Generosity Shines Warmly on Christmas Eve

This Christmas was looking to be fairly miserable for me, and then a couple of gestures by strangers turned it to merry and bright.   Seriously! This is what happened.

So, I’ve been sitting inside the trailer for the past two weeks feeling like a combo of Tiny Tim and Ebenezer Scrooge.  Why? You know, but I gotta keep sayin’:

1. I’m stuck in medical limbo waiting on an MRI.  
2. I’m stuck at the campsite because I can’t walk or bike, and the truck is so tall I can’t get in and out of it without Tracy lifting me.  The waiting list for golf carts here is interminable. 
3. I’m stuck on the sofa all day and all night because the bed area is blocked by Banjo. We tried moving her bed to get her out of my way, but without a bedroom door we simply can’t stop her from sleeping near Tracy.  I hear you Banjo; he’s a popular guy.

Two weeks of all of this has about done me in. Tracy could tell, so he did what he could: he took me on a drive one night to look at Christmas lights. Turns out the fancy houses in Brownsville all back up to resacas, and that’s where the fancy people all display their Christmas decorations. Which means, you can’t see them from the road. We’d catch just a glimpse of lights all reflecting in water down the resaca like a winding lane. 

We did stop at La Paleta Michoacán—that’s popsicles associated with a state in Mexico famous for frozen treats.  And I can now say mango popsicles are so delicious that you forget you’re sitting in a truck in the December dark and instead you think you’re standing knee-deep in the Indian Ocean (that’s how my sister always said mangoes should be eaten).

In any case, I have been so desperate that one hour riding in the truck with glimpses of backyard lights and one mango popsicle were what got me through two weeks.  

And then came the generosity.

The lady who teaches the yoga class here offered me her golf cart while she goes to South Padre Island for Christmas.  That same day (Christmas Eve), the parents of the girl I’d played ukulele with offered me their cart for the week after.  

I don’t even know these people!

Yoga Teacher said she had a Christmas gift for me, and Teenager Parents asked if I’d let them lend me their cart.  Their language alone strikes me as generous.  And here I’d been thinking Scrooge-like thoughts about everyone around me.  Which goes to show how important it is to get out. 

What does a golf cart mean to me? 

Hot tub time.

Chair yoga time.

Visit the dumpsters time (that’s important).  

I’m going to have to come up with some kind of golf cart driving and parking Olympics, like the Retiree Pentathlon three years ago.  In the meantime, I’m brainstorming thank you gifts for the two generous couples.  Got any suggestions?  (Hint: it has to be something I can get using a golf cart.)

What’s an active golf-carter like me doing on this lovely Christmas Day? I’m drinking brandy eggnog and anticipating Tracy’s posole for lunch; he’s browning the pork now. My key lime pie will give this southern menu something green, and then we’ll watch the MST3k version of Santa Claus Conquers the Martians. I’m going to FaceTime with Finn and his dad and family. And maybe tool around in a golf cart playing Springsteen’s Santa Claus Is Coming to Town. I’m going to Ho Ho Ho like the Big Man, both white and Black.

Merry Christmas from a golf cart!