A Fresh Look at the Nativity

Everything about Bootsie exudes originality. In considering the four children in her family, we have, at different times, referred to this energetic first-grader as "the quiet one," "the devious one," "the helpful one"-- and the list goes on.

Although Bootsie is not the only one of the foursome to demonstrate talent in the visual arts, you can always depend on her artwork for a certain--well--the best word I can think of is quirkiness. Nowhere has this ever been more apparent than in the one-of-a-kind Christmas card she drew for Pa-pa last month.

But wait--let me prepare you for Bootsie's unique spin on the traditional nativity scene in small doses. Here she is at Googie's on the day after Christmas, showing off an angel she captured in blue dry erase marker on marker board.

As you study this drawing, you are likely to notice in short order that Bootsie's angel does not appear to be addressing shepherds in the field keeping watch over their flocks by night. She does not seem to be singing "Hallelujah!" or anything else, for that matter. No, not quite.

It is unmistakably apparent from this thoughtfully-drawn piece that this angel suffers from a bout of the stomach flu. Euphemism aside, this angel is throwing up right there in the highest or wherever she happens to be at the time.

What we have here is a biographical influence at work. Bootsie herself had come down with the bug just four nights earlier, and two nights later her brother Pooh had done the same. Knowing this helps us understand why the artist chose to place this angel in this particular predicament.

Interestingly, Bootsie's manger scene, a graphite work on the cover of Pa-pa's Christmas card, is not so conveniently explained. Here is that masterful piece, followed by a few appropriate words of review.

At first glance, the scene is familiar and predictable. The tableau is complete with stable, star, Mary, Joseph, and the Baby Jesus. The Baby lies smiling on a manger bed; Joseph sports a staff and a beard; a sheep looks on.

And then you see them--the animals on the periphery of the drawing. Standing by Mary in complete wonderment and awe is--a chicken? And if that is not enough, peering in from the other side (outside the stable, fortunately) is none other than a dinosaur.

If you ask me, Bootsie's work of art is at once simple and profound. It juxtaposes anachronistic concepts of time. It surprises and delights.

With a creativity that even the artist herself can't realize, the drawing incorporates the unusual into the familiar in a way that evokes emotion and thought. It may exhibit a minimalist technique, but I look at it and see nothing but joy.

P.S.: It came to my attention some time after this writing that the questionable animal visiting the manger is not, after all, a dinosaur. It is a cow. My bad, and my apologies to the artist.--Googie

Pooh's Haunted Castle

Take a clean white sheet of paper and a pencil. Add creative children mixed with a little holiday vacation time on their hands, and what Googie gets are imaginative, delightful keepsakes from last month's Christmas. They are more than enough to lend some much-needed warmth and cheer to the sub-zero temperatures that have socked in with a vengeance here at the northernmost tip of the Missouri Ozarks.

One of the neatest things about the Christmas just past is the fact that, for the first time, the three oldest grandkids gave me and Pa-pa gifts they had made themselves. Sooby, 10, made a bright multi-colored tissue paper flower, complete with the scent of her mama's perfume, that I stuck in the dirt alongside my Christmas cactus.

Pooh capitalized on his love of Hardy Boys mysteries to write five "chapters" of his own story, Fred and John in the Haunted Castle. Either because he got tired or because he ran out of time, Chapter 5 ends with a cliffhanger that, in an introductory note, Pooh instructs me to resolve and finish.

I may not be entirely objective, granted, but the story so far seems pretty advanced for an author who is in only the third grade. Consider the following synopsis.

Fred and John (last name--Scott) are contacted by police chief Francis Key. (Am I the only one humming "The Star Spangled Banner" here?) The chief has received a call from millionaire theatre owner Jim Divenport, who reports his concern that a medieval castle on his New York (a state older than we previously thought) property may be haunted by his ancestor, King Robert. And just like that, the Scott brothers have a new case to investigate.

The brothers then accomplish the one-day drive from their Colorado home to New York (hope they had a radar detector), where Jim greets them with an English accent and has his butler (uh-oh--a suspect already?) drive the three of them to the castle (by a lake, of course) in his luxury limousine.

"It was a large stone castle," Pooh writes. "High turrets stood at each of the four corners. Mr. Divenport inserted the key into the rusty old lock and opened the huge wooden doors." Then, a few lines later, "Suddenly metal walls slammed down in front of all the exits." At the edge of your seat? Read on.

Warned by a mysterious, threatening voice that there is no chance of escape, the boys note with dismay that Jim has disappeared and a rusty piece of metal, which turns out to be an ax, protrudes from the dirt floor near them. After a struggle to retrieve the ax (reminiscent of a scene from The Sword in the Stone), they find a secret tunnel, accessed by a now-collapsed trap door, where someone truly sinister has stashed Jim.

It is then that Jim lets the boys in on a family legend. He speculates that robbers have used the ax to break the trap door and search for the fortune in gold thought to belong to the royal Divinport family of medieval times.

At this latest plot wrinkle, Fred declares that a stakeout is in order for the evening. But just as the boys are lifting Divinport from the hole, "BANG!!!!!!! A shot rang through the air." Clearly, the Divinport heir and his two youthful sleuth buddies are under attack--but a quick survey of the immediate area turns up no one.

And this is where the story, in its present state, ends and Pooh's note comes in. "Dear Googie," he says. "I wrote this book myself . . . . I made it in a special way where you can finish it. Love, [Pooh]."

In my opinion, Pooh's idea of joint authorship sounds like tremendous fun, so I will pick up the story where he left off, all right. I am thinking perhaps a flashback of some sort might add some depth and background and, maybe, lead him to consider a new fiction technique.

Then, when Pa-pa and I go to his house to celebrate his ninth birthday with him in a couple weeks, I will throw the ball back in his court and tell him to write the next part. There are quite a few pages left in the little 6 x 8-inch notebook. Who knows what drama and skullduggery might ensue?

Charming as it is, Pooh's creation is not my only Christmas keepsake. His younger sister Bootsie drew Pa-pa a Christmas card that depicts a delightful manger scene--and I'll bet my boots and yours there has never been another quite like it.

But I'll save that story for next time. Right now, I have some other important writing to get started on.

Co-author of Fred and John in the Haunted Castle

Unwrapping Christmas

I think it must have been the tree--the seven-foot-plus Kennedy fir pre-strung with 600 multi-colored mini lights to illuminate our new home with holiday spirit. Or maybe the inspiration came from the move itself, with its promise of a chance to regroup, re-settle, re-think priorities, and, in essence, reshape our lives and lifestyle in these retirement years.

Whatever the reason, I decided right after Thanksgiving that THIS Christmas would be different. This year, I vowed to do away with my usual "Ebenezer Scrooge" Christmas mindset and give the season its rightful due. I would embrace every preparation it demanded, right down to the sprinkles pelting my last sheet of sugar cookies.

So, in record time--pay attention, Guinness people--I finished the shopping and sent out cards to inform everyone of our new address. I bought the new tree, put it up, and dressed it in all the old family ornaments that surfaced when we moved. I cooked an early Christmas dinner for Pa-pa's brothers, then wrote and directed a play for the church kids.

By this time, I was unstoppable. I saw a professional production of A Christmas Carol (Scrooge reformed in that one, too), drove through the light displays down on the harbor, and went to a couple Christmas parties. Finally, and still a good week before the big day itself, all I had left was wrapping the presents.

Now normally, in my former life as Scrooge, this would involve throwing the presents for each grandkid in a big holiday bag and calling it good. This year, however, I swear that my gorgeous tree, from its perfect place there in the great room corner, whispered to me, "Wrap! Wrap! I am too beautiful for cheapskate shortcuts. You must wrap!"

A trip to yet-unpacked boxes in the garage led me to three unopened rolls of blue and white snowman wrapping paper from various years of my former life. Three hours of deliriously happy snipping, folding, taping, and ribbon-curling later, my new tree looked like this.

For several nights afterward, with Pa-pa already down the hallway dreaming of sugarplums, I sat up in the tree-lit living room by myself, admiring my work. There were 36 presents in all, including four--wrapped separately but bundled together with ribbon--for each of the six grandkids.

Fast-forward to Christmas Day, with the traditional holiday meal devoured, the dishes in the dishwasher, and the kids piled in the floor with their stacks of presents. "Let's open them one at a time," someone said, creating a delightful alternative to the massive, chaotic upending of six huge bags.

It was great fun to watch the suspense build and the surprise register as each gift was meticulously unwrapped. At ages four through ten this year, the kids were old enough to be patient and wait to unwrap their own next presents in turn.

For me, it was a fitting culmination of a season in which I, too, had been patient enough to give each preparation its own time while contemplating its own special meaning in the sequence of all things Christmas. This year, unlike many before, I unwrapped the Christmas season myself in a way that helped me see it better, appreciate it more, and actually enjoy it.

Yesterday I packed up the ornaments and took down my beautiful tree. I hit the after-Christmas sales for deep discounts on cards, wrapping paper, and a few new ornaments. Instead of feeling only exhausted relief that the season is over, I surprised myself by beginning these modest preparations for next year.

I have found--or perhaps re-learned--that the weeks leading up to Christmas do not have to bog down in a tiresome flurry of obligatory activity. Begun early and savored one at a time, each preparation for the season can be a mini-celebration of its own.

This new year, I resolve from here on out to allow the Christmas season the joy it deserves. In that regard it would seem that I, like Mr. Scrooge himself, have some lost time to make up for.