I Can't Believe It's Not Butter

Sorting through papers and notebooks, I found this would-be Christmas Letter-one of 8 that I never sent.  Why weren’t they sent?  Well, it’s complicated, but this one made me smile.  

Christmas letters typically do not contain the ugly, the brokenness of a year, the trials, and failures.  They contain the shiny, the beautiful, and sometimes the nauseatingly paraphrased lives of our loved ones, seemingly with no flaws, and no cobwebs in the corners.  We have cobwebs here, and sometimes more.

Unsent letter #6, 12/26/11

I really thought that this year we’d be on time.  OK, I hoped we would at least get them out, the cards.  I fantasized about learning to scan or download pictures in “the Letter.” I am writing low-tech on a notepad given as a stocking stuffer to my boys last year, the chaff of Christmas past.

The Holiday season began with cleaning the hutch.  

The kitchen has been under deconstruction since last year.  Two thirds of the floor is torn up.  The cupboards have been stripped and repainted.  A half wall seemingly attached to the very foundation of our home was sledge-hammered out by my burly and determined hubby.  

We hired an electrician and a plumber and moved, then replaced the (original to the house) broken electric stove with a new one with gas burners--ooh aah.  We also installed a plank ceiling to hide and hold up the cracking plaster that had started to lose its battle with gravity.

Dust is everywhere, hence the hutch cleaning.

The silver was dingy, the crystal smudgy, the candle sticks tilted awkwardly- perhaps from the earthquake in August, or perhaps from burly guy and I pounding and scraping and cursing at the floor.  

The somewhat brittle 50 year old linoleum 4 inch tiles pried off in pieces to expose a 1/8 inch layer of tar which had to be melted with a heat gun, and then scraped off quickly while still hot.  I am convinced we are headed toward cancer due to the volatilized toxins from the tar.  

Next is a layer of glue all swirly over the virgin red oak floor.  The glue was removed using a stripper (of the chemical kind).  After that I scrubbed the floor over and over and over to remove the sticky slimy feeling of deconstruction.  Someday, it will be lovely.  Today it is not.

tarnished and smudged

So…dust…hutch…and oh, what did I find during the deep clean?  I opened our smudgy tarnished silver butter dish, an heirloom from my hubby’s grandmother, and what to my wondering eyes did appear but a bright yellow rectangular object, without even a smear.  This bar of disturbingly bright yellow matter did not smell and held its’ shape disturbingly well.  I had two thoughts: 

butter or margarine? 

I reasoned that it had only been there since Easter, because somehow, I thought that should make me feel better!  No, I remembered we stopped eating margarine from January through June when our youngest son went on a wheat, egg, soy, and banana free diet.   This was supposed to cure him of repetitive behaviors, whining, and lapses in memory.  Instead he obsessed about the foods he couldn’t have, whined more, and I lost my mind.  Since margarine is made with soy, it was banned. 

That leaves last Christmas and almost a year in limbo in the hutch.

The mass was not even compost worthy.  I am a bit of a compost fanatic, but this was more like plastic than food. Besides, the wonderful, deaf, and old Springer that we adopted 3 years ago would absolutely consume it.  Lyme disease almost killed Hannah this year, and the plasticized margarine would be sure to do her in.  

Aside from protecting our compost eating 3 dogs and 4 cats, we have to look out for our 18 chickens.  Thankfully, the ducks stay out of the compost, mainly because their waddling impedes their ability to climb the pile.  It is comical to see them try.

The trash was the plastic yellow bar’s destiny, although, I was curious enough to think, “What would it look like in another year?”  How about 50 years?  Could this be the inspiration for a time capsule?  I didn’t voice my thought, because I knew that my sons and husband would insist on furthering the experiment.  I threw the mass in the trash and returned to cleaning, wondering what else was lurking...

Forward to 2013: 

shiny shiny

It is that time again for giving and receiving, but also for cleaning out, sorting, and parting with bits of us that have lingered too long to be useful.  It’s odd how Winter’s light can show the smudges everywhere.  Perhaps it’s simply the light of reflection that shows the wear and tear.  It’s also the light of reflection that reveals the sturdiness of a life, and the surety of all that is still standing.  

For us the light exposes a still unfinished kitchen, and yet a marriage that pushes forward and enjoys the projects even if they move slowly.  We see the lives of 2 teenaged boys who make us laugh, and spur us on to learn and understand their worlds.  My oldest son has helped me understand how to import photos and upload documents.  My youngest has helped me to be patient and loving especially when I don’t understand. 

"Mild He lay his glory by, born that man no more may die."

Of course, the light of reflection steadily shows the unseen and increases the value of it each year.  There are no smudges on God, no spots to clean.  In His eyes, through the gift of an infant, His precious Son, we are smudgeless as well.  

smudge-proofing

As long as we reflect on Him, we never lose our purpose, never get lost, never turn into a plasticized version of the real thing, and never get tossed in a trash can.   And most importantly, if we keep focused, nobody, including ourselves, will wonder what we are.

Merry Christmas!