I Love you Card made by Kira & Grange Simpson
As the holidays approached, Barry was being extremely patient with me, so early one Saturday morning I telephoned to tell him not to come in; it was time to repay the favor. Although he protested, I think he was relieved. As our spouses will readily affirm, holidays or not, a full weekend away from the Twin Rocks trading post is a rare occurrence. Whether this is the result of poor planning, bad habits, fear of renewed poverty or workaholism, I have never been able to properly determine.
That particular Saturday, the store was bustling with people smiling, shopping and humming Christmas tunes. Just before noon, two ladies came in, looked at beaded earrings and said they would be back after lunch. An hour later, the telephone began ringing just as they returned.
Things at the family business had been a little frustrating, so I was somewhat abrupt when I picked up the telephone only to hear dead air. “Hello,” I said for a second time, in an impatient tone. The fragile voice on the other end of the line asked for “Barry-Steve.” “This is Steve Simpson,” I responded as the earring ladies impatiently waved their hands in the air, signaling me they needed help; right now.
“Steve Simpson, this is Harley Spitler,” the voice said. Although it usually takes at least one rendition of Jingle Bell Rock, by Bobby Helms; God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen by Sarah McLachlan and the Barenaked Ladies; and Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer, by Dr. Elmo to put me in a holiday mood, Harley’s voice instantly did the trick. My disposition greatly improved and I felt Christmas surge through my veins. Although my feelings may have been nothing more than the sugar rush from a half dozen recently consumed cookies, I think it was genuine red and green emotion.
Asking if he would hold for a minute, I walked around the counter to service the two ladies. As I circumnavigated the display cases, I worried I might lose him; Harley is notoriously intolerant, and his lack of patience is compounded by frontal lobe dementia.
In a minute I was back on the telephone and relieved to find Harley still there. He acknowledged me with his customary greeting, “How are you my old friend?” “Much better now that I hear your voice. How are you?,” I responded, explaining that I could not express my happiness at receiving his telephone call. He was happy, I was happier. Santa had sent me a truly superb gift.
At our house, we have several degrees of Santa conviction: Dacia thinks she knows the truth; Kira seems to know, but has determined it is in her best interest to play along; Grange is a true believer; Jana is a mystery; and I understand that Santa is only one small part of the overall drama.
As Harley and I began to wind down our conversation, he said, “Merry Christmas, I love you.” Now, Harley being Harley and Steve being Steve, this was a truly extraordinary moment. In our family, men have an enormously difficult time expressing love for one another, so I swallowed hard and said, “Merry Christmas, I love you too.” The words flowed much easier than expected, and again the Christmas spirit gushed through me, informing me that Harley, and life in general, was teaching me an important lesson and giving me a great gift.
With a little help from Santa and Harley, this year I may find it easier to tell the people in my life how much I love and appreciate them. So, here goes, Happy New Year, I . . . , well you know.
With warm regards,
Steve, Barry and the Team.
Copyright 2007 Twin Rocks Trading Post
No comments:
Post a Comment