Wanted to sleep in, but you know how it goes. If I have to , absolutely have to get up, then I can sleep in.
It's that Eden thing. "Forget this pear, gimme some apple, Honey."
Anyway, I'm up. The Elixir has brewed, is in the cup, and helping me watch the Tree.
Huh.
We still have those, eh?
I'm looking at two ornaments, kitty-cornered from each other in the middle of the Tree.
They're handmade from a little, old lady who used to come into the fast-food place where Linda and I worked together. That was about 32 years ago. Linda worked the counter and I worked the back. Actually, I was the 5:30-in-the-morning biscuit "lady". Yep.
(Believe the commercials, folks. They are made from scratch.
And early.)
This little lady made four ornaments for Linda one Christmas. We have just two left.
An angel and a snowman.
I can't remember the little lady's name. Not a honkin' clue, even with the Elixir's help.
But there they are, softly reflecting the white glow of the Tree lights nearby.
Both bodies are cut out of white felt and the dot'n'line visages are done with a black marker. Except for the Angel's mouth. That's a bright red marker.
The robe of the Angel is a cut-out pink felt smock that has just her head and hands sticking out. There are, ballpark, about 50 little individual sequins hand-stitched to the smock.
Fifty small acts of giving.
The Angel has a piece of black felt cut like a long hair-do with bangs, a thick yellow-string bow covering the top of her head.
I've seen that look before. Where?
A swig of the Elixir and a squint. Nothing. Another pull and a serious Clint Eastwood "do you feel lucky, punk" squint. Oh yeah.
Edith Ann.
Yep. That's an Edith Ann Angel.
You remember Edith Ann? Lily Tomlin's character?
The little kid in that HUGE rockin' chair that dispensed funny, pithy wisdom from an elementary-school perspective?
I start to chuckle at the memories.
"And dat's da twuth."
I'm still chuckling as I get up to refill the Cup.
Resettling in the Chair, I realize a small, caffeinated epiphany.
Here are two felt ornaments that probably wouldn't sell even if they were in a craft shop clearance bin at 90% off. Made by a lady who, I am pretty sure, is long gone to her reward.
And I don't even know her name. Or what she looked like.
And yet, she's given me smiles and some great memories this morning. 30-some years after the fact.
Huh.
So.
A gift, given in love, might not look like much at first glance. Pretty worthless. Ordinary.
But 30-some years of memories and experiences add a patina to the homemade Edith Ann Angel that makes it priceless.
And irreplaceable.
I settle back to look outside, watching the unseen sun brighten the horizon over Brad and Micki's house.
Huh.
Our Edith Ann Angel sure seems an awful lot like the first Gift that started this whole Christmas thing.
Yep.
It does.
"And dat's da twuth."