Geronimo!

I had the joy of being raised in a big house that was built in 1929.  It had three floors and a dozen rooms that were filled to the brim with cats, children, and chaos.  My dad was a doctor, my mother was a mother and my parents had the habit of acquiring every stray creature that crossed their path.   Friends frequently brought over injured birds or animals for my father to nurse back to health.  Wildlife was part of our normal.   It wasn't a surprise then, to have a box appear at the bottom of my parent’s lawn one Saturday morning.  There was no note or writing on the box.  It was folded shut, and looked almost empty when Mum went to retrieve it.

Inside the box was a kitten, old enough to have left its mother but young enough to need help.  She had a slender frame and a luxurious long black coat.  Her eyes were a rich yellow and when she closed them, you couldn't see any other facial features. She took one look at my mother, smiled and made herself at home.  I don’t remember how Geronimo got her name, but “Mo” was a gorgeous feline.   She was a friendly cat who loved outdoors and climbing.  When inside, she could be found in the basement on my father’s bookshelf or upstairs in my mother’s bedroom. Petite, black fur, big yellow eyes; Geronimo was the perfect Halloween cat.  So perfect, my parents kept her confined to the house the end of every October for fear she would be taken by Halloween revelers.

As November progressed, thoughts of cat abduction subsided and preparations for the holiday began.  A Christmas tree was central to my family’s sense of celebration.  Because our ceilings were twelve feet high, we had room to bring a large tree indoors.  Each year we would set out, intent on finding the biggest tree Dad would allow.  My family has never owned large cars, and how we got those trees home on top of a Mazda or a Celica I will never know.  Yet, home the trees came and when dusted off, they were taken indoors, to our hearts delight.

We didn't have a tree stand as the circumference of the trunk was too large.  Instead, My Dad would grab a bucket, stand the tree inside it and while we held it off kilter, would wedge large rocks and pieces of coal in the bucket to secure the tree.  Yes, coal.  I grew up with a coal bunker behind the house, my parents immigrated from England in the 60’s and felt a cultural drive to bring smog to the new world.  Decorating the tree was pure joy.  In the 70’s, we didn't go in for plastic ornaments.  Most of them were made of glass.  We had the awesome kind of tinsel you could stick in-between your teeth and blow out making it spew in dragon like fashion.  The downside was you could suck it back into your lungs if you weren't careful.   

After the lights were placed on the tree, one of my older sisters would climb the ladder.  We put ornaments on hooks and passed them along.  The record player would be singing carols in the background as we laughed and shared stories about the ornaments.  We would drink tea, eat cookies and have a delightful time.  When the tree was finished, we turned out the lights and sat in its glow.  We often light the room by tree and candles only, which to a child’s heart, was simply magic.

Apparently, it was magic to a cat’s heart as well. 

Who knew?

When Geronimo saw the Christmas tree, the best part of nature right there in the living room, something in her feline soul exploded.  She came racing down the hall, took a running leap across the back of the settee and landed midway up the tree.  The tree, adjusting to life without a root system, was a little unsteady, and as Mo ran up the branch to the trunk and started climbing, the whole tree listed to the left.  In surreal slow motion, the tree tipped past the point of recovery and crashed onto the rustic hard wood floor.  The noise itself was both thrilling and horrifying.  Thrilling because as the glass ornaments shattered, they made a beautiful tinkling noise as the shards fell to the floor. Horrifying because the cat yowled like a demon, as she shot up stairs and left us standing there as my parents came running into the room.  Up to that point, we children had done some fairly stupid things, but knocking over a fully decorated, twelve foot tree was not one of them.  The exhilaration was palpable.

After shouting orders to stand still,  pull the baby out of the tree limbs, and shake the glass from our hair, my father re balanced the tree.  Mum put the kettle back on, and my older sister ran to grab the broom.   My younger sister and I cleaned the floor, while the eldest perched precariously on a chair, pulling off the shattered ornaments.  After the shock passed, we started to laugh and relive the experience verbally.  New ornaments were pulled from boxes, light bulbs replaced and harmony restored.  It had been quite an afternoon.

Dinner was late, due to the tree fiasco, and no one was actually present when Geronimo attacked the tree the second time.  We were setting the table and getting seated when the almighty crash echoed through the hall.  The only difference was this time, my mother had filled the bucket supporting the tree with water so it could have a drink at its leisure.  Something about being felled twice might have driven the tree to drink if it wasn't already dead.   As it turns out, the dead tree was not thirsty and our second clean up included flood management.   

Decorating the tree the third time was definitely not as fun as the first two.  We waited until dinner was done and in truth, we had lost the heart for tree decoration.  We were simply on damage control at that point.  We swept the floor again, rotated the tree to hide smashed bulbs and adjusted the lights as best we could.  Inevitably, laughter resumed as we expressed our amazement to Mo’s antics.  The kettle was put on again and the cat was shut in my parent’s room for the night.

I cannot help laughing when I remember Geronimo’s first Christmas.  In total, she knocked the tree over three times.  We actually ended up tethering the tree to the wall because Mo simply would not stay away from it.   We placed a small table near the tree in order to keep her off the trunk but more than once she made people scream in terror, as they walked by the Christmas tree to be swatted on the head by a soft paw.  It was funny in a mildly crazy kind of way.  When we finally took the tree down after the twelfth day of Christmas, it looked like it had been in a war zone.  Smashed bulbs, dented ornaments and headless angels were everywhere.  It was awesome.  To this day I praise God my parents were not materialistic because if they were, that Christmas tree would have ruined Christmas forever.   As it stands, it is a beautiful memory.

And you friend, how is your Christmas joy holding?  Are you focusing on the coming of our Savior or are you getting caught up in trivial Christmas trappings?  Any Christmas mishaps yet?  Burn any cookies or send any cards to the wrong person? 

Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.  Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Phil 4:4-8

Do not let mishaps and mistakes seize your heart this season friend.  Keep rejoicing.  We have so much to be thankful for, and one to place our hope in.  It is such a wonderful season to rejoice.

Good Christian men, rejoice
With heart and soul and voice
Now ye need not fear the grave:
Peace! Peace!
Jesus Christ was born to save
Calls you one and calls you all
To gain His everlasting hall
Christ was born to save
Christ was born to save

Praying that you might truly rejoice this week,

xoxKaren