Twas 2 weeks before Christmas

Twas 2 weeks before Christmas 
by Mary Fahey

Christmas music at the annual lighting of the Rockefeller Center tree, emanated from the TV. As she busied herself in the cozy warm kitchen, she hummed along with the boy’s choir who sang from a platform above the skating rink and below the sculpture of Prometheus. She had spent the earlier part of the day baking Christmas cookies, and after they cooled, she gently stacked them in a tin decorated with snow men and Santa Claus. Her newborn son slept in his crib, her husband would soon arrive home from work and all was right with the world. She couldn’t be happier.         

The phone rang. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and picked up the receiver.

            “Hello,” she answered brightly. She heard music and laughter in the back ground.

            “Hi,” her friend Dotty giggled. Dotty had been single since her divorce from an early and unhappy marriage.  In their younger days, they travelled together to dances, movies, shopping and all the activities that teen aged best friends do. Their friendship felt solid. But now that she had a family and Dotty had new friends to party with, they had somehow drifted apart.

            “Hi Dot. What’s up?”

            “I just called to say Merry Christmas. I’m at the office Christmas party.” She could tell by the slur of her words that Dotty had perhaps a little too much to drink. Dotty laughed at something someone said out of earshot of the phone. The muffled sound of a hand gliding over the mouthpiece and some barely audible talk and laughter ensued. She pictured Dotty with her shoulder length blond curls and crystal blue eyes surrounded by admiring men vying for her attention.

            “Why don’t you get a baby sitter and join us? It’s so much fun.” Dotty gushed.

            “I can’t. Dick gets home soon and I’m in the middle of cooking dinner.”

            “Oh c’mon. Have a little fun. Leave a note for Dick.”

            What an idiot, she thought but instead said “Wish I could but that’s not possible.”

            After some more inane conversation about people and events she didn’t know, she said, “The baby’s awake; I have to go. Merry Christmas.” She hung up the phone and felt a pall spread over her previous jolly mood. A little bit of jealousy at the carefree life her friend seemed to have, and some self pity at the burden of her life as wife and mother, brought her down.

            Dam Dotty for making me feel so bad. She should have known that I couldn’t go to the party. Why did she have to call anyway? Just to laud it over me?           

Every year since then, as she views the lighting of the Rockefeller tree, she remembers that evening that started with such good feelings only to get dashed to maudlin resentment. With maturity she realized that the fault didn’t lie with Dotty. She had done it to herself. She allowed resentment and envy at someone else’s happiness to mar hers. Now, she has come to feel joy for another’s delight. It enhances her own. A lesson well learned.       

A New York Tradition

A New York Tradition

Every year I looked forward to our annual Christmas trip to Manhattan. As a teen I went with my school friends, then with my boyfriend and eventually with my husband. 

When my children got old enough to enjoy it, I took them every year. A week or two before Christmas, we took the train to 34^th St. From there we walked up 5^th Ave. and admired the displays in store windows. Some had animated toys, Santa and elves, electric trains passing through a miniature village with windows aglow. Tiny ice skaters twirled like ballerinas on a miniature mirrored lake. A Jack in the Box jumped out and sneered its clown face at the startled children peering through the glass. 

We made our way to Rockefeller Center to admire the giant tree festooned with thousands of lights. We strolled the Rockefeller Gardens and Promenade lined with pine trees and illuminated white angels blowing through long golden trumpets. Vendors, selling roasted chestnuts or big crusty pretzels sprinkled with crystals of kosher salt, kept their wares warm in portable ovens on pushcarts. We usually bought the pretzels and held them with paper napkins in our gloved hands. Easier to eat, they didn’t require peeling like the chestnuts. The steam from the warm pretzels mingled with our breath to smoke its way into the frigid New York air. We stopped to watch the ice skaters, on the rink below the bronze sculpture of Prometheus. They displayed their abilities for the blasé New Yorkers who showed their appreciation with hoots and hollers.  Applause by gloved hands would get lost into the muffled sounds of traffic.

We ended our tour with a visit to St. Patrick’s Cathedral.  Hundreds of poinsettia plants graced all the side altars as well as the main altar. We sat in a pew and drank in the peace and aromas of the church. A Nativity scene sat to the right of the main altar. Statues of the Holy Family along with shepherds, sheep, angels, camels and Wise Men spread out across the marble floor of the Cathedral.  When we warmed up enough to venture back out into the cold, we made our way to the train that took us home, full of Good Will toward all.           

What womanhood Means to Me

 What Womanhood Means to Me

by Mary Fahey
 

  I first learned about women from watching my mother and her three sisters. Even though they each had a husband and family, they made it a point to get together every Tuesday for lunch and a game of cards. They talked and laughed and gossiped as women of their age did. Occasionally a couple of them had a disagreement but they never stayed angry with each other and all got resolved before the afternoon ended. My sister Dorothy and I continued the closeness we observed in the older women of our family. Along with my cousin June, we often went out to lunch or to a show and always had a great time, laughing and talking. Dorothy and I had occasional tiffs but like our predecessors, we loved each other too much to stay angry.

 

I attended an all girls’ school for twelve years and forged tight friendships with some of the other girls in my class. We are still in touch and remain friendly to this day. My friend Catherine and I have maintained our friendship since the age of six. 

As a nurse I worked in a predominately female profession.

Because of the early exposure to female friendship, I feel very at ease and trusting of other women. My current circle of friends remains important to me. We meet on a regular basis and share our triumphs and disappointments. We know that we will celebrate each others’ accomplishments and care for each other in times of stress.

I’ve heard that some females mistrust each other. I never experienced this. So I believe that a woman possesses the qualities of friendship, trust, support and nurture.

As I grew to adulthood, I experienced some bias against the female species as a whole and some discrimination personally. So my idea of a woman became one of subjugation. I never accepted this image and fought it whenever it crossed my path but not always successfully. Most women of my era used feminine wiles to get their own way and I must admit it worked on some men but I thought it demeaning to both men and women. It made men seem like dupes that a woman could so easily manipulate them.

My mother always told me that I could do anything I put my mind to and I still believe that. So to round out the qualities of a woman I add intelligence, independence and steadfastness.