Month: November 2023

Is It Beginning to Look Like A Lot Like Christmas, Yet?

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn AUDIO, FamilyLeave a comment

(10 minute read OR listen to the audio version with bonus material)

The last of the Thanksgiving leftovers are gone. The turkey platter and fancy serving dishes are returned to the deep recesses of the china cabinet. Right about now is when I turn my attention towards Christmas. For all of the plan-ahead, shop-all-year-long, and decorate-the-tree-at-the-start-of-November people, I am sorry if my procrastination unnerves you. Not to worry, I got this! I have years of experience pulling it all together in under four weeks. I am actually right on schedule for my holiday calendar.

I kick off the season by lugging up the four pieces of our beautiful artificial tree. To my friends that put fresh cut trees in their living rooms, my hat is off to you. Been there, done that. Around 12 years ago I made the leap to artificial trees for Christmas. Maybe it had something to do with the move from Connecticut to Virginia. All of my friends and neighbors here have lovely perfectly shaped well lit trees. Blue Spruce, Fraser Fir, Alpine Balsam Fir, Stratford Spruce, almost every variety of tree is available online or in a store near you. Miniature to 18 feet tall, frosted or natural green, with or without lights, white or multicolored, the choices are endless. Even though we already own a 9 foot pre-lit fake Fraser Fir tree from Lowe’s, I still peruse websites and catalogs looking at the various dreamlike winter wonderland focal points.

My childhood included an entirely different tradition. In Northern California, in mid-December my parents would load all four of us girls into the car and head to the local Christmas tree lot run by the Boy Scout troop. Rows and rows of freshly cut trees lined the gravel parking lot. It was a pop-up forest perfect for playing hide and seek. We chased and ran and hid, while my parents shopped around.

My dad held his arm out to a tree, “How about this one? Or this one?”

“Hmmm, too bushy. No, that one is tilted off kilter.”

I am not saying that my mom was picky, or that my dad was impatient, but both of them wanted to find “the one.” Because somewhere in that Boy Scout staffed pop-up parking lot forest was the Papini Christmas tree for 1978. A thorough examination of the inventory was necessary until they found the right one. Then after a quick search for us giggling girls, they proclaimed, “This is the tree!”

I remember those tree finding days from my childhood fondly. It was a tradition I continued with my husband. The two of us loved picking out the fresh pine smelling tree that we could afford on our newlywed budget and could fit in our small family room of our townhouse. Whatever tree we brought home from the lot was perfectly grown just for us. A little daily water in the base, and it kept fresh through New Years Day. Nothing firms up the feeling of starting a life together as much as trimming your first tree (real or faux). 

As the years passed and our family grew, so did the size of our trees. Bigger each year. Our tradition with the kids was similar to my upbringing. My husband and I discussed pros and cons of different tree varieties, as our four kids darted between and behind the bushy rows of greenery. The kids squealed with excitement as the tree was loaded on top of the car and strapped down. Then after the tied up tree was carried into the house, it was a dramatic moment of untethering and the release of all the splendor of branches reaching out into the room. I always loved the bare tree, fresh with natural pine scent, and ready for adornment. “You were selected to be here with us, and now we are going to make you part of our Christmas.”

The not-so-fun and sometimes-even-frustrating part of tree trimming is the hanging of lights. The untangling of the strings. The tiny white bulbs burnt out and finding which ones needed replacing. The circling light strings onto the tree with a bit of backseat driving from the onlookers. But “Wa La!” once illumination is complete the decorating can commence! 

I am a fan of sentimental ornaments even if that means the odd looking yarn and bean “what the heck is that” ones the kids made at school. Over the years I always added some ornaments related to the kids’ interests: piano, football, volleyball, Spiderman, jimmy neutron, Chewbacca. Then there are the fancy fragile angels that hang out-of-reach at the top of the tree. Long ago, I gave up on the idea of gorgeous glass balls, opting instead for the more durable unbreakable plain silver and gold plastic (expensive looking) cheap balls. This is what works best with four children, two cats and two dogs. And there you have it: the Freudenthal tree for the Christmas season!

In every house we lived in, and there were more than a handful, it was important to select the right location for the tree. Next to the window? At the bottom of the staircase? In the formal living room or the cozy family room? I even remembering touring homes for sale and wondering, “Now where would the Christmas tree go?” My parents kept the tree at the same place on top of a low table in front of the same windows every year. The tradition of Christmas trees is a special one. My only problem with having a real tree is that in a matter of just a few weeks pine needles dropped and branches drooped, signaling an end to another Christmas season. Something about the dried dying tree after the holidays makes me sad. It served its purpose, bringing joy to our home as we celebrate the birth of Jesus. It also was the backdrop for gathering, gift exchanging, and tradition.

As I sit across the living room from our tree, I do not smell the pine needles. The triangular shape is perfect, each wired branch bent into place. The assembly took less than an hour. All I had to do was walk down into the basement to retrieve the pieces, then attach in the right order and manually fold out each of the small needled twigs stemming out from the branches. Plug in the cord and instantly the green tree is aglow with white lights. “Sounds so special, right?” I ask with Bah Humbug sarcasm. It actually still is, faux fir and all.

Last week I contemplated going back to our old tradition of heading to the tree lot and buying a real genuine freshly cut fir. I brought up the idea to my husband whose response was less enthusiastic. “But why would we do that when we have a great looking tree in the basement that we bought two years ago when you wanted to move from a 7 foot tree to a 9 foot tree? That wasn’t cheap. And trees are expensive, and messy.” He is right. A pine scented candle can solve the nostalgic aura. Once all of the sentimental ornaments are hung, the tree transforms our home. Christmas is coming. 

Soon colorful patterned gift wrapped boxes and bags will accumulate under the tree (I better start shopping). Sugar cookies shaped like stars, angels and reindeer will bake in the oven. Alexa will play music from Michael Buble, Mariah Carey, Alvin and the Chipmunks, Nat King Cole, and Bing Crosby. Malls will get crowded with shoppers (I better get out there). Friends will gather in ugly sweaters. Family will gather in matching pajamas (I actually already ordered those for this year). And the Amazon truck will come up the driveway (I really better start shopping). The Advent Calendar tiny numbered doors are waiting to be opened one by one. Plenty of time. I am not stressed.

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” was and is one of my favorite songs. But it is also a tune that I am not ready to hear until it is time. Now is the time! The tree trimming is just the beginning. The final touch is to hang the star. And we mustn’t forget, to hide the pickle!

Picking out the Freudenthal tree in 2012

Returning to My Hometown: My 5 Takeaways

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Deep Thoughts, FamilyLeave a comment

(1,943 words or 18 minute read)

Recently I had the rare opportunity to revisit a time period in my life that shaped me. I was lucky enough to rewind the clock by several decades, long before I was a mother, a wife, a goat farmer or a Virginian. The past few years I have been busy with moving houses, graduations, weddings, farm animal accumulation and entering the empty nest stage. Caring for the humans and non-humans I love has been my primary focus for a long time. A chance to step away and reflect back on the “younger Carolyn” sounded intriguing.

Six months ago I opened my email to find the invitation to my 40th high school reunion. I missed the 30th, probably because of a conflict with football games. My life revolved around the sports and activities of our kids. “I cannot miss the game,” was often my excuse. Priorities change (or children grow older and the nest is empty). So I marked my calendar for the high school reunion. It coincided with a hunting trip my husband was taking so our plan was to go our separate ways. Then as a reunion “add on” my girlfriends and I came up with a short jaunt down to Mexico. Geographically it made perfect sense. I was traveling west to the reunion in Northern California, so to hop on a plane down south to Puerto Vallarta was just a little detour before returning home to Virginia. 

I packed my suitcase with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The contents in the large suitcase would be a challenge for someone to guess where I was going: bathing suits, old journals, new clothing from Anthropology and Ann Taylor that required multiple shopping trips (agonizing over what to wear to the reunion) and baby books. I squeezed in a visit to meet my three week old grandnephew. I wanted more than the three days set aside to visit my 83 year old parents. So it turned out that my oversized overweight bag was not enough because I decided to extend my trip one week longer.

The chance to linger awhile in reflection and observation was hard to resist. Last Sunday, after seventeen days away, I returned to Virginia on my cross country flight with a heavier bag and a fuller heart. I exited the security doors at the airport and almost walked right past my husband. He sat in the waiting area in a flannel jacket, a sock cap, and a beard that he grew while I was away. Maybe he was inspired to change it up when he found out that I cut my hair shorter one tipsy night while in Mexico. I strut right past him with my bouncy bob and did a double take. “Kevin?” I rushed into his arms and ran my hand over his soft beard. We laughed. I was still me but with an extra youthful energy I gained from revisiting my roots.

There is so much I can write about this time travel of a vacation that left me feeling grateful, tired and inspired.  I came up with FIVE TAKE-AWAYS.

FIRST Takeaway 

I was so lucky to call Lafayette my hometown. It is truly an exceptional place. It is a small suburb 25 minutes outside of San Francisco. After passing through Berkeley where both my parents went to college at Cal, you drive through the tunnel and enter the utopia known as Lamorinda (Lafayette, Moraga and Orinda). Beautiful neighborhoods are nestled in the creases and valleys among the golden hills. My elementary school was aptly named Happy Valley School. I went to school with the same people from kindergarten through high school. Mt. Diablo Boulevard is still the single main street in town. Most restaurants and stores have changed since I lived there: Bill’s Drugs is now CVS, no more Baskin Robbins or Bottle Shop, but Diablo Foods grocery store remains (albeit fancier and gourmet selections). I found Lafayette to be a bit more crowded and much more expensive. In the 70s and 80s it was small enough to feel familiar and simple; you could not go anywhere without running into someone you know. It was a great place to grow up. I am grateful to my parents for choosing this town and staying put for 21 years. Lafayette holds all of my childhood memories: from riding my bike to the Sandpiper with quarters in my pocket for jaw breakers and Swedish fish to getting my drivers license and cruising around in my orange Honda Civic with Styx blasting on the stereo. The Round Up Saloon, a mainstay in the center of town on Mt Diablo Boulevard, was the first stop for our reunion weekend. Of the more than a dozen different towns in which I have lived, Lafayette will always hold a special place in my heart.

SECOND Takeaway

Quality time with old friends makes me feel young again. The high school reunion was filled with classmates I came of age with, from kindergarten to awkward puberty years and into the identity searching teenage years. We share all of the reckless memories from before our frontal lobes were fully developed. For a few classmates I needed the name tags, but seeing all of the familiar faces was like stepping through a time machine. Add to that a DJ playing Rick Springfield and Journey, it was like we were 16 years old again, at the Friday night dance in the gym after the football game. Reading my high school journals I can see the young Carolyn that struggled with insecurities. Even at 58 years old I could feel myself fall back into an old habit of clinging to the arm of my best friend Gretchen as we entered the crowded bar. It got more comfortable as the visiting with old peers continued with great conversations. The mutual sentiment was, “We are lucky to be here. And growing older is not so bad.” As my family knows, I measure a good time by laughter. I laughed all throughout the reunion and even more on my trip down to Mexico. To sit with lifelong friends over margaritas (or coffee), to talk, to float on the water, and to laugh together, is just some of the best youth-infused fuel my engine needed. 

THIRD Takeaway

“It takes a village.” This phrase applies to my upbringing, and I was lucky enough to be able to reconnect with many members of my “village.” I extended my stay in California one week longer so that I could spend more time visiting with my parents and also attend a Celebration of Life for a good family friend. I had something growing up that we were not exactly able to give to our children because of our moving a lot. My parents’ friends and the parents of my friends were all key people in my childhood. School activities, LMYA swim team, neighborhood parties, and vacations with other families were a few of the many memories we all shared. I spoke with a friend at the Celebration of Life, and we both agreed how lucky we all were as kids, and how special it was to come together to honor one of our “dads” who passed away a few months ago. It was standing room only. As I leaned against the wall of the community center and looked at the faces of the moms and dads my parents’ age, I was moved to tears not about loss but about gratitude. These people gave us the space to enjoy life and flourish as we moved through stages of our lives, while at the same time they modeled what being good friends looks like. The grown-ups had a ton of fun themselves as I recall, which may also be why we kids were able to run wild in games of ditch on camping trips and games of quarters at Sun Valley. Something I have seen with our kids is how much they value conversations with our adult friends. I remembered feeling the same way when I talked to my parents friends (my village). The opportunity to be in California to acknowledge these parents and this one charismatic dad from my childhood made my experience of reflection complete. 

FOURTH Takeaway

My parents have a cool rhythm these days. My visits with them are usually crowded with other family members. This time it was just the two of them and me. No spouse. No sisters. No grandkids. I had them all to myself. I loved it. We enjoyed great food and conversations. I listened to them play the piano. One morning I sat in my mom’s favorite chair in the living room in the center of the house. From one side I could hear my dad watching the Jeopardy he had recorded from the night before, and from the other side of the house I heard my mom taking a zoom yoga class. They went through their daily routines, and I was there to just relax and be present in them. When my four children were little our California visits included day trips to Fisherman’s Wharf and Pier 39 in San Francisco, or to ride the carousel or Fairyland in Oakland. I am exhausted remembering those busy visits. This one was perfect timing. On the heels of weddings, a high school reunion, and a festive trip to Mexico, just chilling with my folks was a dream. Speaking of which, one night while there I had a nightmare and screamed loudly. My mom came into the guest room and rubbed my back, just like old times. They are both 83 years old, have been married for 62 years, and are truly inspiring in how they live their lives. I will treasure that extra week that I added onto my vacation.

FIFTH Takeaway

Home Sweet Home. It is exactly as the Chris Daughtry song says, “I’m going home to the place where I belong.” Before I left for this trip I was a little apprehensive. It felt odd to return to the old me. My life before Kevin was such a different “Carolyn.” My whole world today is my husband, our children, our animals and our friends who know this Carolyn. I was close to pulling out of the trip at the last minute, and I am glad I did not. Returning to my old stomping grounds and seeing the other kids I navigated those years with helped reinforce my sense of identity. At 58 I sometimes question my purpose or my choices in life. It helped me to examine where the foundation was laid for who I am today. I have a lot of the same personality traits as I did growing up: I like to be silly and laugh a lot, I suppose I still seek attention, and I can still feel insecure at times. But I have grown and changed in a lot of ways. My younger self who struggled in school (especially reading and writing) would never have imagined I would be writing anything for anyone else to read. And little Carolyn who never moved once in all of her schooling, and was comfortable in that suburb bubble, would not have dreamed she would be living across the country in Virginia (after moving her family to different cities and states a dozen times). I hated endings and goodbyes as a child. I still do.

I am home now with my husband, our kids nearby, and the herd underfoot. I am grateful for all of the feelings that this 17 day trip stirred up inside of me.  And I am happy to be back to the place where I belong.