Desperately Seeking Sandra (Boynton)

Photo courtesy of Google.com

Okay…I admit it.  My Christmas texts are blatant plagiarism.  Actually, it is the fact that so many of my friends thought the texts were products of my wildly creative imagination that I have decided to come clean.  The credit belongs to Sandra Keith Boynton.

            Back in the 80s and even the early 90s, I was probably one of Sandra Boynton’s biggest customers.  Her greeting cards, printed by Recycled Paper Products, were whimsical, hip and environmentally friendly.  Quirky cats, perplexed hippopotami, goofy gnus populated her “Animal Farm” collection.  I think I bought at least one of each, depending upon the occasion.  My favorite still remains (and is still available…more later):  Things are getting worse.  Please send chocolate.  Timeless entreaty,  if I do say so. 

Photo courtesy of eBay

I even bought a Boynton reindeer (Bob) Christmas sweater, which I wore faithfully year in and year out…until I realized that every family Christmas photo for almost a decade included me...in my reindeer sweater.( Laugh if you must, but an identical twin of that sweater just sold on eBay this year for $79.99.)  
  I think the last time I wore it was in 2001, for my ex-boyfriend’s grandchildren.  In Moscow, Russia.  I was pretty sure no one had seen me in it there. 

Anyway, last Christmas I started looking for Boynton Christmas cards again.  Maybe my new career choice – working with animals – had something to do with it. Oh, I had seen a few of her books in the children’s section of Barnes & Noble.  However, to my surprise there was no central location for all things Boynton.  No website that I could find (and I am a Google-maniac), no links to Boynton treasures on eBay.  For me, no gnus was not good news.

So, I could only fill in the gap with my left-handed homage to one of my favorite creative geniuses.  Those of you who have received the “Hippo Birdie Two Ewes” texts know what I’m talking about.  Still, as a writer, my conscience nagged me.  Sandra Keith Boynton had to be out there somewhere.  After sending my Christmas texts again this year, I resumed my quest.

            Eureka!  Sometime in the last year, Sandra Keith Boynton has created a website: www.sandraboynton.com.   I won’t spoil the surprise, but if it’s chickens and hippos and cats and reindeer you crave…and chocolate…get your web browser browsing.  There are cards!  There are books!  There are songs! There are T-shirts! ( I didn’t see any sweaters.) Those of us Philly folks will be delighted to learn, via Sandra Boynton’s “Unbelievably Fascinating Autobiography,” that Ms. Boynton grew up in Philadelphia, a Quaker who attended Germantown Friends School.  Her dad was…can you believe it?...an English teacher.

            If you have been out of touch with Boynton-abilia, as I have, the website is a wildly refreshing dose of humor and warmth.  If you have not yet met Ms. Boynton, introduce yourself…and your children…and your children's children...immediately. 

            In the meantime, I am off to have some chocolate.  And to find my sweater.  In closing, I can only say (and the credit belongs solely to Sandra Keith Boynton):

            Mare Egrets Moose Two Ewes Panda Hippo Gnu Deer!

It's Still a Wonderful Life

Jerry Richardson, channeling Zuzu in This Wonderful Life

An adaptation of It’s a Wonderful Life, staged as a one-man show? This I had to see. How could one actor portray all those characters? Just logistically, how would it work? Intrigued, I procured babysitting, and took Carl as a pre-Christmas gift.

Jerry Richardson deserves a Tony. Seriously. He performed, alone, for 70 minutes straight, and somehow managed to convey the entire story of It’s a Wonderful Life. It was funny, heartwarming, and just what I needed to prod me into the Christmas spirit that had been lacking.

Of course I knew the story of George Bailey, who wanted to see the world, and ended up in his hometown, running his dad’s small business, raising four children. On Christmas Eve, his uncle loses a fortune of the business’s money, and it looks like they are headed for bankruptcy and jail. George contemplates suicide, thinking he’s worth more dead, with the life insurance proceeds, than he is alive.

But George’s guardian angel appears and shows him what the world would have looked like if he’d never been born. Though George never left Bedford Falls, he saved his brother’s life, and his brother saved hundreds of lives in the war. George’s small business allowed many families to build homes and businesses, to build a community. When he sees the impact he’s had on others, George has a new appreciation for his ordinary life, and returns home with impassioned gratitude.

I love the message of the story – that one person’s goodness and integrity has ripple effects far beyond their vision. As we left the show, I pondered how my life has affected the world. I thought about the clients I helped obtain asylum in the United States. Partly because of my help, they were able to stay in the United States, live in safety, start over. I feel certain that they have positively impacted others, in ways that would have been impossible in their homelands where they faced persecution.

Whoever we are and whatever our jobs, I believe we all can have a positive effect on the world. In the wake of the Sandy Hook tragedy, if you’re feeling small or scared or powerless, try the George Bailey view. Your small life, lived with kindness and integrity, can have effects far beyond your imagining. With every person you encounter, you have a chance to change the world for the better. Maybe your smile, your hug, your patience is the thing that turns their whole day around. And maybe their smile, hug or patience turns someone else’s day around. Kindness is contagious.

Last Wednesday Daniel and I had a rough start to our day. Neither of us had slept well, and everything was a struggle, with lots of screaming and crying. By 7 AM, I had used up my daily allotment of patience. Then I remembered the homemade cranberry muffins Carolyn had given me. I poured Daniel some juice, myself some coffee, and we savored the treats in silence, the sweetness improving both our moods. Carolyn’s love gave me a reprieve, reminded me of the beauty and goodness of life. It may seem a small thing, but her kindness flipped my mood back to happy, and I went on to be a calm and kind presence at work, which could have helped improve other people's day.

For me, the message of Christmas is that at the darkest times of life, light appears. We can be the light for others. So bake muffins, let others in front of you in line, give money and presents and kisses. Because lighting up the world for others makes our own lives brighter too. 

Merry Christmas!

MEATBALL WARS (and Other Holiday Traditions)

My family of origin is Italian-American so it may not surprise you that many of our holiday traditions center on food (oh, and also on guilt, but that’s a blog for a less jolly occasion.) Our most deeply rooted food tradition is a recipe passed down from my father’s side of the family. We call it Baked Macaroni, but its modest name hardly does justice to the layers of baked fettuccini noodles, tiny meatballs, hard-boiled eggs, pepperoni, locatelli and bubbly imported provolone cheese, smothered in “gravy” (aka tomato sauce for those without South Philly roots.)

We’re not sure how the recipe originated, but conventional family wisdom suggests it was our grandmother’s version of lasagna.  Since childhood, it is what we eat for Christmas dinner. If you’ve never stood at the kitchen counter for hours on end chopping eggs, pepperoni, and cheese, stirring gravy and rolling 7 or 8 HUNDRED cherry-sized meatballs, you may not appreciate what a tedious labor of love making Baked Macaroni can be. When it became too much for our mother, she passed the honors to my sister, Jeanne.

Well, sort of passed them. She relinquished the manual labor, but in the tradition of a good Italian mother, she retained general contractor rights. That meant starting in August, at every family get-together she might be heard asking questions like, “How many pounds of pasta will you use,” or “when will you start the gravy” or “how many meatballs will you roll?” Naturally there were no correct answers to these questions and they inevitably led to lively debates which my husband, Jim, affectionately dubbed, “THE MEATBALL WARS.”

Jim and I took over making the Baked Macaroni a few years ago and this year is our fourth Christmas since Mom died. It’s no surprise we miss her sitting at the holiday table. Who could have predicted how much we would also miss the Meatball Wars?