The Dreaded Christmas Family Portrait!

          It happens every year like clockwork around 7ish on Christmas Eve.  The dreaded Mason Family Christmas portrait in front of that years decorated tree.  There WILL be complaining.  There will be whining. There will be yelling.  There will eventually end up being laughter.  We usually get a picture in which someone is making a face, had their eyes closed, or someone is putting rabbit ears above someones head.  It is only natural that someone reading this might ask, why do you guys put yourself through that torture?  I have to admit, it wasn't until I was 11 years old that I actually understood why.

          Christmas 1985 seemed like any other Christmas.  Tree had been decorated, presents purchased, and Grandpa and Grandma were scheduled to arrive for the festivities.  I was in an 11 year olds bliss!  (This was supposed to be the year I finally got my Cabbage Patch I had prayed for so long to get!).  It wasn't until the trip to pick up George and Dodie from the airport that this normal Christmas changed.  Immediately, I recognized Dodie.  She was 4'11" of spitfire.  She was always beautiful to me and she seemed even more so this time.  It was the man next to her I had no clue who he was.  Upon closer examination, it was our George.  Grandpa had always been thin and short in stature, but this time he was almost skeletal!  We went upon our business as normal and exchanged pleasantries and let them settle into our home for the holidays.

          Christmas Eve arrives...argh, time for the damn portrait!  We girls had always HATED IT!  (we even have a picture of Dad glaring at Mom, Tammy and Pam smiling normally and me bawling my eyes out in the forefront :0) )  We simply couldn't see the point!  This year; however, we did notice both Grandma and Mom getting misty eyed.  Ok, this was absurd!  Why get misty over a few pictures of some dorky kids?   We humored them and hoped that would get us to the presents even faster.

          It was about a week after Christmas that we were told that Grandpa was not going to make it any longer.  The cancer that was playing parasite inside his body was winning its battle.  He passed away on January 9th.  We never would have another picture in front of the family Christmas tree that included Grandpa.  I was, of course, devastated he was gone--more than words could say, but strangely comforted by the fact that his pain and trial was over.  I loved him enough to wish that for him.  I didn't want him to suffer to satisfy my selfish little-girl wish that he would live forever.

          11 months later, we would have another devastating loss.  Dodie was called to be with her love.  I remember comforting myself with that thought.  George is fishing in heaven, and Dodie is nagging him for doing so :0).  It was December 3rd.  In a couple of weeks, we would be taking another portrait without, not one, but 2 of the worlds best people.   That thought was more than I could handle...and I sobbed.

          If you look at the family portraits of current years, you will see the adults trying  (and I say TRYING) to give a serious and lovely portrait---and the kids hamming it up.  I know that Alex, Court, and Ry have experienced loss and understand.  They are all too aware now of the frailty of life, but are still able to enjoy that moment.  I love that .  They are able to approach those moments, not as if they were their last, but as if they are ALIVE in the moment.  As I grow older, I realize my time with the most precious people in my life is limited.  Sometimes I find it difficult to get over that.  I wish that I was able to be just like Alex, Court, Ryan, Matt, and Jess----aware of the moment, living like there IS a tomorrow.  I know that Mom wants these portraits to capture a moment and people we never want to forget.  I want to return to a time when these portraits meant capturing a group of people being silly, angry, and totally devoted to one another.  So next time you take one of those family portraits that annoy all participants, don't think of it as "well, we might never be able to get another one of these together again", approach it with this thought---be who you are and be the family that you will love to see reflected back in the image.  Be able to look back at the image and say, "HA! There is a FUNNY story that goes with that!"  Those are more precious than remembering or lamenting over who isn't able to be there anymore.

Why History? Why JFK?

   

     I don't think that there has been one day of my career as a teacher that I haven't heard someone ask, "Ms. Gibson, why are you SO fascinated by JFK?"  I always giggle and give some polite answer.  Usually something in the line of, "Well, I am not fascinated by JFK himself, it is more the time period."   Sure, I could bore them with the fact that I find the "Magic Bullet" theory a bunch of baloney.  I could also go into depth as to how the Warren Commission wasn't perfect, but got the general gist of the situation correct.  This would probably send them into a glassy eyed trance. **Although I have to note here, they LOVE their "Stump Ms. Gibson" contests we hold when there is time to spare on a slow day.   So I give them the quick, no nonsense answer I think they want to hear.

     I realize now that is probably a very generic and, probably, not all that true of an answer.  I just plain love history!  There is no rhyme or reason for it, it just IS!  I can explain myself this way, how can you MAKE this stuff up?!! All these horrific, wonderful, surprising, saddening, frustrating, and enlightening things REALLY happened.  These figures you see on your text page were real people---with real feelings, real mortaility, and real flaws.  I think what I love the most is the fact that it doesn't really matter WHO you are, you have the chance to achieve greatness if you truly believe.  You ,as a "regular Joe or Jane", have just as many hours in the day as Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, and (yes) even John F. Kennedy.  These were just individuals who chose to not waste those valuable 24 hours we all feel so constricted by.  (I have to remind myself of this often when I find myself complaining that I don't have enough time to do something.)

     I am not one who thinks everyone in history is fascinating.  The Guilded Age, for example...sends me into a slumber!  I just think that we are a HUGE global family with stories to tell and ideas to share.  You have your crazy Uncle Napoleon who has a real complex and thinks that he is greater than everyone else, even though he probably would need a phonebook to see over the steering wheel (to which I can relate).  You have your naughty Aunt Anne Boleyn who is kinda, well...skanky, but ends up losing her head for that really overweight, older Great Uncle Henry (probably so she can get some money).  You only find out later that he dumps her for a younger, more hip chick.  Then there is your Aunt Jacqueline.  She is classy, someone you look up to and wish you could be like.  She is aloof, shy, but there is just something about her that you find completely intriguing.  You also have people in your family that you would prefer not be a part of it, I won't mention them---but you know who they are.  They are those people who you spend time whispering about when  they are not in the room and NEVER mention in front company.  We hate to admit they exist, but inevitably someone always finds out they are your cousin.

     I don't know if I actually answered the question, WHY HISTORY?  WHY JFK?  I don't know if I ever could completely.  I just want my students,  my nieces/nephews, and the members of their generation to realize that they are going to be the ones writing the future historical account.  It is up to them whether or not they are apart of that account.  I might not be in a history book, but I am comfortable enough in my own abilities to realize that I have made an impact on the future in my own small way.


   

A Purrrfect Companion

     It was February 2002.  I had just recently moved in with my sweetheart, gotten my first teaching job, and watched (like the rest of America) as our world was forever altered on September of the previous year.  **Not to mention we had lost George Harrison of the Beatles, but that is a story for another day!**  Needless to say, I was feeling TOTALLY overwhelmed by all of the randomness and change in my life.  Steve and I had decided we wanted to have a Super Bowl party in our new apartment and just RELAX!  We had also been talking about making another life altering change and adopting....well, a cat anyways.  This was Super Bowl Sunday and my kitty fever was at its peak!  I asked, no I BEGGED, Steve to call PAWS (our local shelter) and ask if we could come in.  He assured me it would be a no go---after all, who wasn't home getting ready to watch the Pats win their first championship?  Well...he relented and dialed the number that I had so hastily written down for him.  It rang, then rang again...then I heard Steve say, "Hello?".  AH HA~  Of course, I was right :0) 

     My parents were coming soon, so I couldn't leave the apartment.  Steve was told that if we HURRIED, she would stay so we could take a peek at the cats.  I told him that I trusted him and would be happy with whatever kitten he brought home.  I emphasized, KITTEN!  It wasn't more than 15 minutes after he left that I got the call.  "Kim, she is GORGEOUS.  She is a cutie who is SO soft and absolutely cuddly."  Yes, he said those very words.  I knew there was a "but" coming...so I waited.  "She isn't exactly what you talked about though, but can we get her anyways?'  "Ok, Stephen (I always called him this when irritated), exactly WHAT about her isn't what we talked about?"..."Well, hun, she is 4 years old.  Not a kitten". 

     I knew by the way he was getting somewhat emotional on the phone, she was a keeper.  She came home about 2 hours before the game and checked out her new surroundings.  She gave the abode a once over and gave me a "this'll do" kinda glance.  I smiled.  Yep, she had a tude just like her adoptive Mama.   I was absolutely, irretrievably, and forever....in love with her.  She almost immediately seemed to know my moods, what to do, when to do it, and when to stay clear!  I had no idea HOW much I would come to love this little "fluff n' nutter" until a few years later.

   Fast forward.  December 2005.  I won't go into HUGE depth, but needless to say--Steve and I had reached the end of our marital rope.  Lace was there for the screaming, crying, and even the deafening silence.  When things got too intense, she would even stand in between the 2 combatants as if to create a wall of civility.  I realized, she was a child in the middle of a house that was now being divided.  She loved us both---her time in front of the heater with Daddy was legendary.  The cuddles with me, an absolute delight for the litttle girl.  Her being dragged around the house by Daddy inside a Payless boot box with a string attached, I am sure were some of her favorite moments EVER.  Now, the moment had come.  She was going to have to leave one of us behind.  Her happy home had been split. 

     I am going to be crass for a moment, but I always say this, "Steve got his 'ho, I took the cat!"  She and I had been through too much together to separate now.  Not to mention, in his current state of mind, Steve didn't even seem to care about her even most basic care, so she packed up with me and we moved in with my parents.  She was apprehensive at first, too many other animals and people.  She was simply not used to it.  She learned.  Papa gives her cuddles, Gramma gives her treats, Jess plays with her, Matt strokes her, and Auntie Pam....well, she introduced her to the love of her life---BACON!  This wasn't going to be as bad as she thought!

     I did get another job shortly after, and we moved---again. This time, back to Portland.  This was the time of our lives!  We lounged together, we talked, and we ate and ate---well, then we ate some more (post divorce is hardest on the kids :0)  )  It was then that I got the news that the earaches I had been dealing with required some specialized attention.  I needed to go and see an ENT for further eval.  He didn't see me for more than 4 minutes when he said, "did you know you have a tumor on your neck?".  Huh?  Tumor?  I was thinking, in my best Arnold voice "it's not a tumor!".  He was right, I was wrong.  It was indeed a tumor and was going to have to be biopsied.  argh!  Then I got even more great news a few days later.  My job was being eliminated and I was going to be forced to move.  Yet again!  Thank God, not until summer though.  I kept thinking to myself, "Jesus Christ, just ONE thing at a time, k!?".  I had gotten the biopsy....all was good.  The date for surgery set.  Fun, fun!  I broke down I don't know how many times on the side of a furry little girl.  She listened, meowed....and demanded to be fed.

     I went into surgery at Maine Med on March 22, 2008.  Our plan,  surgery on Friday.  A few days of recovery, then celebrate Mom's birthday on the 29th.  I got to call mom and dad from recovery.  Mom's words to me, "Lacey is sitting her all content...just relax.  Your girl is fine."  All was good. Things were going according to plan until Tuesday.  I will NEVER forget that day for as long as I live.  Dad's doctor calls with the results of a biopsy he had about a week earlier.  Cancer.  That word that I had heard 2 times before in my life and was like the ultimate swear word.  I cannot say that we didn't see it coming, but it was still a blow.  My grandfather had the same cancer, his brother, and my great-grandfather.  This was different.  This was the Pookster.  This was my Dad!  Mom and I didn't cry, but looked straight ahead and said, "ok, when do you start treatment."  It was just that mater of fact.  It was bad, but that was that.  As her usual, Lacey demanded to be fed in the middle of this emotional scene.

     Wednesday.  The reality of what had happened to Dad had set in.  So had my painkillers, so I was emotional and loopy.  The phone rings.  It was the surgeon.  "Kim, we got the results of the pathology report.  You have what is called Papillary Thyroid Cancer."  "Huh?"  I literally said that.  He kindly repeated himself.  "Um, but the biopsy was normal?"  "Yes, on the large tumor.  It was the 2 smaller ones that were cancerous.".  Lucky me!  I am totally devoid of emotion at this time.  I can't even fake cry.  I am SO over tears.  Then, I had to tell my parents.  Mom started crying first.  Yep, that brought me to reality.  Lacey's response?  You guessed it.  She demanded to be fed.

     I am not telling you all of these seemingly unrelated stories to "purge" so to speak.  I am giving you a glimpse into the dynamic relationship Lacey and I share.  She snaps me back into the real world.  She makes me realize...guess what, life goes on!  "So freakin' what, you got cancer---I gotta EAT!"  She has taught me some of the most valuable lessons of my adult life.  Humor.  It works.  Laughter.  Even in the most difficult of times, isn't a crime.  Most of all, make sure to eat.  It would be a horrendous thing if we stopped enjoying the things we love just because the situation seems a little tough.  Not bad for a cat, if I say so myself.