This Reminds Me

Archive for December, 2009

What else is there to say?  Or sing?

I’m pleased by the friends who have recently asked, “Where’s your Christmas card?”  I love Christmas cards, but this year – first time ever – we’re not sending one.  Instead. we’re doing New Year’s cards.  So if you normally get a Christmas card from us, just know you’re getting a New Year’s card instead.  And if you don’t normally get one and want one – just ping me!  I love creating and sending them.

While you wait – here’s a stroll down a snow-covered, somewhat-twisted Memory Lane.

1984:  My first unique Christmas card, produced with the collaboration of my brilliant niece Sarah, and my brother John David – when I was Becky Hoffman.   We were a great team of “21 Fingers, Inc.”, referencing the 10 fingers each of Sarah and me,  plus David’s one finger.

1986:  Perhaps my very favorite card.  Nothing like Bruce Springsteen’s buns to inspire a little Christmas baking later.  We inserted a small plastic bag with a red rock and a jingle bell in each card, sealed with a music note sticker.  Only one recipient “got it,” a little girl in my Wednesday night bible study class who ran to hug me saying, “A jingle bell and a rock!  Jingle Bell rock!”

1986 Card Cover – By far the most artistic card (black & white, no less), playing on the upcoming 40th anniversary of “It’s a Wonderful Life.”  The 8mm film clip taped to the front of each card showed the three of us holding a poster that read, “And have a Happy New Year, too.”  Several recipients did examine the strip with a magnifying glass, so I was glad David insisted on authenticity.

1987 Card Body:  Sarah was working as a movie usher, so “Jimmy and Donna” snuck in to take the photo.  Truth be told, we snuck into the theaters she was serving many, many times, usually with David hissing at me to “look inconspicuous.”

1989, the year we got married – Our only “non-card,” because we were so busy with wedding preparations.  Too big to  scan, this 11″ x 17″ quad-folded color-me greeting made us “31 Fingers,” as Keith had joined the family.

1990 Card Photo, playing on “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” and my mother always telling people, “You’ll have to step over his (artificial) legs” – it was a Texas Chainsaw Christmas, complete with bloodied artificial limbs.  This was the card my mother begged us not to send to “her family,” as though they weren’t “our family,” too.  I was pregnant with Rachel here – which may explain a lot.

1990 Card Insert – We affixed real bandaids to the inside.

1993 – Rachel was the world’s biggest Barney fan.  I had return address labels created displaying “Barney Woodworth” and for years, we got junk mail addressed to him.  I was pregnant with Lois, who was born Thanksgiving weekend….and two months early…..

….so we designed this Christmas card insert as her birth announcement.

1995 – along came Hannah, the biggest baby born at Memorial Southwest Hospital that year.  Twelve years later – cousin James (Sarah’s son) beat her by two ounces.

1996 – Loved this picture, because one-year-old Hannah thrust her hand straight into the “Happy Birthday Jesus” icing, then wiped it on her collar.

1999 – Digging in for Y2K atop one of the huge mounds of dirt piled from repairing under-the-foundation Houston plumbing.  We had two inserts prepared:  One was the norm, one said we were moving to San Antonio.  We held our breath, not knowing which we were sending until after Thanksgiving.  It was San Antonio.

2000 – First Christmas card from San Antonio, in front of the Alamo – “Remember the Woodworths” – certainly an appropriate send to our good friends and family in Houston.  My sister Judy bought the girls that puffy Santa, and he’s been in almost every Christmas card photo since.

2006 – First card with Julia, and everyone in their Old Navy flag tees – all American citizens, but yet the “Worldwide Woodworths.”

Want to see them all?  Cover over some time!   Christmas card photos from 1984 – 2008 are hung in the upstairs hallway.  So many frames – I’ve given up trying to keep them all straight.  But that’s okay.  I’m a little twisted myself.

Just a little musical interlude for you today – “I Saw Three Ships,” performed by the Reagan High School choir, including Lois.

I love Christmas music.  In fact – In 1994, Keith convinced me to abandon over-the-air TV for DISH because of its holiday music channel.  Pretty funny, since we both work on U-verse now.

Lois is top row, second from the right.  She was 15th chair region choir alto for Southeast Texas this year, too.

Tomorrow, it’s the children’s and youth choir at church leading worship.  And Monday night – Hannah in the Bush Middle School choir.

Gotta get my clapping hands ready!

Every family has its stories.  It’s one of the attributes that defines a family.

I grew up with stories of my Hoosier mom – Wyoming – and her three sisters – Arizona, Oklahoma and Nevada – plus their four brothers – Hugo Denver, William S. Hart, Texas and Kirby.   My mother’s father – a despicable hillbilly drunk – was enamored with the American West.  My mother’s mother – a long-suffering Quaker – acquiesced to his moniker choices.

(l-r) Oklahoma (Mary), Wyoming (Wy), Nevada (Neva) and Arizona (Zum) in the 70′s.  To tease my mom, I’d say, “Oh, Wyoming, you’re in such a state.”

We lost Mother in 1998.  Mom’s four brothers died long ago.   Her last sister – Mary – died in the wee hours Monday.

Aunt Mary and Me in 2007

Mom and her sisters – including Aunt Mary – did not let their bleak childhood circumstances define them.   They all attended college or completed professional training; all reared/encouraged their children, nieces and nephews; all used their creativity, generosity, wit and intelligence to leave this world a far better place than they found it.

The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve marveled at what they accomplished.  They truly were “The Greatest Generation.”  I wonder if I could have done the same.   I know I’ve been given more, and accomplished less – that is not false modesty,  it’s simply truth.

I’ve grown weary in recent years of adults whining about their parents – perhaps because I tired of it in myself.   What our parents did.  Or didn’t do.  What slights, hurts and psychic sores we’ve picked at for decades.

When do you just grow up and let it go?  Seriously.  When do you?

Maybe it’s when your parents – and their siblings – are all gone.

Because then there’s no one left to blame.

You’re “it.”

I spoke to Aunt Mary at least once a week, and listening to her was sorta like hearing my mom again.   I loved her chuckling through stories about my family.  Our family.

Those stories have helped define me.  I know now, too, that the threads that weave family ties don’t always have to be knit in the same pattern.   And those threads can span generations, and even worlds.

Mom and her sisters always hated to say “goodbye.”  So I won’t.  I’ll just say, “Your life was a great story, Aunt Mary.  I’ll make sure my girls hear it.”

I miss you already. But you know that.