happy deliveries

The fed-ex man just came and he had two things for me!  The first package was an envelope from my lawyer and in it was the Porcupine movie contracts along with a check! Wheee.  I consider this movie money, mad-money.  Meaning I can do anything I like with it, since I hadn’t planned on it to meet my year in year out expenses.  Not only that, but if it hadn’t been Rosie, I’m not sure I would have agreed to sell the rights or have written a screenplay in the first place.  So this money isn’t going to be deposited in the bank used for something noble and serious, because good-grief I do way too much of that as it is.  And this money isn’t going to be invested in something that will compound and grow over time.  I am too practical as it is.

I’ve decided to spend Rosie/Porcupine money on making our living space more beautiful.  I’m going to splurge on a new family room seating arrangement.  And I’m going to get this beautiful sideboard to make the kitchen table area even cozier than it already is.  And last but not least...I need a place to store all my manuscripts and works in progress, and works completed.  I had it all set up in my old house because my writing room was actually a bedroom and I used the closet with the built in cabinets and dresser drawers.  But in this new house...nothing.  I was using an old china cabinet, but it’s looks odd and doesn’t have quite enough storage places, and I’m having to double decker things.  SO, I’m going to use my Rosie money on a beautiful set of bookcases for my writing room!  And then every time I look at these things I’ll remember what bought them and feel a happiness in my belly. 

Now, the second fed-ex package, that brought joy of a different kind.  It was from my daughter, Emily.  And it was full of beautifully wrapped presents, (that I didn’t open) and a card, that I did.  I know I was supposed to wait until Christmas, but I think the customs guys opened it already, because the flap was up, so I figured it didn’t count, because I didn’t have to rip anything, it was just lying there, open already saying “read me.” So I obliged.

The card was very beautiful and the sentiment inside, even more so.  I read it twice, feeling her filling the room, and then I slipped it back into it’s envelope and tucked it under the ribbon of a present.  And nobody will ever know that I snuck read her Christmas card early...(Of course they will, my children and my husband all read this blog from time to time.) It’s fun pretending to be sneaky. 

I remember when the children were little.  They would spend hours lying on the floor on their bellies, pajama clad.  Rattling, shaking, feeling the lumps and bumps of the mysterious presents lying under the Christmas tree.  Trying to figure out what the camouflaged shapes were.  The excitement, the impatient waiting, little feet dancing and counting down the days.  The creche with Joesph and Mary and the little baby Jesus.  The cow and donkey to be placed.  Moss gathered from the woods to make the manger more comfy.  The three wise men ladened with gifts and their camel would start their journey on the other side of the room, and the shepard and his sheep would becoming from a diffferent direction and each day the children would move them a little bit closer to the manger.  Until finally, they would arrive! 

Christmas time.  So many memories.  For me, the before, the build-up, the dreams of what might appear on Christmas morning, that was always the best part as a child.  The most magical.  The “maybe” and “what-if” possibilities are what made it such a special, special time.  That and all the singing we did in our house, crowding around the piano while Mama banged away at the key board, all of us singing carols together, getting dibs on our favorite kings.  Our meager harmonies and Mama’s lush ones swooping and soaring around our heads.  They had a professional soloist singing at the Christmas evening Will sang at.  She was a mezzo soprano and one of the songs she sang was “Holy Night.” And she sang well enough, with feeling and all.  But listening to her, I was listening to my mother as well.  And it was my mother’s voice I was hearing, from when I was a child.  The sound of her singing this song, because this professional, highly sought after singer, didn’t hold a candle to what my mother’s voice could do.  And I thought about how sometimes when we wanted a good laugh, we would pretend to be Mama and sing it LOUD in opera style.  But when I was sitting there in that hard pew.  It was like I was hearing my mother sing that song for the very first time.  A grown woman listening, not as an embarrassed child wishing her mother wouldn’t open her mouth so wide, didn’t sing so loud.  As an adult I sat there last week, in stunned, humbled silence, because in that moment, I realized just how amazingly beautiful my mother’s voice truly was. 

Posted by Meg Tilly on Tuesday, December 18, 2007 in

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