy comes pain. With pain comes joy ...
On and on.
But, damn ... I'm really, really tired.
Friday, January 1, 2016
December's hurricane
I began my journey of my parents with you about this time last year. I think I can safely say you already know how my 2015 went, so I won't replay it for you.
Yet, in spite of it all, my faith in God grew, and I experienced one of the most blessed times of my life. Sure, I had a lot of difficulties in there, but my faith sustained me.
Then December happened. When people have talked about grief with me, they've often referred to those "waves" that crash over you ... some expected, and some not.
The wave that hit me in December — when Koda died — came quite unexpectedly. I had no idea it would be so big. I had no idea I would nearly drown.
With December came the ugliest wave of anger and sadness I have experienced so far on this journey. It was as if, in the cycle of grief, I was just getting to the anger part. That wave knocked me down so hard, I barely came up for air. I think I spent most of December under water, lungs about to explode.
Don't misunderstand me. I didn't think I would just float unaffected through this first Christmas without my parents. I made plans — we made plans — to ease the journey a bit. I have no idea which parts of the plans or the things we did or didn't do made it possible for me to come up for air every so often, but I did. In every day ... almost ... I had some good moments. And while family was here visiting, I had several good talks and times with people. I even made sure to express gratitude and thankfulness to God for the family and pets I do have. Every day. I also stuck with my morning Bible study, meditation and prayer routine.
But after Koda died, the tears flowed relentlessly. Everything made me cry. It was as if my parents had just died and I was starting over. I was irritable, depressed, in a lot of physical pain, and just plain weepy. I felt like I had no control over what was happening to me, no matter how hard I prayed or tried to practice serenity and all that good stuff I've been taught.
Just didn't happen. ... Dammit.
When we returned from vacation, I begrudgingly put up our decorations. Dorsey did the tree since nearly every ornament was a gift from my mom, and I wasn't ready to go there. I did feel glad and more in the mood for Christmas once the house "looked" like Christmas, but I never much got into the music.
I baked, which I enjoyed until I messed up one of my favorite cakes. Then I had a major MELT DOWN!! That was an "interesting" morning.
I wrapped gifts with more care than I have in the past; I tried so hard to be good at it because my mom took great pride in how her gifts looked. The presentation of her gifts to us was part of the gift she gave. But really, I just suck at it.
We decided to follow our usual Christmas Eve tradition of Mexican pile on dinner and family gifts. We've always done that at Mom and Dad's, but our house hosted this year. I felt detached instead of fully present. I suppose I was in survival mode, even though I had moments of laughing and fun.
We tried to start a well-meaning tradition in honor of my *silly dad (see story below). I felt nothing, except maybe sadness. It didn't at all turn out the way I envisioned. (Expectations are the devil.)
I tried to imagine Mom and Dad looking down at us from Heaven's portal, cheering us on. Eh ... Just made me cry.
Christmas day, I stayed in my pjs. Physically, I hurt, and Jordie and Dorsey went on to see "Star Wars" without me. (I had spent the last two days watching the previous ones to get psyched up, but I never made it to the new one.)
I just think I wasn't ready for all that festivity. I think if it had been left to me, I could have gone through Christmas without the usual hoopla. I would have just observed the reason we even have Christmas (Thank you, Jesus.) and left it at that.
Yesterday, I happily packed up Christmas decorations and got the house back in order.
I officially washed up on the sand like a beached whale (yes, really). I didn't drown after all, but I'm totally water-logged and still gasping for air.
Maybe I was a Grinch and a Scrooge this year. I didn't want to be. I tried. I really did. I tried for my family to be "good," but I just wasn't.
Maybe next year.
Several years ago, when the boys were still small and too young to do any shopping for anyone, we were at my parents on our usual fun, silly, festive Christmas Eve, opening gifts after stuffing ourselves with Mexican food and desserts.
Our family tradition is to pass out the gifts and then watch each person open one gift at a time. We go around the room until all the presents have been opened. It fell to my dad to open the last gift of the night. It was a big box, and my mom had a most puzzled look on her face.
"Willy, where did that come from?" she asked. (Willy is a childhood nickname.)
"Oh, it's just a little something the boys gave me," Dad said.
We all looked at each other like, "What's he talking about? The 'boys' can't get anyone anything."
He opened the gift and pulled out a nice pair of Ostrich cowboy boots he had bought for himself. And then he just fell over laughing and laughing hysterically at himself. He (and we) thought that was the most hilarious thing to ever happen ... and heck! Why didn't we think of that?
We will never forget ...
 |
| Peaceful night in April. |
Then December happened. When people have talked about grief with me, they've often referred to those "waves" that crash over you ... some expected, and some not.
The wave that hit me in December — when Koda died — came quite unexpectedly. I had no idea it would be so big. I had no idea I would nearly drown.
With December came the ugliest wave of anger and sadness I have experienced so far on this journey. It was as if, in the cycle of grief, I was just getting to the anger part. That wave knocked me down so hard, I barely came up for air. I think I spent most of December under water, lungs about to explode.
 |
| I love these little furry blessings. |
But after Koda died, the tears flowed relentlessly. Everything made me cry. It was as if my parents had just died and I was starting over. I was irritable, depressed, in a lot of physical pain, and just plain weepy. I felt like I had no control over what was happening to me, no matter how hard I prayed or tried to practice serenity and all that good stuff I've been taught.
Just didn't happen. ... Dammit.
When we returned from vacation, I begrudgingly put up our decorations. Dorsey did the tree since nearly every ornament was a gift from my mom, and I wasn't ready to go there. I did feel glad and more in the mood for Christmas once the house "looked" like Christmas, but I never much got into the music.
 |
| Me ... on Melt Down Morning. |
I wrapped gifts with more care than I have in the past; I tried so hard to be good at it because my mom took great pride in how her gifts looked. The presentation of her gifts to us was part of the gift she gave. But really, I just suck at it.
We decided to follow our usual Christmas Eve tradition of Mexican pile on dinner and family gifts. We've always done that at Mom and Dad's, but our house hosted this year. I felt detached instead of fully present. I suppose I was in survival mode, even though I had moments of laughing and fun.
We tried to start a well-meaning tradition in honor of my *silly dad (see story below). I felt nothing, except maybe sadness. It didn't at all turn out the way I envisioned. (Expectations are the devil.)
I tried to imagine Mom and Dad looking down at us from Heaven's portal, cheering us on. Eh ... Just made me cry.
Christmas day, I stayed in my pjs. Physically, I hurt, and Jordie and Dorsey went on to see "Star Wars" without me. (I had spent the last two days watching the previous ones to get psyched up, but I never made it to the new one.)
I just think I wasn't ready for all that festivity. I think if it had been left to me, I could have gone through Christmas without the usual hoopla. I would have just observed the reason we even have Christmas (Thank you, Jesus.) and left it at that.
Yesterday, I happily packed up Christmas decorations and got the house back in order.
I officially washed up on the sand like a beached whale (yes, really). I didn't drown after all, but I'm totally water-logged and still gasping for air.
Maybe I was a Grinch and a Scrooge this year. I didn't want to be. I tried. I really did. I tried for my family to be "good," but I just wasn't.
Maybe next year.
******************************************************
Origin of the "Dad" gift
 |
| He just looks ornery. |
Several years ago, when the boys were still small and too young to do any shopping for anyone, we were at my parents on our usual fun, silly, festive Christmas Eve, opening gifts after stuffing ourselves with Mexican food and desserts.
Our family tradition is to pass out the gifts and then watch each person open one gift at a time. We go around the room until all the presents have been opened. It fell to my dad to open the last gift of the night. It was a big box, and my mom had a most puzzled look on her face.
"Willy, where did that come from?" she asked. (Willy is a childhood nickname.)
"Oh, it's just a little something the boys gave me," Dad said.
We all looked at each other like, "What's he talking about? The 'boys' can't get anyone anything."
He opened the gift and pulled out a nice pair of Ostrich cowboy boots he had bought for himself. And then he just fell over laughing and laughing hysterically at himself. He (and we) thought that was the most hilarious thing to ever happen ... and heck! Why didn't we think of that?
We will never forget ...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)