Another Christmas has been unwrapped, but before the night ends, I thought I’d share one of my favorite family stories.

I first published this in 2014, and it still makes me smile.
—

Each year as I pull out the ornaments for our Christmas tree, I smile when I come upon a yellowed receipt from the old Hechinger hardware store.
 The fading numbers tell a story that has become a Kress family legend, a tale of persistence, wisdom and one amazing deal.
 It was Dec. 21, 1998, and the sun had long since set. (I know this because the receipt reads: 12/21/1998 19:35:53.)
 As happens to many parents of young children, we still weren’t quite ready for all things Christmas that year.
 So it came to pass, with just a few nights to go, we piled the kids in the car and took off in search of a Christmas tree.
 Our first stop was a traditional one: a local firehouse that sold trees as a fundraiser. Sadly, we found their doors shut; no tree to be had.
 Next we tried a local high school that had sold trees in the past. Again, no luck.
 On we drove to a nearby produce store, known for bounteous supplies of all things green. Alas, they, too, were closed.
 Feeling a bit desperate, we assured our son, 11, and daughter, 8, that indeed, a tree would be found.
 I can’t remember who thought of Hechinger’s, but that’s where we headed next. During the drive over we heard these wise words from our son in the back seat:
 “Maybe next year we shouldn’t wait so long to get the tree.”
 Ah, yes. That does sound like a plan.
 The good news was that Hechinger’s doors were open, and they did have Christmas trees for sale. We found a small pine that spoke to us (“Take me home!”), and I heaved a sigh of relief.
 While my family headed to the car with our tree, I went in to pay. The sign above the tree said $3 plus some cents. I figured it was the price per foot, and did the math: 5-foot tree, $3 plus … roughly $20. Not bad at all.
 The cashier rang up the sale and said:
 “That’ll be $2.65.”
 “What?” I said, a bit confused. “Are you sure?”
 “Yes. They’re on sale.”
 Amazing.
 That little Scotch pine (again, the receipt fills in the details) served us well, and we happily decked it together in time for Christmas.
 Days later, I noticed an odd green/blue tinge on some of the branches. On closer inspection I could see that it was paint. As in spray paint. Apparently our evergreen needed a little help to live up to its name. (And who among us doesn’t, now and then?)
 So there you have our most excellent Christmas tree adventure. Such is the stuff of family legend, a story told and retold fondly.
And worth so much more than $2.65.

 

Let there be lights.

Winter reintroduced itself to us yesterday in classic fashion:
“Remember me? Snow, ice, temperatures in the 20s? It’s been awhile.”

The good news is that the shortest day of the year is behind us, and we get to keep the sunlight a little bit longer. The sun set at 4:38 p.m. yesterday. Today it held on until 4:39!
I’ll take all the light I can get, especially since November.

Now here’s a thought:                

“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

There’s light in those words, spoken in the 1960s by Martin Luther King Jr. and inspired by a sermon given in the 1850s by Theodore Parker, an abolitionist minister. Both men were inspired by earlier writers, and by testaments new, old and even more ancient.

So, yes, the arc of the moral universe has been bending for a very long time.

Almost two months have passed since the election here, and I’m grappling with the feeling that the arc may slam into a stone wall. I will leave political analysis, autopsies and strategies for other writers. That's not why I'm here.

When I started this blog, I wrote in my profile that I "look for momentary joys." I’ve rethought — and reworded — that sentence today, because I realize it’s not quite true. I don't look for momentary joys — they’re already all around me. I just have to notice them.  

That’s why I’m here.

To that end, I’ll share a few I noticed recently from behind the wheel:

• Driving west on my way home from work, about an hour after sunset … Trees stand like sentinels in the lingering light, bare branches reaching up against a sky of dusky blue.

•  Cresting a hill in twilight … I slow, then stop my car for a gathering of suburban deer. A doe stands solidly in the middle of the road, looking calmly, and directly, toward the headlights. Three or four young ones mill around her, then trot up a hilly yard to the left, heading to the nearby woods. Spotting four more cautious types in the trees to my right, I creep slowly down the hill to let them cross in peace, and rejoin the party.

• Mid-morning, pulling out on a small side street … I spot a squirrel — and a flash of red — bounding across the road just ahead. I squint. What is that hanging from its mouth?

          'Tis a festive coffee cup, complete with white lid.

           I guess even a squirrel can use a coffee break — especially when you're hauling around something almost as tall as you are long. Impressive.     

---

As we wrap up 2024 and head into the great unknown of 2025, may we all find light, hope and joy  — and not lose sight of that arc.