A Message from Your Very Recent Past

By G. E. Shuman

                When you read this in the paper, you will learn that you and I, right now, from both of our perspectives, are actually in two different times. We aren’t in two different time zones, not unless you live further west than do most of my readers. We are, literally, in two different times.  You see, you, as you live and breathe in the day in which you exist, ‘right now,’ are on the other side of a great divide that separates us; me at this writing, and you at the reading of it, by that magical millisecond after the ball drops, the horns blow, and the fireworks blast off proclaiming the beginning of a brand new year.

                You see, I am still in the year 2015, as I write these words, and you are not, as you read them.  I am writing on Wednesday, December 30^th, 2015, and you are reading this column ‘next year’, from my point of view.  I am way back in ‘last year’, to you.  Isn’t that strange?  Okay, so maybe it’s only me that is strange. I do have a different way of looking at things sometimes.  I remember hearing a comedian one time, joke that people always want to see a picture of him ‘when he was younger.’ His reply was that EVERY picture ever taken of him was when he was younger.  I guess that’s the same concept as with me, now writing to you from your recent past, isn’t it?

                Anyway, there you are, way over there on the other side of the divide, and here I am, still in 2015.  From our opposing viewpoints on things, you can look back at me, imagine me writing this column, right now, where I am, and, more importantly, WHEN I am, and wonder a few things that people always wonder about at the time of year you are in.  You may wonder how the year 2015 could have been different, how it could have been better.  You might think of things you did or didn’t do, and decisions you made or didn’t make, in this year that I am still in, as I write.  You may be happy that the old year is in the past; you know, the old ‘Out with old, and in with the new’, idea.  But, whatever was done with my still present year of 2015, it’s over for you now, and not one thing about it can be changed.  Nothing can be changed in whatever you did, or didn’t do, while you were here with me. I once heard one of the wisest men of our time, The Reverend Billy Graham, say about a person’s past, that, and I quote him, “You cain’t unscramble eggs.”  (The ‘i’ in the word can’t is intentional, as that is how he said it.)

                 I, on the other hand, look ahead at you, and I mean straight at you, and wonder about the future.  What great things, and not so great things are YOU going to accomplish in 2016?  What person are you going to vote for and help elect to be the next President of this great land of ours? What school or church are you going to attend?  What are you really going to do with those New Year’s resolutions you made, just days ago? (From your point of view.)  (I’m lucky, I haven’t even decided whether or not I will make a resolution ‘this year’… and still have a few more hours left to think about that.)  What changes might you make in your work life, home life, or spiritual life in your brand new year?  Another sort of paraphrased quote, because I don’t know the source, simply says, “If you find yourself heading in the wrong direction, remember, God allows U-turns.”  I love that one.

                So, I will leave you now. I have to finish up whatever I’m going to do before I join you over on ‘the other side’, in that new calendar year called 2016.  Save me a spot over there, if you would.  I hope that you will please remember something else when you think about what you might do in the coming weeks, months, and years of the very precious

life that you have been given.  It is one more quote, and it is a REALLY important one:   “Though no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending.”- Carl Bard.  So, my friend, you lucky person who is actually living in ‘my future’ world of 2016… what will YOUR “brand new ending” be?
               Hey, wait for me… I’ll be in 2016 with you before you know it… and in 2017 before you can even comprehend how quickly that next new year came, and then, how quickly it went. For now, I will just say: Happy New Year! (Whatever new year it is.)

Stringing Popcorn

By G. E. Shuman

When I was a child, a long time ago, in a galaxy far away, many things were different than they are today. That statement seems to go without saying, but I still said it. The world has changed so much since then.  Traditions, celebrations, and even seasonal decorations are not the way they once were. I’m not sure if such changes are good, or bad. I will tell you that I was not impressed with the first ‘pre-decorated’ Christmas tree I saw in a store.

One thing that my family used to do, when I was a child, at this time of the year, was to string popcorn to use as a sort of garland on our Christmas trees. I’m not certain if we did this every year, but I do remember the ritual taking place several times in the eighteen Decembers of my youth.  What would happen is that my mom would pop a big batch of popcorn on the stove, provide us children with a needle and a lot of thread, and we would proceed to spend that evening watching whatever Christmas special was broadcast that night, assembling the corn into long strands, to be placed on the tree as soon as we were done.  The challenge, at least for us younger children, was to string at least a bit more popcorn than we ate, as we watched Rudolph, Frosty, or Charlie Brown make their once-per-year Christmas appearance on the big old, wooden-boxed television in our living room.

It would be an extreme understatement to say that things have changed in my life, and in our world, since that long ago time. This year, if you were to describe my Christmastime, you would have to move, not only past that child of the sixties, to one whose years now number in the sixties. You would need to talk about the fact that not only have I grown older, but that my children have also, and that my grandchildren are in the process of doing so, too.  The TVs that Rudolph and Frosty still appear on have gone from being clunky, blurry, heavy things which took up a good amount of floor space in our living rooms, to inch-thick, huge and brilliant devices we take for granted as they hang on our walls.

Yes, things change, as years pass.  There is no longer anyone in our home who believes in Santa, or who is interested in many of the traditions of that jolly old elf, or of our family. This year, Lorna and I decided to embrace that fact, as fighting it would be stupid and futile.  We still went out and bought a tree, but a much smaller one than at any Christmas past, in an effort to simplify things, this year. We, without the fanfare now relegated to seasonal memories, set up the smaller tree in that familiar corner of the living room.  Lorna, the wise one in the family, then suggested that we use some of our older ornaments, sort of making this tree a symbol of memories. She then went to the attic, and located those things, and also the angel treetop her family had used on their trees, since she was an infant. She brought that aging angel to me, and I tried plugging it into an outlet. To her and my astonishment, the 1950s era bulb within it glowed as if it were brand new. We immediately put that beautiful, angel on the tree.

After that, Lorna began fretting a bit over what would be the perfect garland on our new, ‘old fashioned’ Christmas tree. I didn’t know what she wanted to do, and we actually went to several stores, trying to find a beaded type of garland she had remembered from the past, but we never located it.  We then checked the totes of Christmas stuff in the attic, and found nothing suitable there, either. Then, in probably the only good Christmas idea I have ever had, I asked Lorna if she had ever strung popcorn, as a child, to put on a Christmas tree. To my amazement, and partial delight, she said that she had not. The fact that I wasn’t aware of this, in the life of my wife of 43 years, was astounding. The idea that she agreed to string some popcorn with me that evening, was even more so.

So, that very night, I went to the store and got two boxes of microwave popcorn, even as my dear wife located needles and thread.  When the corn was popped we turned on our favorite shows, and then strung it into what turned out to be the perfect garlands for our wonderful, old fashioned, Christmas tree.  

            When this issue of the paper is published, it will be nearly Christmas day. When you read this column, the holiday might actually have already passed. So, it is very likely too late to ask you to try decorating your tree, in an old fashioned way,

as we did this year. That is fine, as next year will be here before you know it. As you look forward to the new year, you might want to consider the idea of simplifying, and retro-fitting other holidays with just a few things from the past. Some of those things really are worth doing again.  I got to spend an evening watching TV and stringing popcorn with my best friend.

You Will Not Hear It Fall

By G. E. Shuman

          Something is coming to New England, in a very short time.  We receive it every year, and if it has not arrived by the time this issue of the World is published, don’t worry. It will be here soon enough. You probably are already aware that the ‘something’ I’m referring to here, is snow. 

          Snow first appears in the North, each late fall or early winter, almost in secret. Weather experts tell us, and are sometimes right, when the first or the next snowfall will happen, but it can still often take us by surprise. I still remember, as a child in Maine, being so excited to wake up some crisp late-fall morning to discover that the first snowfall of the year had come, softly, silently, as I peacefully slept.  I always think, that when that clean white snow first comes, it arrives, as the fog in Carl Sandburg’s poem “Fog”, “on little cat feet”.  It does not make a sound.

I began thinking all of this through, a few days ago, as I worked on my old snow blower, under the carport.  Each year I try to get the aging machine ready for the huge amounts of snow we usually receive here in Vermont. This year I decided to get it a bit more prepared than I usually do. The machine is showing its years a bit, just as am I, and as things age, they need a bit more care. (I hope my wife reads that.) The snow blower has rust, and some moving parts that don’t work as well as they used to years ago.  I can identify with those points, also.  And, to my shame, I changed the old machine’s oil for the first time yesterday, and installed a brand new spark plug.  Sometime in the next few days I intend to remove a bit of the rust, and spray paint some places, to provide some protection, and, hopefully, make it last a few more years.

I installed the plug, filled up the gas tank, and prayed that the blower would start, which it almost immediately did.  Only then did I remember how much I appreciate, but somehow hate the grating sound of that engine, as the device it powers helps me rid my driveway of the silent white stuff.   What a contrast, I thought, between man’s machines, and the effortless occurrences of the natural world.  My noisy, greasy, man-made thing, opposed, in more ways than one, to the silent white blankets of snow that it will soon encounter.        

My faith makes me believe that a big snowfall is a sign of God’s power, in effortlessly blessing, or hindering us, depending on your feelings about snow, with many tons of frozen water, without making a sound.  Our world meters all of this out to us, one flake at a time, because the land needs the moisture. It is a medicine which we need, and take, willingly or not so willingly, each winter.  It comes, and it will always come, but you will not hear it fall.

Rain arrives in the other seasons, and often beats the ground, splashing into itself, in the very puddles that it forms. It is a sometimes comforting sound on the roof, and then it immediately rushes to streams, rivers and lakes.  It is not the same with snow.  Yes, sleet and hail can noisily pound on your frozen windshield in winter, but not snow.  Wind whips around our homes, vibrating old window panes, seeking to enter at any spot that it might, but it’s not that way with snow.  Snow comes, but you will not hear it fall. It then waits patiently, to fill the waterways when warmer weather arrives.

This winter, go outside during a fall of snow, and just stop. Don’t talk, don’t look at your cellphone, and for a moment, don’t even breathe. Be still, and listen.  You may hear cars, or someone else’s cranky old snow blower in the distance. If you do, even those

sounds will seem quieter, more distant, and muffled, all because of the blanket of white on the ground. Unless there is wind, the new snow will drop softly, silently, in peaceful stillness, straight down to the earth. You will see it, and you might feel it on your face, but, love it or hate it, you will not hear it fall.

“Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.”

(Robert Frost)