We’ve had a hard two years so we’re assigning a lot of happiness and resolve to these holidays when things are not as safe as they seem, energetically and physically. Nor are they guaranteed to be happy, even though we really need them to be.
How we are able to celebrate this holiday time, whether it be what we want and expect or is more quiet with plans changed at the last minute, this time needs to be cherished the way we need to cherish ourselves and our loved ones for how we’ve survived – not for what isn’t happening, but for what is.
Despite how dire things seems (and we’re still in December, so there you go), we are at an exciting time of finishing the old and embracing the new. We’re almost through the gauntlet of hard-bitch Godsmacking, but the year won’t let go easily. Take that into consideration as we face the end of 2021 and the hope of 2022. Remember who we are, where we’ve come from and where we’re going.
The following is a piece I published in 2015, but thought it was worth bringing out of the mothballs. Here is a cherished holiday moment from my memory vaults that always makes me smile, gives me comfort and helps me see the bigger picture:
When I was living in Los Angeles in the 1970s, one year I went home to visit with my parents and best friend in Detroit for Christmas. I was very excited to see them but it was the arrival itself that I was especially looking forward to. Both my parents and Anne were coming to pick me up at the airport and I had a surprise for them.
Anne has been my best friend since high school. She and I have always been into western TV shows and movies. As teenagers, we would write ourselves onto our favorite shows as guest stars just for fun. There was a running joke between us about who was going to grow a mustache first so we could rob banks in the Old West (in reference to the movie, “Butch and Sundance: The Early Days”).
So toward the end of the flight to Detroit, I applied a pretty good-sized fake mustache, which had passengers in the seats around me puzzled until I explained the joke. Then they were interested. I had on pin-striped woolen pants with suspenders, a long western-style coat that swirled to my ankles and a Stetson hat. I felt I looked the part as much as I could to pull off a “western” surprise for Anne.
The plane was delayed in landing, then delayed in getting to the gate because of the weather. Altogether, we were about 90 minutes late. By the time we got to the gate, it was going on one AM.
Finally, we were able to disembark. I walked off the plane and down the long tunnel to those who were waiting at the gate (in the days when people could greet you as you got off the plane before the strident security measures were initiated after 9/11). Fellow passengers stared at me; some who’d been ahead of me waited in the terminal to see what the reaction was going to be when my people saw me.
And then I was the one who got the surprise.
My father had dressed as Santa Claus, something he did with his naturally white hair and beard every year for charity events. Because he did this regularly, his costume was quite nice. With the red suit, red hat and black boots, he looked exactly like the Santa everyone expected. And there was a huge crowd waiting to see who Santa had come to greet, far more people than those who were meeting travelers.
I found out later that they had arrived well ahead of time, stayed around while the plane was delayed and wandered around the airport killing time. They had caused quite a stir, especially with all the kids, many of whom were cranky from travel or being up past their bedtime. He had apparently made many people’s holidays that night and certainly livened up the kids and those who were waiting for the weather-delayed flights.
I saw him immediately in the crowd (how could you miss Santa?) with my mother and Anne beside him, and broke out laughing so hard I almost dislodged the mustache, which by now was far over-shadowed by the man in the red suit. The crowd applauded and laughed as we all hugged. It was a movie moment. Just not the movie I was expecting.
While I have had an overabundance of wonderful Christmas memories, this is one of my favorites. My father died in 2001 and is missed to this day, by many, many people. I wish I had a picture of him in the Santa suit that I could share here, but, alas, this was before the advent of cell phones with cameras. I just have my memory of that moment. And it’s very sweet.
Wishing you all a very happy holiday with wonderful memories to be cherished in years to come!
I offer this with love and gratitude…
P.S. One of my big projects for 2022 is to finish a book I’ve been working on, “On Being Psychic”, about how I work and my experiences in the field. If you have anything you’d like to know about my process or the work I do, please let me know so I can cover all my bases. Send to my email address at firstname.lastname@example.org. Thank you.