Monday, December 18, 2017


A season's traditions

Thank you, Jill Scoggins, for this (on Haiku Friday last week):

Great-grandmom’s Santa.
Worn red velvet, lead boots. Ties
me to my Moma.

’Cuz at Christmas, you
always go back to be that
kid you were before.

That Santa with its
celluloid face, webbed mesh trunk,
makes me as I was.

My Moma’s joy, the
one most like her, her buddy.
Unconflicted love.

Lost her in ’01.
I still sometimes reach out for
my phone to dial her.

There were also three poems about one subject: the felt ornaments my mom has made for the past several decades. My dad explained here:

using some felt and her
old sewing machine Phyllis makes
her Christmas magic

then her time is spent
Placing the ornaments with
her love in the mail 

And then Sleepy Walleye chimed in:

Little felt treasures
Arrive each year from Grosse Pointe
Thanks to Mrs O

And Christine:

Made from felt with love,
A proud recipient of
Phyllis' magic

While Megan Willome, in her way, left me wondering what the gift was that she gave:

Girl on a wooden
swing, gift to me in first grade
for a gift I gave.

Believe it or not, it was a felt Christmas ornament--a light switch cover. My mom and I made them. The girl who got my gift didn't have electricity (this was in the mid-'70s, in what became a wealthy enclave of Austin).
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