Christmas Comes In All Packages

We had a poor man's Christmas this year. Moving into a new house was an expenditure extraordinaire, so we decided to forego any presents and content ourselves with good food and company. My brother and sister-in-law brought us a small basket of goodies and our good friend Monica bought us western style stockings, but that was the only exchange.

Most of the boxes of the move had been unpacked, but the living room was still a mess. The greater space of the house allowed us to empty the two storage sheds that were costing us an arm and a leg every month to maintain. It was the temp controlled type, and they...of course...are the more expensive. These sheds kept  all of Mom's things that she had given to our daughter. I mean all of them. Furniture, piano, china, silver, crystal, etc etc. In addition, they stored things we had packed long ago and sealed. Several of these boxes contain Lulu's collector Barbie Dolls. Some are as old as 1982, the year she was born. It became a fad in the family to buy her these dolls, and it was her decision to keep them all in the box and untouched by human hands. In about twenty years, Amanda might be able to get rich quick.

So, yesterday we began to delve into these boxes to see what we could throw away and what was worth keeping. That was when we had a different kind of Christmas.

I found a baseball that mother had kept. In 1960, the Astros were called the Colt .45's. One day, the St. Louis Cardinals came to town and Dad got tickets. Back then, there wasn't that much separation between the players and the fans. You could see a lot of them in the parking lot, making their way to the stadium along with those attending the game. I was only four, but mom recounted the story several times as I was growing up. There was a gaggle of teenagers surrounding this one baseball player for the Cardinals, hammering him for an autograph, his cap, the ball he was carrying, his glove, you name it. As he was walking by, he didn't see me for the small crowd and bumped into me. Mom said he leaned over and said, "Sorry little fella", and handed me his baseball. Mom watched him walk away and noticed the number on his jersey. She bought a program and found his name. It was Duke Carmel. Even though he was only in the majors about five years, and never put up any Hall of Fame numbers, Mom wrote on the baseball, 'Given to Bob Coward by Duke Carmel, St. Louis Cardinals, 1960'. I hadn't touched that ball in thirty some odd years and it brought a joy to me that I can't explain for me to look at Mom's writing and touching something so happy in my memory banks. I found out that Duke Carmel is still alive at the age of 76. I doubt he plays baseball anymore.

My wife discovered her matchbook collection that exceeded several hundred. They are old, but in great shape. I looked up matchbook collectors on Google and found out they even have a name for it. Phillumenist is how I believe it's spelled. Anyway, some of these dudes sell for as much as thirty dollars. We will be sorting through them in a few weeks to see if we have any hidden treasure.

I pulled out of one box a set of hospital scrubs. I noticed some writing on the right breast and it read, 'Labor and Delivery' on the first line, and then 'Beaumont Medical Surgical Hospital' underneath. These were the scrubs I wore in the delivery room when Amanda was born, twenty-three years ago next month. They looked as new as the day they were packed.

Each box my wife and I reached for next was opened with more and more excitement, and none of them disappointed. I found the small collection of photos of my first visit to Paris that I had thought were long lost in a former move. There I was at the top of the Eiffel Tower. A sweet couple was kind enough to take my picture. I found what used to be my favorite T-shirt and it was still in good condition. It was given to me on my fortieth birthday and said, "In Dog Years I'm Dead". I have it on right now. I love this shirt.

It humbles me to know that when we think we can't afford Christmas....it can be delivered to us from the most unexpected places. No, these presents weren't giftwrapped and they weren't the latest gadget to come from the minds of insane gadget engineers. These presents were reminders of our days past and how the good times do....after all...outweigh the bad. I know who gave me these presents. And I just wanted to tell Him....thank you.