Noel Novelties

Celebrating the holidays, with some adjustments for beloveds working through the aftermath of a stroke.

The skinny new Christmas tree fit just within the height of the living room atop the end table, with its floppy tinsel star topper skimming the ceiling.

After Papa Rooster's stroke, we had to make some adjustments to the usual Christmas rituals at the Mothership, but, happily, we were able to keep a lot of the elements of "our" Christmas. And, we even tried out some holiday traditions that were entirely novel to us.

Before it got its glow up.

We debuted a new skinny tree that had already been in the wings to replace the artificial tree that served the last few decades; it was a Sissy Buy Nothing score after last year's Christmas season. Skinny is simply more in scale with New York City living; even though the Mothership is a standalone house (rare-ish for the city), and in quasi-suburban, relatively spacious eastern Queens, it's modestly sized compared to mainstream American homes that host the vast majority of the tall and stout Christmas trees on the market. The skinny tree is just less intrusive of the living room footprint. And the old tree was starting to shed as many needles as a live one, so the skinny tree had been primed to succeed it anyway. That its stage was the top of an end table on level with the sofa, though, was a post-stroke decision to leave more floor space for Papa Rooster to navigate with his walker or cane.

How grateful we are that Papa Rooster is progressing, and that we were all in a state of mind for holiday celebrations, period. In some ways, we needed the holiday decor and normalcy to boost his spirits, to shift the focus away from the things he can't do like he used to - yet. 

The main gifts for him and Mama Hen (as in recent years past, wrapped in the holiday fabrics returning for repeat duty under the tree) were tech gadgets that will make it easier to detect falls and summon help; tips picked up from other sandwich generation friends with more experience keeping tabs on their own aging parents. A self-driving vehicle wasn't in the budget this year, but now that the idea is lodged in my noggin, it's on the back burner list for whenever one of our vehicles bites the dust.

The stockings were hung by the stereo with care - having migrated from the less accessible stair railing - but still staged near the backdrop of the classic televised Yule Log of old...

... opposite the skinny tree that still held my most favorite soldier clothespin ornament by Lil' Bro, and a childhood-painted Snoopy one, amongst all the other usual tree baubles, ...

...erected near the window adorned with the decades old Rudolph and Santa, lit through the evening late into Christmas Eve...

... after our Reveillon meal (we usually have Vietnamese)...

This year, in adding to the Yule Log, we had Carole and Paula from The Magic Garden Christmas, harkening back to the original days of the newly trendy again Gen X-cess decor with its fully saturated colors and trees and interiors. I mean, our family never wavered from that look; stick with something and it's bound to be fashionable again at some point.

Completely new for our house was the ginger toast house trend - less sugar than gingerbread cookies (sugar is a no-no for the stroke-inclined); I just need to figure out the icing consistency and get a proper tip....

... And then there were the sweet roll faux sufganiyot - this one worked quite well, and will definitely make a future holiday appearance. Yummy, scummy! 

So not eliminating sugar altogether, just aiming for less.

Going for all the fun, more sensibly and in line with what our challenges are today.

Winter Solstice, and Soups

First freezing snowfall and warming winter soups.

Snowy sidewalks - before I shoveled them extra well, knowing Papa would soon step out. I needn't have worried, considering how well he did.

The first measurable snowfall yesterday, and the frigid temperatures, arrived perfectly aligned to the solstice. We coped with soups at the nearest Vietnamese spot.

Bún bò Huế for Papa.

In between, I shuttled Mama Hen and Papa Rooster to an early morning appointment (that clarified my need to get more involved overseeing their affairs) and to run errands, notable for Papa's insistence on eschewing the walker in favor of using only a cane, an especially encouraging development considering the slushy and slippery sidewalks. Another sign of progress: his stamina to be out for hours. 

Maybe because he gets out and about so much less than he used to, he also demanded that we have lunch out - at the Vietnamese place near them that caters more to the local (scarcely Vietnamese - I know of only us) crowd. Mama seems sometimes slightly put off that he'd choose food below her very demanding standards for Vietnamese over home cooking, at which she excels. I'm fairly ambivalent - I suppose I've been out of the house for too long, and am ok if I get anything that resembles Vietnamese, recognizing the value of convenience and accessibility when I am unwilling to put forth the effort. Papa seems mostly drawn to lively atmospheres (he adores Applebee, where he insisted we eat last weekend; he took the walker then, when Mama thought he might need the wheelchair) - and an Instagram search to tag this place shows their strategy to fill the void of places for the millennials and Z'ers to hang out in this otherwise sleepy corner of Queens (I mean, they're in Williamsburg, too, for crying out loud).

Phở for Mama.

Anyway, we each got different soups; mine hit the spot - a warm reward for a Saturday morning's first day of Winter extra effort. All coping mechanisms for the Winter doldrums are welcome in these parts! Seasonal affective disorder is real.

Curry soup - thrilled for the vegetarian option!

As a postscript to the doldrums, Sissy, who has been in Florida for her bf's birthday, let us know that his mother was hospitalized with a suspected TIA - uncanny. 'Tis the season for parental plagues for us X'ers.

But now, the days start to get longer!! Gradually, a little more light each day.

Maybe Papa's progress can match pace (by nightfall, he was able to climb into his own bed - that of the super thick mattress set high atop the traditional box spring) and there will be another small celebration when the next solstice comes around 🤞(with a return to more normal household routines - WFH and vacation days used for working from home and vacations, or our own catch up housekeeping, rather than round the clock vigils to prevent falls and stroke-proofing the Mothership; but how thankful I am to have transitioned to a workplace where I feel supported to exercise the flexibility to participate with the sibs in all of this, and not just delegate to them). 

Papa said at lunch today that when he is recovered, he will host his friends at today's lunch spot; inshallah, as my Bird Nerd friend would say - Inshallah!

Fallen

Fallen leaves, fallen people.

The last few evenings' rain and wind have brought down most of the remaining leaves, plastering them to wet sidewalks.

A few weeks back, though, before the freezes, when drought felt much more prevalent, full Autumn was still in the air and the fallen foliage crunched in the best way underfoot, a crispy carpet on the Mothership lawn - likely to the chagrin of Papa Rooster, who in normal times would have raked them almost the moment they had landed.

But he, too, had fallen, several times, and after the second discharge from the hospital over a four night stay, was confined indoors - he, and all of the rest of us, navigating his new limitations around the weakness to his left side. Standing, walking, chewing, speaking were out in those early days, to say nothing of leaf raking. (Some measure of those abilities have since been regained with the start of physical and occupational therapies.) In his questioning - why this, why him? - he has arrived at an answer: The days before it happened, he had raked large piles of leaves, gone around back to get a bag, and upon returning found them blown about by the wind, and absentmindedly he cursed the skies and the gods for ruining his work, and so all of this was his due punishment. Sweet Papa Rooster.

And so it was that those several weekends ago he had to suffer from inside the house the sight of his lawn being left deliberately leafy for insects and others to have shelter over Winter, for the foliage to feed the lawn, lightly neatened only by raking up some small heaps into planting beds for natural mulching and fertilizing by me, his crunchy eldest, imposing upon his front yard the newfangled philosophies of minimal, nature-mimicking lawn care. And as I did it, I daydreamed about ridding the Mothership of much of its lawn altogether, in favor of native options to feed the pollinators... but stopped myself from getting too far ahead; I foresee, I hope, for more, more years and years of this being HIS lawn, raked his way, by him, that this Fall will turn out to be but a mere interlude, and I but a premature interloper.

We were fortunate (the doctors have said that of course no one wishes a stroke, but if one had to have befallen, this was the stroke to have). Years and years more would be fortunate. As I typed, I paused and chose carefully, for a decade might be Icarian; I am old enough, have been for a while, to know that people, as the leaves, have their seasons.