Thursday December 3, 2015  I HEAR THE BEAT OF THE DRUMMER

I hear the beat of the drummer and each day it becomes closer and faster.  Twenty two days before Christmas and I will wake up one morning and it will be here.  JUST LIKE THAT!  At the snap of a finger.  There was once a time when it took forever for that special day.  Let me do a little reminiscing.

I know I have mentioned that as a child I lived in the project housing development, the place where there were no trees, all the project buildings were built alike, some one floor and some two floor, rectangular boxes with the clothes lines at the end or in front of each building.  Lots of cement all around the buildings and beyond that were rolling hills, usually brown and dry.  One reason they were brown and dry was because in the spring when everything came up like weeds, the project people came around with these big tanks on their back and sprayed everything with a slick oily substance of powerful weed killer to eradicate all the green growth.  Within hours the hills and all around the buildingS was black and dead from the potent spray.  But, this was always the fun time of the year for the ignorant kids of the projects.  As soon as the men were through spraying the poison, we kids in the projects would run and get our prized and hoarded cardboard, take it up to the highest hill across the street from our apartment building and slide down the back side of the hill on the slick slimy mixture, rolling in the muck at the bottom, as we tumbled to a stop.  It was a long hill and it must have felt much like it would sliding down in a sled in the snow country.  It was so fun because the grass was slick and cardboard went very fast.

At night I would come in with my slick shiny braids matted down to my head, smelling to high heaven, and my mother would make me take a shower.  My hair was only washed on Saturdays as I bent over the kitchen sink, so it had to wait until then.  It makes me cringe now to know I had that thick poison mixture on my scalp and in my hair, for who knows how many days.  Saturday my braids would come out and I had to hang my head over the sink as my mom would scrub my head until she LITERALLY drew blood (though just a few times that I remember).  Then she would send me outside in the nice weather and I would sit in the sun with my hair hanging down to my waist as it blew in the breeze, running my fingers through it so it would dry.  In the winter I had to stand by the heater that stood in the corner of the short hallway right outside the one bathroom we had.  My hair was thick and long and if I didn’t get it dry before bedtime I would wake up with damp hair.

The heater in the corner of the hall was a big boxy free standing gas burning apparatus.  There was a rope that was strung from corner to corner above it.  I owned one pair of socks and I would wash them out every night and someone would hang them up high by the toes with two clothespins so they would be dry by morning.  I had one pair of school shoes, usually white oxfords, which I took such pride in.  I insisted on polishing them every night.  Some of you may remember the little, rectangle fuzzy piece of cloth that you could hold over the opening of the white shoe polish bottle, turn it upside down, and then have the polish needed to add another coat of white on my oxfords.  I remember the polish becoming so caked and layered on the shoes over the school year that by summer they would be thick and cracked with all the diligent polishing.  But they were kept white that way.  I also had one pair of Sunday school shoes which I wore each Sunday morning and Sunday night.  But on Wednesday nights I was relegated again to wearing my over polished, painful oxfords.

Though we were hand to mouth poor my mother was fastidious.  She said we may be poor but we didn’t have to look like or act like trash.  She kept our apartment as clean as physically possible (with forced labor), of which I was part.  What I remember in the summer, was leaving the apartment as early as possible and heading out over the hills to be with the neighborhood gang.  I use the world “gang” in an endearing way because it was not like the gangs of today.  It was just poor kids banding together to play.  I sort of organized and ruled most of the time.  I guess in today’s vernacular it would simply be called “being bossy”.  I always had lots of ideas.  One of my best ideas was raiding the garbage cans after one of the apartments had a repair job on the wallboard.  The trash was then always full of big hunks and pieces of thick hard sheet rock, which made the absolutely best chalk.  Since we had so much cement space I became an instant architectural designer.  My best friend Albert, who lived downstairs right below our apartment, would help me draw the floor plans of the most magnificent houses on the vast expanse of cement.  We would not let anyone else come into our house or step on our chalk lines.  Later in life I visited the area after the apartments had been torn down.  The cement area was much smaller than I remembered it being at age six and seven.

Well, I have done quite a bit of remembering but totally off the subject of what I wanted to elaborate about.  Back to my thought of anticipating Christmas.  Christmas was always exciting when I was little because it was the only time of the year when we received a toy.    I actually have most of the gifts I received over the Christmases of my childhood, (except one doll that melted due to a fire in the neighboring apartment).  Our apartment did not actually burn to ashes but the apartment next door did, (twice) and we had a lot of heat and smoke damage in ours.   That’s another story entirely.  Back to Christmas.  As I sit here I remember several Christmas seasons.  One in particular that I will mention was the year my sister turned four years old.  I was ten.  I snuck out in the middle of Christmas Eve night, and there under the tree was a little metal table and chairs about the right size for a preschooler.  A big Chatty Cathy doll sat in one of the chairs and the other chair had a pink teddy bear with a pretty bow around its neck.  I was so excited for my Chatty Cathy doll, knowing that Faith would be receiving the pink teddy bear and table and chairs.  Boy, was I ever wrong!  The Chatty Cathy doll was for my younger sister and I RECEIVED THE PINK TEDDY BEAR.  After all, I was a grown up ten year old.  I didn’t hanker for a TEDDY BEAR.  I tried to cover up my disappointment.  In no way would I want to hurt my mother’s feelings.  I knew everything cost money and we didn’t have much.  I used to listen through the thin walls when my parents thought I was sleeping and hear them talking about money and worrying so about having enough for food and for what expenses were coming up.  That always lay heavy on my little young soul.  I certainly didn’t want to be the cause of any angst when it came to money.  I found out years later, if I recall correctly, that is was my sister Velma who bought the doll for Faith.

When I was a child, I counted my years by Christmas day.  On the day after Christmas the year loomed long before me.  Now, on the other hand, when March comes I always announce to Dave, we better start getting ready for Christmas.  And in the blink of an eye it is here.  And in the month of December the whole month is Christmas.  The drum of December beckons me on.  Another year gone and by March, Christmas will almost be here again.

 My day began at 4:45 a.m., I was out of the house by 6:10 a.m., and at my destination by 6:50 a.m..  Fortunately, I did not run into rush hour traffic so I made excellent time.  I was on Grandma duty today.  Occasionally my grandchildren do not have childcare coverage so the two Grandmas are called to arms.  It was a good day.  Drove the older one to school, stayed with the younger one all day, played cars on the hardwood floors, played two games of Blokus with the four year old, fixed a morning snack, played with building magnets, fixed lunch, went and picked up the older one, then snack time again.  I played cars once again with two opponents instead of one, settled a few minor disputes, helped with homework, did a detailed Bible study with the eight year old, and greeted mom and dad when they arrived home.  Oh yes, I also wrote the above blog between what I mentioned in this paragraph.  I just did a little here and there as I entertained two kids.  All in all It was an excellent day.

One more thing to add to my day.  My Sunday appointment to pick up the final wedding book of my career did not take place.  Well, I arrive home about 20 minutes before they were scheduled to be here this evening.  The book has been signed, sealed, and delivered (or at least picked up)!  I came up the stairs singing!  They loved it!

BECAUSE THEN I WILL BE…

By Kathleen Martens

December 3, 2015

Over the past three years

I’ve had so many endings.

Planning for retirement

Now is no longer pending.

Today is a momentous one

That has a lot of meaning.

My professional work is over!

Workload no longer steaming.

Two little projects left to do

For friends without the stress.

And when that is all finished

I will then be due my rest.

Because then I will be

Fully and completely retired!

But that is not what I intend,

Rather, I will be re-fired!

Today I lived a long time, very slow, very busy, and I’m not done yet!  I only watched a part of a movie last night.  Tonight I hope to finish it.

Good night and God bless you.