Doug Monroe's OPENLY OLD

So This is Christmas

This was a wonderful Christmas.

I felt fortunate to be alive for this one because I spent Thanksgiving in the hospital with Toxic Metabolic Encephalopathy – acute inflammation of the brain. I experienced hallucinations involving UFOs and the Pope and I spent the night in the psych ward.

They sent me home the next day.

I also have painful swelling in my feet, ankles, and calves. The doctors thought it might be cellulitis, but later decided it was venous insufficiency. The veins in my legs are too small. I am waiting for an appointment with the vein doctor.

I still have cognitive issues a month later, so my psychiatrist’s P.A. won’t let me drive yet, which doesn’t really matter because somewhere along the way I lost my wallet with my driver’s license, Medicare card, ATM card, etc.

I have a home nurse who monitors my pills once a week. A physical therapist visits twice a week to help me improve my strength and balance.

Rescued

My daughter Caroline and her husband Joe, who live in nearby Monroe, and my son Matty, the Philadelphia lawyer, have helped me immensely.

Matty gets food delivered to me from Kroger. I even had hallucinations about that, screaming to him that a crack whore had stolen the steaks from my delivery. Matty had not ordered steaks.

I recently began decluttering my rented duplex in west Athens through the Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning, which I described in a previous post. Caroline sent her housecleaner and paid for my expensive prescriptions. Joe bought me a new dryer and a recliner.

I had been buying gifts for my grandchildren all along. For Madoc, who is 11, I wrapped a drone, some exercise equipment, and a set of U.S. Mint coins. For Chloe, who is 5, I bought a plush Tigger, binoculars for birdwatching, a non-girly wooden tool kit, and a coin set.

My former wife, Mimi, sent me a little Christmas tree, so my place was quite festive when Caroline’s family arrived from Monroe, about 20 miles away. I am grateful to have a cordial relationship with Mimi, 30 years after our divorce. She also had food delivered to me.

The Subaru Arrives

When Caroline’s family pulled into my driveway, the kids ran in to look at the gifts. My home was clean and festive, with flowers and the Christmas tree.

We went to Peking restaurant on Atlanta Highway for a Chinese lunch that was delicious and fun.

We opened presents at home. I gave Joe a vintage three-volume set of H.L. Mencken’s “The American Language.” To Caroline, I gave an arrangement of Christmas flowers.

Caroline gave me a gift card for groceries at my neighborhood Publix. Madoc got me a Bulldog coffee tumbler. And Chloe gave me the most surprising gift of all: a “talking” doll that she picked out because she said, “It looks like Papa!”

It was “The Dude” from “The Big Lebowski,” which is the highest compliment ever.

I served hot chocolate and egg nog. Then they took off to Mimi’s nearby apartment.

They celebrated Christmas at home this morning opening Santa’s gifts and then head to Loganville for a big family gathering at Joe’s parents’ home.

I usually go to my sister’s home in Lilburn for Christmas, but we are postponing my visit until she can pick me up on Dec. 31 to celebrate the New Year and watch them Dawgs smush the Ole Miss Rebels like bugs.

The Ghosts of Christmas Past

My parents, Winnie and Currie, always outdid themselves at Christmas.

My sister, Trisha Campbell, and I cherish the memories of Mama and Daddy loading us into the back seat of our two-door 1948 Plymouth in our pajamas and driving down Peachtree Street to see the lighting of the Great Tree at Rich’s Department Store in downtown Atlanta. Daddy got us close enough to see the spectacle. Cars were lined up for blocks.

Lumberjacks felled the giant tree in the mountain forests of North Carolina, hauled by truck to Atlanta, and lifted by a derrick to the top of the bridges over Forsyth Street that connected the store’s two buildings.

Choirs lined the tall glass windows of the bridges and their voices rose in Christmas hymns until they hushed and the Great Tree suddenly exploded in bright holiday lights.

We rode home to our duplex in Peachtree Hills, set out Santa’s cookies and milk, and ate some of our own. Mama and Daddy let us watch NORAD’s TV reports about Santa’s progress and then tucked us into our beds and woke us a few hours later, whispering “Santa came!”

We raced to the stairs and clambered down until we could see the tree. We could only gasp. I remember seeing the shiny red Raleigh 3-speed bike that I rode until the wheels fell off.

One year, Santa delivered a Lionel train set. Daddy built a big wooden table in our shared bedroom. We created a little village for the train to pass through and played “People and Deeple.” That was a game involving little dolls riding the train. I came up with the name. As I’ve previously mentioned, I was an odd child.

Trisha remembers rushing into the living room of our next home in Collier Hills and seeing stuffed animals, a dinosaur and a bear, which changed colors as she lifted them away from the lights of the trees.

We both have vivid memories of getting a giant tape recorder that we played endlessly. The first song we recorded was “The Little Drummer Boy.” Ah-rum-pum-pum-pum.

Christmas at Nora’s

Our favorite Christmas memories came from the Christmas Eve celebration with our maternal grandmother, Nora Bettis Black, the person I loved most on this planet.

Nora lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment on the first floor of a beautiful old building at 1410 Peachtree Street, near Pershing Point, where Peachtree and West Peachtree meet. It was torn down to make way for a non-descript office building, of course. That’s the Atlanta way. It makes me sick to go back there.

This picture shows the West Peachtree entrance to Nora’s building. A friendly black woman operated the old-fashioned elevator. Nora always made her a plate of food. The woman helped Nora play “The Bug,” an underground lottery game based on the closing numbers of the Dow Jones Average.

Nanny and Fanny and Myrtle and Marshall

Nora’s mother, our great-grandmother Nanny (Nancy Belle Isle Bettis), was in a hospital bed in Nora’s bedroom. Her sister, our Aunt Fanny (Fanny Lee Bettis), was in a hospital bed in the living room.

Both had been felled by strokes.

For Christmas Eve, Nora applied makeup and Shalimar perfume on Nanny and Fanny, as well as herself. When Trisha first bought perfume for herself as a teen, she unconsciously chose Shalimar.

We arrived first and I immediately dug into the chocolate Turtles in a little brown bowl. We were followed quickly by Nora’s younger sister Myrtle and her dashing, handsome, hilarious husband Marshall Barrett, our family’s one great athlete. Marshall was a tall, muscular redhead who had played sports at Tech High when he was growing up. He signed a contract with the Cincinnati Reds as a junior in high school but tore up his knee playing football. He became a scratch golfer and was so good that he was often invited by members to play the Masters Course in Augusta.

One year, Marshall brought the record of Andy Griffith’s “What It Was Was Football,” the classic comic recording that led to Andy’s acting career.

Myrtle and Marshall smoked unfiltered Camel cigarettes that smelled so good that I smoked them on and off for years. I’d like to have one right now.

Then we ate.

You could feel the steam coming out of the kitchen. It’s hard to describe a Southern grandmother’s cooking except that it is the ultimate soul food: turkey and dressing, fried chicken, ham, mashed potatoes, green beans, squash, butterbeans, casseroles, biscuits, and sweet potato pie. The food smelled as good as it tasted.

When every morsel was gone, we retired to the living room and opened our gifts. I still wear the Christmas sweater Nora got me from Muse’s at Lenox Square when I was in high school. That’s it in the Peking restaurant picture above.

Another year, Nora gave me a beautiful London Fog raincoat with an inner lining, also from Muse’s.

She could hardly afford these gifts. Nora operated the mailroom for the State Highway Department and received her husband’s tiny pension. He was a patient in the Bay Pines Veterans Hospital in St. Petersburg, Fla., having served as a pharmacist in the Navy and Marines. He was so old that he served during the Boxer Rebellion in China.

And that, in a nutshell, is why I love Christmas.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you and yours. God bless us everyone!

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