Giving a home-made loaf of bread to all of our neighbors is a holiday tradition. It’s an Italian tradition, too: bread at Christmas is viewed as a gift of life to sustain the family and good cheer.

When my partner and I built our house, I worked with an architect to develop the kitchen that I had long wanted: three ovens, large cooktop, and a huge island on which to prepare my creations. Not that I am a great chef, but having room to work while enjoying an expansive view of our back yard park, and space for a table for four were also requirements of our design.

I bought an old farm which was slated for development from the parents of a high-school classmate. I won the bid to buy the farm since I promised to build low-density, single family homes, instead of what could have been: rows and rows of townhouses.

Since our house was completed first, we welcomed our new neighbors as the rest of the small neighborhood built out by bringing them a baked item of some sort — a cake, a pie, or cookies. Then as we incorporated our Homeowners Association, I was elected President, and my partner and I continued to share joy with our neighbors by bringing each one a loaf of cinnamon raisin bread at Christmas. I love to do it.

So here I am, with Christmas Carols playing in the background, singing off-key and baking away, preparing something home-made for my neighbors, our friends. We are so blessed to share our neighborhood with people who have a rich diversity of backgrounds, and in a community with a casual and mature kind of tolerance.

Life is short: show those you love that you love them!

Yep, it’s that time of year when my partner and I set up the assembly line to get out our holiday greeting cards. Every year I keep saying to myself that I have to cut the list, yet each year it seems to grow longer.

Let’s see, 128 cards to family (I have a very large family), 154 cards to “elder buds” who I adore and see throughout the year and who receive birthday cards from me as well, and about 120 others — life-long friends from elementary, junior high, high school, and college, additional friends I’ve made over the years, my former host families in Europe, as well as some elected officials who I work with.

Believe it or not, 402 cards is less than it had been. People and jobs change, circumstances where you knew people change, and some people have died.

I need to work on this list, but … I just get into that Christmas frame of mind and get a little emotional, spiritual, and misty. And while mass-produced cards with an annual photocopied Christmas letter, sent using a word-processed mailing label, is not as personal as I would like it to be, there’s just so much time available to get this all done.

Over the last few nights, my partner and I had the assembly line set up in our basement. We put DVDs of It’s a Wonderful Life, Miracle on 34th Street and my partner’s favorite, Ziggy’s Gift on to watch, and get to work. There I am saying the lines in the movies, “Mary, Mary…” or when George says “Merry Christmas Mr. Potter!” and old Potter replies, “Merry Christmas to you, in jail!” or “Faith is believing in things when common sense tells you not to,” while my partner smiles and rolls his eyes. I’ll hum to the tunes in Ziggy’s Gift because Ziggy doesn’t talk. He just smiles, helps out, and makes magic happen. His Christmas miracle makes my partner get all teary-eyed, while I shed a tear every time Susan discovers the miracle of the holiday granted by Kris Kringle, or George finds Zuzu’s petals when he’s brought back to real time and hugs Bert the cop.

I sign our names to the card and letter, and put on the address label on the envelope. My partner puts the card and the letter in the envelope, seals it, puts on a return address label and a stamp, and then I’m off to terrorize the US Postal Service.

And to think, I heard a news report recently that the number of cards being sent this year has dropped significantly. Well, shucks, not for me. It’s a holiday tradition, and something I look forward to doing. I think of all the people in our lives who have made it so much richer and rewarding, remembering one of Clarence’s line in It’s a Wonderful Life:

“Strange isn’t it. Each man’s life touches so many other lives. When he isn’t around he leaves an awful hole doesn’t he?”

THIS, my friends, is why I volunteer, why I serve, and why I love my family and friends. This hole is filled, not empty, because we all fill it with how intertwined our lives are, making each person through each of our actions just a little bit better each and every day.

Life is short: show those you love that you love them.

We’ve been ready for Christmas for a while. My partner has a wonderful eye for decorating for the holidays. I tend to favor old family heirlooms that I inherited, and which decorated our family Christmas trees when I was growing up. My tastes, one could say, are odd and eclectic.

My partner, on the other hand, has style and grace. He likes Christmas trees to show some pattern of uniformity and symmetry. He has gone to stores for after-Christmas sales to get ornaments of the same size, shape, and style. For me, I don’t shop, and I don’t really want “same-same-same.” I’m the kind of guy who pulls out an ornament that had hung on our tree when I was a kid, and will wipe away a tear as I tell a story related to the ornament. I’m just a sentimental old fool, where my partner and Martha Stewart would have more in common when it comes to decorating.

Further, I grew up with having a cut “real” tree every year, or cutting our own at a tree farm. But over the last few years, since my partner’s disability has prevented him from going with me to pick out the tree, he has complained about how “funny-looking” and asymmetrical the trees were that I brought home. Having had enough of his complaints, last year I put my boot down and told him that I wasn’t getting any more cut trees. We went out the day after Christmas last year and bought a pre-lit artificial tree, which we put up for the first time this year. I’m still adjusting to it, but it looks nice, and I don’t have to worry about keeping it watered or its dropping needles all over the place. And it sure has a lot of branches for ornaments! I miss the fresh-cut tree smell, though (and artificial scent sprays just don’t do it for me.)

Our compromise, besides having an artificial tree this year, is that my partner hangs his symmetrical and well-“designed” ornaments on the side of the tree that faces outside, where it can be seen from the street. I hang my family heirloom ornaments on the inside, where I can see them and tell their stories. We are both happy.

Well, the stockings are hung, the wreaths are wrought (I mean, hung), the rest of the holilday decorations are all in place, so now it’s time to get down to baking. More on that in future blog posts.

Life is short! Show those you love that you love them!

I grabbed this photo off the ‘net, but I swear it looks just like a deer in our back yard. We call him our “uni-deer”. He comes over and eats the food that we put out for the birds, squirrels, and other fuzzy critters.

He is a timid sort, as white-tailed deer go. He takes off the moment he senses stirring from our house. I have not been able to get close enough to take my own photo of the cute little guy.

I often see him by himself… perhaps he has been shunned by the other deer who make fun of him for being different, much like the reindeer wouldn’t let Rudolph play in their reindeer games.

I saw him again this morning, after my partner put out the morning buffet. As we were doing housecleaning in the family room which has a view of the back yard, we both looked out the windows and saw him munching away with the birds and squirrels scattered around. Then I think he “felt” us watching. He looked in our direction, then lunged over the stream and bolted down the deer path.

That got me started singing The Unicorn Song that was made popular by the Irish Rovers. My partner is rolling his eyes and hoping that I’ll change my tune. LOL! I tend to sing dumb little songs like that while doing mundane work, much to my partner’s dismay. (I don’t sing quite on key whatsoever.)

Anyway, a nice diversion as we proceed with a thorough scrubbing of the inside of our house, releasing those dust bunnies to the wild.

Have a joyful day!

The title of this post is courtesy of my evil twin, Clay, of Calgary, Alberta, Canada. He is a terrific friend and warm, passionate man. And he has already been through Thanksgiving this year!

Come November 27, 2008, my partner and I will host our usual Thanksgiving pot-luck. We offer hospitality and good cheer to seniors who live in a nearby retirement community who otherwise may be alone on the holiday. No one should be alone on Thanksgiving. So for the ninth year, we open our home and welcome guests bearing bowls, plates, and carriers of food.

I cook the turkey — our guests bring everything else. That includes side dishes, breads, sweets, and for those who don’t cook or who do not want to bring a prepared item, they donate plastic plates, cups, utensils, and trash bags. Lots of trash bags. We will need ’em!

Last year we set what we thought was a record with some 90 guests. I cooked three turkeys last year — two on the day before and one on Thanksgiving Day itself, so we have that wonderful roast turkey aroma. This year, I have upped my order for fresh turkeys to four 30-lb birds. Yikes! My turkey farm buddy will bring them over on Tuesday.

We don’t really have an invitation list, but word spreads. This year will probably be a record-breaker, as fewer people are traveling for the holiday due to the sucky economy, reducing their holiday travel to Christmas or Hanukkah only. Calls and emails have been flowing, and keeping it all organized with who is coming, what they’re bringing, and when they are coming is a monumental task. Thank goodness for a spreadsheet and the Internet, where I can keep our information secure, yet available to me and my partner, regardless of location.

Lest you think we live in a mansion and can seat 100+ people at huge table at one sitting, that’s not the case. We ask people to come at different times (call ’em “shifts”) throughout the day, and spread food buffet-style in the dining room, and drinks on the island in the kitchen. Guests can mill about to pick what they would like to eat, and sing along with the piano in the living room, visit with friends in the family room, more friends in the basement media center watching football games on TV, and, God willing decent weather, spill out onto the decks across the back of the house.

I’ve learned that we need to tell them that we will offer them transportation, claiming a lack of parking. The problem in past years is that people coming for the 11am to 2pm or the 1pm to 4pm shifts didn’t leave … so by 6pm, the crowds were uncomfortably large. In the past few years, toward the end of a guest’s assigned time, one of my little elves will find the bowl or plate that our guest brought her food on, pack it with a full serving of a variety of foods from the buffet, wrap it up, bring our guest her coat, and say it’s time to go. Some leave as more arrive. But this method keeps the Fire Marshall from citing me for overcrowding. Also, giving away all the foods helps keep older people well-fed, and the leftovers to a minimum.

I am indebted to my partner for his good cheer and accommodation of our guests. He is the best host for older people — he loves to just sit and listen to story after story. Our guests love to talk, and my partner really listens. He is also a great behind-the-scenes helper, and extremely patient with me when I tell him, “gee, I can’t say no” when a new person calls to ask to come, along with “what can I bring?”

I play “swirling chef” — ensuring the foods that are brought are served appropriately, the turkey is hot and not left out too long on the warming trays, and my elves know what may need to be done next. And yeah, I will be wearing my brown custom leather jeans and tbd-brown cowboy boots, and a festive shirt for the occasion.

My “elves” — 14 of my family members; 3 sisters, 1 brother, 6 nieces, 4 nephews. Who knows, maybe even a partridge in a pear tree (with the crowds, I probably wouldn’t notice.) I am exceptionally indebted to my family who do all the “grunt work,” from picking people up and taking them home, putting their coat in one of the designated bedrooms, ensuring our guests have a place to sit comfortably and are served, if need be. I also appreciate that my neighbors help out too, by loaning folding chairs, space in their driveways for people to park, and space in their fridge for us to store our “regular food” so there’s room for the turkeys!

I couldn’t do this without my partner and my family — and that’s what Thanksgiving is all about: family, friends, good cheer, warmth, happiness, and lots of food! We give thanks to our family, our friends, and our neighbors for accepting us warmly for who we are. We ask no more.

Just see me a week from today, sprawled out on the floor from exhaustion. But it’s a good feeling to share such a wonderful day with such great people.

Once a year, it seems that the leaves on our trees fall all at once. My partner and I spent the afternoon taking care of the annual fall chore of raking leaves. It really isn’t that much, since 90% of our property is wooded and we just leaf them alone in the forest. (groan…)

But on the front and side lawns, rake we must. Blow, blow, and blow, then mow one last time. Put the leaves and grass trimmings in our compost pile. We’re done. Tired, a bit sore, but done. And great weather for it, too! It was 65°F (18°C) most of the afternoon, though cloudy.

I just love to jump into a pile of leaves… and my partner indulges my childhood memories by laughing at my silliness, and taking a photo.

Life is short: wear your boots! (and have fun!)