Christmas morning I was walking to Sabra's house to see the boys opening presents. The sky was spectacular! Pinks in every shade, shimmering whites mixing in, a panorama of color and light. Entering Sabra's house I said, "You have got to see the sky..Granpa Bunny outdid himself." One of Maria's favorite Golden Books was Grandpa Bunny, about an old rabbit that showed the children how to paint Easter eggs. When he died, the children missed him, but everynow and then the sky would be lit up brilliantly and the children knew that Granpa Bunny did that for them. That's how I felt yesterday morning - that sky was a gift to us.

Then in the afternoon the family came for turkey dinner. Later, Regina was sitting in the rocker in the living room, when all of a sudden she said, "I just love Christmas", another gift for me. Merry Christmas everybody.

Two Ciancanelli Christmas family stories. The first one is Santa Mouse. When the kids were little we used to take them to Stickles' store in Rhinebeck to buy their presents for the family. Each was given $10 and they would roam the store, seeking just the right gifts for their family and maybe a friend or two. One year Sabra brought herself a gift, a little mouse dressed like Santa. After shopping we went to Foster's to celebrate with lunch.

When we got home and opened the bags, no where was Santa Mouse to be found, it must have fallen out of the package in our travels. Sabra cried and I promised to go back to Rhinebeck and get another mouse as soon as possible. Well, it snowed for the next several days, and when we got to Stickles, there was no Santa Mouse left. I tried to talk her into another decoration, but she wanted Santa Mouse. "Let's go to Foster's for lunch," I said, trying to cheer her up, but she just gave me the "face", still off we went to Foster's. Crossing the street, I glanced in the gutter in front of the restaurant and something red caught my eye. I bent down, and sure enough, it was Santa Mouse, flattened from being run over and parked on, all wet from the snow. But Sabra was in heaven - I promised to dry him out and maybe I could make him a new coat, and I did. He still was flat, and certainly looked as if he been through what he had been through, but he was hung proudly on the Christmas tree, not only that year, but every year after that...The Santa Mouse miracle - found after all those days and how you can get what you want if you want it badly enough and believe.

The second story is Christmas Party at school. Paul was probably in first grade when the note came home that there was to be a party and each boy should buy a boy gift and each girl a girl gift to exchange on that day. The note indicated that the gift should be under $2. So Paul and I looked through Stickles, I being very careful to make sure the gift was close to $2 and finally settling on something that was $1.99. Proudly, I felt, that is as close as you can get under the limit. We wrapped it, labeled it "boy" and Paul took it to school on the last day before Christmas. I wondered if the boy who got the gift would like it, appreciate my generousity, going right to the limit. When Paul got home, I eagerly asked to see what he had received. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a beat up, worn matchbox car. "Is that it?" I asked disgusted that someone would wrap up something so old and scratched. "Yes,"he answered happily, "Jimmy gave it to me. It was his FAVORITE toy." I was taken aback. Boy, was my face red. Those little first graders had a better understanding of Christmas than I had. I wiped a tear, and told Paul that Jimmy was right, that is the BEST toy anyone can get. And like the grinch, I think my heart grew three sizes that day.

Christmas shopping - with these knees I can only do one or two stores at a time. Years back with the three older kids in school, I would put Sabra in the car and start off for Kingston to do as many stores as possible. Sabra was a squealer though, had a great memory, and would tell her sisters and brother about my purchases, so I had to go prepared.

We had a game then, "Beat the Clock", also a TV show, in which you had to do stunts while the clock ticked off...probably a lot like "winitinaminute", or whatever that show on TV is now. Anyway, part of the game was a blindfold that the person would use and try to do some stunt, like pile blocks or something. I would bring along to the store the blindfold, and get Sabra settled in the cart and then put the blindfold on her eyes. I would be putting games and toys in the cart, carefully covering them with my coat, in case she peeked. But she never peeked. I think the kid liked the game herself, and would keep up a coversation, "How much longer?" "I'm hungry, can we get something to eat?" Other shoppers smiled at us. She did look cute, a little kid blindfolded talking all the while I filled the cart. What a clever idea they seemed to think, as we proceeded to the checkout counter.

We would end up at Britts, a really nice store that was as close to Macy's as we had in Kingston at that time. Very nice clothes, a good fabric department (I was sewing then) and best of all a restaurant...not like you find in Sam's Club or Target - frozen pizza and three day old hot dogs, but a real restaurant, with soups and sandwiches, small pots of tea. I would get a soup and chicken salad, and Sabra would get a grilled cheese sandwich, with chips and a pickle. "Now this lunch is our little secret", I would whisper to her and she would nod agreeably. But then when the bus dropped off the older kids that afternoon, the first thing out of her mouth was "MOM AND I ATE OUT". Thank God for that blindfold I would think.

Moving Day 1967, 43 years ago today we moved to Tivoli - weather wise it was a day much like today, clear but cold. The excitement had been building for weeks, as I packed the boxes for the trip, labeling each - Kids' clothes, kids' toys, Linda's clothes, etc. The boxes were lined up in the downstairs hall, waiting for the big day. We were leaving 66 Beacon Street, home since before Maria was born. We lived in an upstairs apartment, one apartment on each side of the hall, the same downstairs four in all. The downstairs hall had boxes from the floor to the ceiling by the time moving day arrived.

Sunday after Thanksgiving was the day, not sure of the date, but this is the day I celebrate. We had rented a moving truck, with an automatic lifter on the back, for the refrigerator and other large pieces of furniture. Bill Olah entertained the kids by riding up and down several times, making appropriate, or inappropriate noises. Maria was 5, leaving her first school, Laura was 3 and Paul was only 2. I was to drive them in the station wagon, which was loaded up also and had a canoe tied to the top. This was to be my longest drive ever since I had only received my driving license the summer before.

We set off, a small caravan, me in the car with the kids, Bill in his car, and Joel driving the van. I think I warned the kids to be really quiet, they were probably sitting in the back seat, although Maria might have been up front with me...no carseats, seatbelts or airbags to worry about in 1967. The drive seemed forever, just over an hour, but I was glad to see the turn for Clay Hill Road, and into the driveway we came.

Jane, Bill's wife, was waiting for us and everyone explored the house up and down, easy to do, it was two rooms and a bath downstairs, and one big bedroom, one tiny bedroom and regular size bedroom upstairs. Jane had brought sandwiches and we sat on the kitchen floor eating them, with the heat blowing on us from the radiator. I don't remember the unpacking, all the work of moving. I do remember later that afternoon, with no curtains on the windows yet, we watched our neighbors decorating a large cedar tree in the front of their house for Christmas. They had a boy a little older than Maria, and two teenage girls, "babysitters" I thought. They argued about the placement of the lights, not enough green, or yellow, etc. But it felt right, sitting in that open living room, my first home with my family, as excited and happy as my kids. I still love it.

Today would have been my neighbor Angelo's 84th birthday. Angelo was the kind of man you wanted for a neighbor. We shared a lot of good times, good laughs, and I still consider him one of my best friends. This time of year especially brings back the memories because Angelo and I celebrated Halloween every year - each trying to trick the other, each getting into outlandish outfits or situations to do so.

There would be a loud knock at the door, and there would be Angelo, dressed in women's clothes, or dressed like a bum. He always disguised his face with a veil, or a hat drawn way down, so I never was quite sure if it was him at first. One time he came in dressed in heavy clothes, disguishing his body, and wearing big old fashioned galoshes. He never talked, didn't want to give away his identify with his easily recognizable voice. So, he handed me a note. On it was written, "AFRAID OF AIDS, WEAR RUBBERS". Now, I got a little worried, what if it wasn't Angelo but some demented Halloween killer I had just let into the house? He went right into the living room which was lit only with a candle near the bowl full of candy and started to empty all the candy in his bag. But he didn't know that we had an extra prop in the room. From behind the curtains came Timmy's loud and stern voice "TAKE JUST ONE" and Angelo fell back into a chair, holding his heart. We all had a good laugh at that.

Once I dressed up like a pirate, full pirate mask on my face. I had Timmy drive me down the street, so Angelo wouldn't see me cross Clay Hill to his house. He didn't recognize me, I think he had been looking out of his window to see when I would leave the house, so the entrance from down the road confused him ...and I got him good.

My kids all loved Angelo. Laura would picture her ideal parents as being my sister Maureen for her mother and Angelo for her father. When Maria lived in the Bird's Nest she and Angelo would meet at the mail boxes, right after the mail delivery. They kidded each other about how important their job was, getting the mail. Paul spent time with Angelo in the back shed, looking at his collections. Angelo collected hub caps, which he sold to people seeing his sign on 9G. One time a nun bought a hub cap from him and he put it on her car. I always wished I had a picture of that nun in her full habit and Angelo on his knees, putting on the hub cap. One time our guests in the Bird's Nest said to me, "We saw the most wonderful thing today." I thought they meant a bird, or deer in the yard, but they had wandered across the street and Angelo had given them a tour of his hub cap collection. They were from England and thought this was grand.

Angelo was a little hard of hearing, so often instead of yelling to each other across the street, we would pantomine a discussion. I would look up at the sky, raise my hands , like what is it going to do today? And Angelo, would pretend to put up an umbrella, or break into a big smile, arms out like he was sunbathing.

Oh, we had good times, right up to the end. I would go stay with him from seven in the morning until his nurse arrived around eight. We were alone for that time, and he could be open with me about his illness, which he always tried to keep from his children. One morning he looked at me and just said simply, "I'm going to miss you." For a moment, I was thrown. It sounded like I was the one going away, and then I understood what he meant. "'l'll miss you too, Angelo," I answered, and then we went on to another subject. And I do, especially at Halloween.

Back from Oysterfest, six days at Wellfleet. Years ago, probably at least 6 now, one day Ria and I took Ava and Regina to Duck Harbor during our summer vacation. The girls were in a bad mood and they kept fighting and bickering, until Maria couldn't stand it anymore and drew a line down the sand. "Here," she said, "Regina, you stay on this side of the line and Ava, you stay on the other side." The kids mumbled, but obeyed, each going on their side of the line drawn in the sand. Regina went off a ways, but Ava stayed near the line, bending down into a huddle. She picked up a stick and was making marks in the sand. Curious, I went over to see what she was doing, and saw that she had written in the sand, "I miss my hole family". Now I thought this was pretty spectacular, the kid was only five, and the only mistake was the hole for the whole. I showed Ria and we discussed it, because Ava was there without the family she lived with...she probably did miss the hole. And that's how I was feeling this past week, like I was missing my hole family.

Oh, Timmy was there with me, we did crossword puzzles, sat in the sun, ate at the Lobster Pot, but something, just something was missing. I know it was my family. Maria always came out with Regina, and Laura, Michael and Atticus had made it out too. My nephew John and his family would visit for a day, but this year there was no family. Even at the Oysterfest, something was off...my friend Jackie and her husband would meet us there, but that ended when Jackie died two years ago, the summer after Maria.

My hole family...missing the W and then I thought a W is an upside M...M for Maria. This only made it worse, but things changed Sunday morning when I went to Mass. The church is almost brand new, Our Lady of Lourdes in Wellfleet. Entering, the first thing I saw was a giant seashell filled with holy water to dip ones fingers in. I sat down on the pew and then the next thing that caught my eye was the stained glass window over the altar...It was a W and a M combined. (Like in Mad, Mad World, I felt like I had discovered the "THE BIG W" that they were all looking for where the treasure was buried.] The W and the M.

I don't know what the symbol means, I couldn't find it on the internet..but it is definitely a W and an M interwoven, with a crown on top and flowers on either side. The W missing in Ava's sentence found the M that I was missing. It was wonderful and my outlook on life changed - I went back to the cottage and the yearly road race had started. I clapped as the runners went by and they all gave me big smiles, peace signs, yelled thanks, it was heartwarming. One woman went by and as I clapped she broke into a big smile and yelled "This is my first race", "You're doing great," I yelled back. I tell you seeing that M and W together was a dam breaker. The world seemed right.

Later, I told Timmy, maybe next year, if there is a next year, we will rent a really big house so my hole family can come out and join us. What do you think?

Yesterday while leaving the Street Painting, Regina and I passed through the old Methodist Church yard. "Linny," she asked, "why do churches always have windows you can't see through?" My first response was "to keep the devil from looking in", but then I thought and said, "or to keep the people inside paying attention, and not looking out the windows." Today at Mass, the priest talked about stain glass windows (a coincidence that is occuring so often any more that I don't even question it).

The priest said that during the Renaissance, when churches were being built all over Europe, most of the parishioners could not read, so the windows became the story tellers of the Bible, of the life of Christ, etc. St. Sylvia's has the sacraments on the side walls. My usual seat is near confession...one half of the window shows Jesus forgiving sins, the other half of the window shows a man in a confessional booth with a priest. I don't know if they even do that now, go into the confessional. You used to go behind a curtain, waiting your turn, making sure the person ahead of you had left. The confessional booth had two sides, the priest sat in the middle with a little window he would open on one side, hear the confession, close it tightly (you could still hear the loud talkers) and open the other. That was a dramatic moment, the moment you heard the window open, the Latin words being spoken by the priest, and then "Bless me father, for I have sinned..." No turning back, but I bet many wished they could bolt out of that box.


My last confession was face to face and it had been so many years that the priest had to keep urging me on, "work with me Linda". I was shocked. Confession when I was a kid was one sided, your recital of everything bad you had done...you told the priest your sins..if you didn't give a number, or a vague number like "a few" he would stop - almost visibly hold up his hand, "how many is a few? More than five, more than ten?" pinpointing it down, while you wished you were anywhere but in that booth, with that man. Oh, it was an ordeal - confession. Something the kids today probably don't even know about. If they made that stain glass window of confession today, it would probably be a priest smiling, with little birds singing and rabbits jumping, like a scene from Snow White and the confessor wearing a big smile.

Laura did a Street Painting yesterday that looked like a stain glass window. It was of God creating the world and he is pictured with an instrument actually designing and measuring the details. Sabra and Tony did a woman being hugged by a bear, Regina did birds in a tree and I did the Guinness Toucan bird, with "A lovely day for a Guinness" above a colorful Toucan balancing a pint of beer on his beak. I wrote "For Margaret" on the bottom, because Margaret did this bird with me in 2002 in the Black Swan patio. She also did one of Regina and did the first one ever with me on Clay Hill Road of Mona Lisa Rabbit. Margaret was a great artist and a great friend. Street Painting Day has so many memories of her, Maria, of all those years my family worked so hard with me on this event. Trish spoke with me yesterday, saying all that I put into that event, but I responded that I got so much more out of that day than I ever put into it. And I surprised myself because I really meant that.