Christmas Update 2023

 Oh 2023!! How did we survive you? Let me count the ways. It has been a chaotic year, by even our standards. It has incorporated time in San Diego, where we finally (after 15 years or so) held a neighborhood gathering at our house--and met a lot of interesting new (to us) people. We traveled to Europe in June with a congenial tour group and tour director, and met up with Kay, Paul, and granddaughters Audrey and Claire in Paris. As well as some UK friends who joined us for dinner one night. On that trip (lots of conversation time) we decided that our foray into apartment (condo) living was not for us, single-level or not, and determined that we'd start revamping our plans for the future. Which ultimately occasioned another move. (Yes, we know it was well-under our usual schedule--moving every 5 years--but as we grow older, we realize that life is too short to stay someplace that isn't right for us.)

SO...we'd barely arrived home from our trip when we noticed an Open House at a townhouse development in Arnold, Maryland. Why Arnold? Well, my sister and brother-in-law (as well as my niece and her husband) live nearby on the Magothy River, and some old friends actually lived in the development under consideration. During COVID, we'd seen a lot more of my sister and BIL, and the more we thought about it, the better the idea sounded. So we re-established contact with our friends, talked to my family, visited the open house, pondered for several days, got a referral for a realtor in the area, and put in an offer. 

Then it was simply a matter of completing the deal (the owner accepted), arranging our move, getting someone to stage the condo, and turning our local agents loose. Closed on the Arnold property July 28, moved in August 1. Closed on the condo on October 30. Done.

And at this point, we have emptied our storage spaces, bought some rugs, are having the sofa re-upholstered, and are adjusting to having ALMOST twice as much room. We DO have stairs, but..we also have a ground level bedroom, bath, and sitting room with patio that would serve us well if one of us ultimately found the stairs un-doable. We are delighted with the house, our location, our neighbors, and the generally quieter pace here. 

With all this extraneous activity, we missed Chautauqua this year, but hope to return in 2024. The Folger remains closed for renovations, but is projecting a re-opening in 2024. We are not yet sure of what the future holds for the docent corps, but we are figuring out how that might work for us. Sarah and Kay? Sarah continues in her role as assistant City Attorney for Alexandria, and Kay has changed positions at the University of Arizona in Tucson. She is now engaged in a more student-focused area, pairing college students with researchers at the university to give them a better look at what to expect in that area. The granddaughters--Audrey and Claire--are amazingly teenagers, and are absorbed in all sorts of ventures. Audrey plays clarinet in the marching band, sings with the choir there, crochets up a storm, and basically keeps Kay & Paul hopping, keeping up with her transportation needs. Claire is an amazing artist and keeps us posted on her latest work whenever we FaceTime with the family.

On top of all that, JC and I celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary this fall--so it has been a busy year overall. We (fortunately) continue in good health, and are not slowing down too much (as long as we're allowed afternoon naps.) All in all, we have much to be thankful for this year, as we have had in previous years...

Needless to say, if you are ever in the area, do give us a call, a text, or an email. We are always happy to see and/or hear from our friends: east coast, west coast, or in-between. We are near Annapolis, but frequently drive back to DC and northern VA, so we are still accessible from either location. And, dare I say, San Diego continues to be a great place to visit any time of the year.

We hope you are anticipating a happy holiday, with all kinds of time earmarked for family, friends, and good times.

Mary & JC McElveen

609 Martingale Lane

Arnold, MD 21012

(Phones and emails remain the same..)

China Cupboard

Tottering teacups, stacked saucers and salad plates,

dinner plates and platters, precariously positioned

in crowded cupboards:

badges of honor for the collector.

I didn't start like this; I have accumulated--

a grandmother's silver, her lovely china,

some etched goblets, a mother's hollowware, 

a wedding-gift tray.

More place settings, more crystal

hiding in dark cupboards: the silver, 

the pewter, the china, these sine qua nons

of gracious lives that preceded ours.

People entertained, back then--

with damask tablecloths and napkins

and dinner was more than a paper-plated

offering from a grill.

 

Conversations trumped texts.

The pace was slower, the world was kinder,

and we knew what it was like

to be ourselves.

VALENTINE 2023

We have been in love so long 

we have our own vocabulary; 

short cuts to showing what’s in our hearts. 

We share our children, our family, our day-to-day

routines and conversations.

There are references no one else could fathom

and memories we hold as secret treasure,

forever full of love and laughter.

 

We have been in love so long--

we are together, and yet, apart: 

he at the library table with maps,

me in my chair with open laptop, 

sharing jokes and photos and messages,  

exchanging schedules, lists and symptoms  

over breakfast, as well as vital decisions

regarding lunch and dinner. 

 

We have lived and laughed so long that

sights and sounds and unedited opinions 

meet and meld with all our flaws and virtues--

and through it all, he is me, and I am he:

a single Valentine heart between us. 

and if anyone ever asks again that long-ago initial question--

that ceremonial and vital question-- 

we’ve been in love so long that we both would say 

“I do.”

Love and Cinnamon

 Love and Cinnamon

 

I was making a cobbler..

apple, of course.

There are always apples;

an everyday fruit, made wonderful

by combination

with other everyday stuff:

flour, butter, love, and cinnamon—

 

I was peeling apples..

a mindless task,

stroking peel into the sink:

red coins of apple skin,

piled in the white enamel sink.

A snapshot, a moment, a vignette—

enough to make me pause, to take note of 

the quotidian art in an apple peel, blending

the common with the commonplace.

Love and cinnamon, love and anything,

creating something wonderful.

Grinch

I've been opening boxes: Christmas decorations--and found The Grinch. Many of you know that the Grinch was one of my favorites (though I not-so-secretly preferred Max, his dog-turned-reindeer, who I identified with more strongly. Max was a victim of circumstance, manipulated and drawn into someone else's plans. There's something familiar about that if you belong to any organization.)

Anyway. I like the Grinch, and one Christmas, years back, one of the local department stores (Macy's?) was giving out as a premium for Christmas shoppers a stuffed Grinch toy. I spent the requisite amount at the store and came home with my prize. BUT, alas! He wasn't the Grinch I loved. He had weird eyes. Yellow plastic cartoon eyes that had no spark of Grinchiness, no life, in them.

I complained. Which is one of the things I do best. To all and sundry. Continuously. Including friends and family. And here is where my story really begins. Suggestions ranged from tossing the Grinch into the nearest trashcan. He was after all not a purchase. I didn't NEED him. I was simply disappointed in the realization of my original expectations. The Grinch should have been featured in my stairway-of-stuffed-animals that ran from foyer floor to the second floor in a sweeping curve. (I loved that stairway of be-ribboned toys and animals and monkeys swinging from the railing...)

Enter my friend, Ann. She met my complaint onslaught with total agreement, said, "Let me take him and I'll fix him." Ann, as I well knew, could work miracles. She took my wild-eyed Grinch and fixed him. I don't know how, but the plastic eyes disappeared, and in their place...? Well, somehow, the Grinch (though still a cartoon) was now real. And while his heart still grew three sizes in the story, for me, it was his eyes that worked that miracle. And Ann's hands.

What kind of friend would do that? Who would indulge that kind of frivolous wish? I think about that every year when I open the box that holds my Christmas toys and see my Grinch. We have moved since then and the two-story curved stairway is no more. Most of the animals are gone. No 10-foot tree occupies our foyer in our new circumstances. But the Grinch-- my friend, the transformed Grinch--comes out of his box for a visit every Christmas, and, though there are miles between Ann and me, and all sorts of life changes that have separated us-- though she probably doesn't even remember her bout of Grinch-y eye surgery--I remember.  I remember that there was someone who saw things through my eyes, and fixed something small, something insignificant, something altogether unnecessary, and did it for me. Small and insignificant and unnecessary as I was, Ann saw me, and always did. I never said the 'thank you' she deserves until now.

 

Losing Dad

 My father was an only child.

Though he had four step-brothers,

he was a dozen years behind the rest,

his father, like theirs, drowned in drink, 

his mother, dominant, protective.

My mother took over from her:

the eldest of nine, she ran his life

as she had her siblings.

We all knew she was the boss,

but, oh, we loved our dad.

I was his fair-haired girl,

was sweet and smart and

(affirmatively) Daddy's girl.

Until.

There was no money for college, so 

I won a scholarship.

No room or board, so

I lived at home.

There was no money for grad school, but

there was a fellowship.

But I needed a signature, and he said no.

We argued; it would cost him nothing, but

he refused.

I stormed upstairs and packed a bag,

going anywhere but where he wanted me to be:

under his roof, under his thumb.

My mother caught me and asked what I needed.

She signed.

I left for grad school that fall,

and nothing was ever the same.

I never asked him for anything again.

I pitied him: a selfish man who could not see

beyond himself.

I was not hostile, not angry--

just no longer his.

Heritage

 I don’t remember stories at bedtime,

Or goodnight kisses, or anything much beyond

“Clean your plate” or “Time for bed.”

My mom was not my friend;

She gave orders.

I never thought she liked me much,

or I, her. My sister was first,

my brother, the long-awaited boy.

I was just...there.

 

She’s gone, now; and I

don’t think of her every day,

don’t even miss her that much.

She is not a constant presence, 

a voice in my conscious thoughts.

But, as I walk my neighborhood,

I find myself naming hostas and smoke trees,

cannas and daylilies,

hydrangeas and portulacas...

 

I know them all:

those names my mother taught me,

the gift bequeathed to me alone, 

as I sat atop the flat brown rock

in her hillside garden--

her third-best child,

surrounded by her violets;

me, there, in her garden,

among her other loves.