Chirstmas Stockings Butting Toes

Half point right, half point to the left. It’s not a political statement. Our family just can’t decide how our stockings should hang. It’s that extended family stuff, maybe, since every family has its own Christmas customs which newlyweds have to mix and match as they sort out how to accommodate all their new in-laws’ quirky holiday expectations.

It was easier when Nita made the first two pretty stockings for her new husband--me--and herself. But as two stockings grew into ten, the simplest thing like which way to point the stocking toes grew complicated. And if our offspring keep on having more offspring of their own, we’re either going to have to stretch the fireplace mantle or shrink the size of the stockings, and we all know that size matters. Who wants a Christmas stocking that’s too small for a tire gauge, or the other useful things I enjoy dropping into my kids’ stockings?

 

As to Nita’s broken arm, it’s mending without a cast or surgery, but she is wearing a fitted cloth sling cinched up tight 24/7, except during her showers. What I learned the second day, however, is there’s another treatment required for a broken right upper arm, when the arm is attached to a lifelong wearer of contact lenses who suddenly could not take out or put in her contacts with only her left hand available. The girl had to have prescription eyeglasses--that day. So, a shout-out to the Vision Works store that efficiently provided one-day service using her contact lens prescription, had hundreds of choices of stylish frames, and took our vision insurance plan.

In fact, the whole stressful broken arm episode including an ambulance ride, instant X-rays by a Star Wars-looking mobile contraption in a hospital ER, then the eyeglass shopping under duress, was a fine example of the under-appreciated luxuries we Americans simply expect. Everything worked when we needed it to, when we were short of patience, dependent on others for their services, and Nita was coping with a constant pain-in-the-arm, trying not to be a constant pain-in-the-ass to me and others.

So, this Christmas blog post is all about our blessings. Blessings for living in a place where things work, and there’s no Civil War going on, no bombing of apartments and neighborhoods like in Syria where children are being buried in the rubble of their own homes. Where Nita’s broken arm can receive immediate response no differently than if she’d suffered a life-threatening injury. And where Christmas stockings pointing both directions on a mantle still sing Merry Christmas in somewhat harmonious joy.

Enjoy the last few shopping days.