Twas The Season

Sacramento has come to offer respite; to offer resurgence of spirit and hope. I am assimilating to a new life. I still always ask myself if this is my destination of permanence, if this where I ultimately belong.  This remains an unanswered question.  But I have discovered a charm to the community, a solace in its parks, and a beauty to its old, quaint neighborhoods. Like any city, it offers its challenges. But I have navigated through the unknown and, through familiarity of routine, I have found my patterns and places of comfort.

Many have kindly asked how my first Holiday season went in Sacramento.  I am happy to share that it has gone well. Here is my Christmas story…

In the past I have always reveled in the Holidays. I collected antique Santa's, ornaments, nutcrackers, garlands, etc., etc., etc..  My home was a bountiful Christmas wonderland. Now, I have passed most of the grand decorations onto my daughters—some they use and some still remain in boxes. Honestly, it is hard for me to see my treasured mementos evolve from defining images of the season and family to relegated storage and packaged insignificance.

But so much has changed. The family house is gone and the children have their own homes and families. Life moves on. I have found myself wondering if one of my grandchildren will one day find the old Nutcracker or the antique Christmas book and restore each to its revered, significant prominence. Just as I have found my Mother’s old Portuguese grammar book, blue and white vase, and glazed bowls. There is hopeful resurrection to memories and traditions.

For the past three years, my “surviving” decorations lived in the old, dank basement of my Father’s home in San Francisco. My mother was gone. My brothers moved on with their lives. I was focused on building a business. And my father’s anger and selfish bitterness restricted any signs of celebration.

I worried about my boxes as they weathered burst water pipes, the damp coldness, and the occasional scurry of a mouse or two. Nothing about their basement storage was pleasant. So I chose not to look upon them. Out of sight, out of mind. No chance to be sad. And…I spent my Holidays working and/or visiting my daughters in their new lives. There was joy in that. Being with my family brought me comfort of continuance and the unspoken ability to escape the reality of the painful struggle that became my final years in San Francisco.

But this Christmas, I was free of the pain. I was in Sacramento. So I was going to get a tree. I was going to decorate. Not in the grand manner of bygone days but nonetheless determined not to let another season go by without my treasured souvenirs of the past.  I decided to return to the nursery where I bought my roses in the summer. There I found a four foot tree and it was perfect.  As I reached out to get it, another couple was considering it as well. We both grabbed the base at the same time. Politely, I asked if they were going to buy the same tree.

Immediately, the wife was telling me how this year she was not going to get a big tree. “It’s not that we cannot afford a large one but it’s just my husband and me and we are considering going small this year.”

I wanted to tell her that she is lucky she can afford a bigger tree, that at least she has a husband, and, just give me my damn tree, lady! But, thankfully, she let go and off I went, downscaled but happy.

Yes, this little tree was not like the grand ladies of the glory days but I loved it. And, as I unwrapped each ornament, I had a sweet reunion. Each had a story and reminded me of a friend or family member. It warmed my heart to reminiscence.  Soon, my collection of antique Santa's found its place beautifully underneath. From the dining room table to the kitchen counter, my decorations were out of hiding, out of the gloom of the recent past, and filled my little corner of the world with festive beauty.

In my discovery of favorite parts of Sacramento, I found a wonderful hardware store that reminded me of my childhood. So that was my next stop. I spent hours wandering through their Holiday fare, nestled in between the nuts and bolts of their main inventory. It was like stepping back into 50s. I left with lights and batteries, Christmas presents, and candles. Yes, it was truly beginning to look a lot like Christmas—my kind of Christmas. And, once strung outside my patio, my lights looked magical. One of my neighbors came by to investigate. She told me I inspired her by such loveliness. I was becoming my old self again!

And, guess what…things kept getting merrier. I even entertained…from a lovely new neighbor with whom I immediately connected to dear childhood friends to even my brother who kindly ventured from San Francisco with his family. And my daughter came with her family on Christmas day and, for the first time in years, I cooked for them. And we even went to see a movie, Mary Poppins.  I laughed when my youngest granddaughter asked me why my tree was so small. I was touched when my brother said he really loved seeing the home I created. I was honored to receive gifts sent by friends that reflected such caring and thoughtfulness—a fashion calendar, a treasured souvenir from Italy, decorative pieces that acknowledged my love of travel, fashion, and cooking. 

So, in the aftermath of a (finally) joyous Holiday season, I acknowledge that life in Sacramento is coming along.

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As I mentioned in an earlier blog, I have a part time retail job in a small boutique. It has introduced me to very interesting people and situations. I enjoy my hours there. Serendipitously, I am also meeting people from my past. College friends whom I have not seen for decades have fallen into my path. At this point, not sure if these relationships will blossom but it fascinates me to reconnect and I continue to be amazed at the surprises. Everything happens for a reason.

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During the month of December, I was interviewed by the SF Gate—the online version of the San Francisco newspaper, the Chronicle. I was excited to share my story of a late in life, starting over adventure; of leaving what was once home and being alone, solo in a new place. I also thought that being featured in the city paper would be great exposure for my writing and would bring new readership to my blog. During the interview with the young reporter, I initially treaded cautiously. But, as the conversation developed, it seemed she understood and responded with a perception that seemed to align to the underlying messages of my writing. At the close of our discussion, she asked for a timeline of my life, which I immediately sent. I asked to read the article before it was published.

Three days later, I awoke to messages from friends that I was in the paper. Though I was disappointed that I did not preview, I was excited to read the final piece. And then...BOOM! It was not as I had hoped. I was misquoted, misinterpreted, and even misrepresented. The reporter had a spin and she ran with it. There was nothing I could do. It was out there for public viewing. 

The cover photo for the
published piece which ran with the title
"I lost a dream: Why an immigrant
who found herself in San Francisco
had to leave 60 years later"

And then I made an even bigger mistake. I read the comments section that followed the story. And the remarks were merciless. There were harsh deductions on my character (What?! I am a whiner?!), my mistakes (Of course, I should have invested more wisely!), and even my looks (So sorry that you saw me as a spoiled snob!).  I was stunned. I took it poorly. My friends had to talk me down off the ceiling.

Do note that I did receive personal correspondence from understanding, supportive readers. I was happy to discover some even went to my blog and read it. Very grateful and amazed at their generosity and empathy. But, in general, I wanted to defend myself against the naysayers. I wanted to demand a rewrite. I wanted to explain. Damn it, I wanted the mean ones to read my blog!!!

But then…I stopped. I realized I took a risk, placed myself in the vulnerable line of fire, and I had to face the consequences. It was done and could not be undone.  Honestly, I became philosophical of the value of my sharing and I ultimately questioned my decision and ability to write. I had to decide what to do next.

I have a story that I want to tell. In fact, I have many stories and I love to write. It brings me challenges for growth, an outlet for expression. Though it is personal, I hope the readers find the blog interesting and that underlying messages will resonate to their thoughts, feelings, and situations.

Solo in Sacramento will continue.

I am sincerely appreciative to you, my reader, for believing in the value of my words. You have given me purpose and allowed me to follow a dream at a time when possibilities and adventure seem futile.  I am hopeful for 2019. And, I wish each of you peace, purpose, and passion in the new year. Thank you for sharing in mine.

My Holiday card-A reflection of the season