Many Happy Returns

Back when I was just a little kid growing up on Arlington Street, Christmas morning unfolded in stages. Knowing that I was the youngest of all four children, you'd naturally suspect that I was the first one to leap out of bed on Christmas morning -- right? You couldn't get any further from the bull's eye if you tried.

There is something seriously wrong with my inner biological clock. This malady is not an affliction brought on by my advancing years, but is in fact, a defect of birth. My body, and my mind for that matter, does not function on the day-night principle. Waking up in the morning and going to sleep at night is something I cannot do.

I cat nap at random intervals throughout each twenty-four hour period. I'm sorry, but that's just the way I am. When I worked a full-time day job, I was always late for work. That's sounds like a curse, I know, but when you're a creative artist your inspiration and drive comes at odd intervals. My biological clock is in perfect harmony with my creative self. If I had to rely on the 9 to 5 routine to earn my daily bread I'd starve to death.

When I was a little kid, I was always the last one to show up at school in the morning. Yes, the teachers lectured me, and yes, my parents did everything in their power to try to straighten me out. But it was all to no avail. I am not a product of the industrial revolution. I cannot live on the sun up - sun down principle. God knows I've tried.

Because of that, I'd lie there in bed with my eyes wide open for hours on end just staring off into the darkness when they sent us off to bed on Christmas Eve. I'm sure the sandman gave up on me after throwing a dozen fistfuls of sleep dust in my face. Come first light, I'd doze off into a deep trance.

And no sooner had I closed my eyes ...

"Hey Paul, wake up. Santa Claus came already!"

"What?"

"Come on, it's Christmas morning."

"What is?"

"This is. It's Christmas. Don't you wanna open your presents?"

Stage One - The rude Awakening.

Billy, Julie, and Carl were wide-awake, and running all over the house in a frantic state of excited ecstasy. I stumbled out of bed and wobbled into the living room like a drunken sailor trying to walk a tight rope. Full consciousness ignited the instant I caught a glimpse of what all the excitement was about - let me tell ya.

Carl was already jumping up and down beside my mother's bed. "Ma, Dad, wake up. Santa Claus was here. It's Christmas!"

"Everybody grab your stockings and jump up onto the couch," my Dad mumbled. "We'll make breakfast. Then we'll open our gifts."

"Aw, we don't want breakfast. Let's just open out gifts," we pleaded.

"I need a cup of coffee first. Go open your stockings until I had my morning coffee," he'd say as he stumbled out of bed.

Not a problem, we can live with that. The four of us jumped up onto the couch with our stockings. When I was seven years old, my Christmas stocking was almost as long as my leg. And man, was it ever jammed full with goodies.

Don't ask me why, but Santa Claus always topped my stocking off with an apple, an orange, and a banana. That was probably a reminder to eat something healthy in the middle of all that chocolate waiting for me down at the other end of the stocking. Those were the first things to come out of my stocking on Christmas morning and those were the first things I'd lose track of. I have no idea what happened to them after that and I couldn't care less.

There was always something else that was good for you further down into the stocking like a new toothbrush or a pocket comb. Once I got the healthy stuff out of the way, I dug down onto the real nitty-gritty. You could hear the excitement in my voice.

"Oh hey, look at this. I got a Nestle's Crunch and some M&M's, too. Wow! I don't believe it. Somebody pinch me. Look what I got. I got a whole bag full of Malted Milk Balls!"

That did it. Give me a bag of Malted Milk Balls and drop me off on a deserted island somewhere. I'll live in complete happiness all the days of my life. They had me in mind when they invented those things, I swear.

Stage Two - Mindless Ecstasy.

The second phase of our Christmas morning began after my Dad had his morning cup of coffee. From that moment on, we went on a rampage ripping open gifts and throwing ribbons and bows every which way. Wrapping paper lay strewn across the living room floor so deep you had to high step to walk through it.

My mother's camera flashed continuously. It felt like standing in front of a strobe light. I had a hard time seeing what I was looking at with that spot of light from the flash in the center of my field of vision.

Everyone talked out of turn trying to tell everybody else what they just got for Christmas. Nobody could hear a blessed thing with all that racket going on. You couldn't even hear yourself think. It really didn't matter anyway. That's what mindless ecstasy is all about - isn't it?

Three minutes later we all sat amidst the rubble ogling over all the wonderful toys that Santa Claus dropped off. Notice I said "toys." Who really cares about "clothes" anyway. He brings them just the same.

And just when you think it's time to start pulling all those wonderful toys out of their packages, my mother starts handing us our "secondary" gifts. Secondary gifts? Yeah, those are the ones you get from your grandmother or your great aunt that always come with an explanation. The explanation usually goes something like, "She doesn't know any better. She's really old."

My great aunt Grace was so out of touch with reality that her gifts were comical. When I was twelve years old, she gave me a pair of "Winnie the Pooh" jammies with a zipper up the front and little feet sewn right onto the bottom of each leg. They were so small I could barely fit my left foot into them. No, I didn't throw them away. I stuffed em with old newspapers and used them as a tackling dummy.

When I was fourteen years old she got me a set of cap pistols complete with a belt holster to go around my waist and a plastic cowboy hat with a sheriff's badge on the front of it. Can you imagine?

The trigger guard was so small that my finger wouldn't fit through it and the cowboy hat just barely balanced on top of my head. Being the complete idiot that I am, I chased my mother's cat all over the living room shooting off a whole roll of caps. I even wore the cowboy hat when we sat down to Christmas dinner.

"Paul, you're nuts. You know that?" My mother laughed.

"Hey, don't make fun of my Christmas gift," I shot back.

You gotta love her though. Hey, it's the thought that counts - right? When I graduated from Everett High she gave me a beautiful graduation card with a whole dollar in it. She said that I was free to spend that dollar any way I please. Hey, don't laugh. Back then I could take a date to McDonalds and we could both get a burger, some fries, and a coke with a dollar. Man, I was ready to party my brains now.

Speaking of getting clothes for Christmas, why does anyone bother to ask you if you like that sweater or that jacket, or even that pair of pants they got you for Christmas? You never get to keep them anyway. They never fit. The good part about that is if you honestly didn't like them you don't have to hurt anybody's feelings. Instead of blurting out, "What on earth were you thinking when you picked that out?" you can just play along and say, "Aw, they don't fit. How sad."

Stage Three - Many Happy Returns

One year, I found this little kitchen device down at Grants that I thought my mother would love. It was okay to buy your mother something like this when you're still in elementary school, but don't dare try this once you get into junior high. I bought my mother this little doohickey that you were supposed to be able to dice up food with. It was a jar that had a four-blade chopper in it.

You were supposed to pump down on the handle and it was supposed to chop up whatever food you put inside. The packaging showed the picture of tomato all neatly diced up inside. She put one-half of a boiled potato in it just to try it out. Keep in mind that this was a potato she had boiled to make mashed potatoes with so you know how soft that potato was - right?

Well, when she gently pushed down on the handle, the whole thing fell apart. Don't you hate it when you buy a gift for somebody and it turns out to be a dud? My mother is one class act, let me tell ya. She just looked at me and said, "Well, it was a nice idea anyway."

"Don't worry Ma, I'll take it back to the store tomorrow and get you something else."

Christmas will not feel complete in my heart until I get my mother something she likes. First thing right after my paper route tomorrow morning, I'm heading straight down to Grants and getting my money back. I'll pick out something she'll like even better than that this time. My mind was made up.

As far as I'm concerned, the early sixties was when the concept of "the customer is always right" began to get the old heave-ho from the retailers. I was in for a rude awakening I never suspected that day. It was my first experience with returning something to a store after Christmas and it was an experience I will never forget.

We're not talking about some giant retailer like Jordan Marsh or Lechemere Sales. We're talking little old Grants down in Glendale Square, mind you. I had every intention of walking right into that store and boldly ask, "Where do I go to return something?" The moment I stepped inside those doors I had my answer.

Even though I showed up only minutes after they opened their doors for business that day, I was the thirty-third person in line. I didn't really see that as a problem at first because, after all, I've stood in line at the Park Theatre hundreds of times. It only takes three minutes for 800 kids to get into the theatre once they opened those doors. Such is not the case when you're returning a defective product to a retailer after Christmas.

With no exaggeration, I watched the minute hand of the clock on the wall move halfway around that clock before I stepped onto the next floor tile. I had no idea what was taking so long, but I was in for the long haul. A couple of times I did entertain the idea of just throwing that little contraption in the trash and running off to Jordan marsh in Malden Square to buy something else, but I work too hard for my money to throw it away like that.

It was around a quarter to noon when I finally got my turn to step up to the plate. I was exhausted. "Can I help you?" That's exactly what the sales lady asked.

"Yes, I bought this as a Christmas gift for my mother and it broke the moment she tried to use it."

"Did you read the directions?"

"It didn't come with any."

"Did you read the instruction that were on the box?"

"Yes."

"You didn't try to crack nuts with it - did you?"

"No."

What did you try it on?"

"A soft boiled potato."

"Did you slam down on the handle too hard?"

"No, she barely touched it."

"Nobody else seemed to have any trouble with these. Maybe you did something wrong."

"No, we did everything by the book."

"I thought you said it didn't come with a book."

"It didn't. The only instructions it came with is what was written on the label."

"Did you read the entire label before using it?"

"yes."

"Show me what you were doing with it when it broke."

So now I had to demonstrate what my mother was doing when this piece of crap broke. After my little demonstration she said, "We don't give refunds to minors. You're mother or father will have to return it."

It's things like this that puts the fight into our Everett personalities. I mean, really. We all try to be nice and friendly, but after being raked over the coals like this a few times we finally realize that we're not out to win any popularity contests. The whole world's crooked, every competition is fixed, and the rules always favor the other guy.

I was only eleven years old when this happened to me. At that very moment I transformed from a shy little schoolboy into a raging monster beyond anyone's control.

"What are you talking about?" I shouted at the top of my lungs with both temples pulsating. "You didn't hesitate to sell this crappy piece of junk to a minor. Now did you? Now you're telling me you're not going to honor your own return policy because you sold it to a kid? I don't (very naughty word goes here) think so, honey. I want my money back!" I actually pounded my fist on the counter.

The store manager came over and said, "We don't tolerate bad language like that in this store. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"No without my (very naughty word goes here also) money, buddy. If my brother finds out you wouldn't give me back my money you're life isn't going to be worth a dime."

"Who's your brother?"

"Billy Huffman."

"Give him back his money," he said as he turned to walk away.

You can say what you want, but sometimes it really helps to have a big brother with a bad reputation. It certainly did this time.

Now here's the clincher. Guess how much money we're talking about here? We're talking about One dollar and Sixty-seven cents. Do you believe it? Those parasites put me through all that for a measly One dollar and Sixty-seven cents.

From that moment on I never bought anything anywhere until I took it out of the box and twisted it and turned it and bent it over backwards to make sure it was worth the money. Once I realized that the name of the game was "whoever has possession of the money calls the shots" it became a whole new ball game for me. If it was going to break, I made damn sure it broke in the store before I took it home. Grants taught me a valuable lesson. I'll give them that.

Everett people are not mean spirited. We're not good fighters because we like to fight. On the contrary, we try our hardest to get along with everybody and we'd rather be out having a good time instead of wasting our lives fighting all the time. But we're really tired of getting the short end of the stick and we're not going to take it any more.

You think I'm kidding? You want to meet some of the world's most kind-hearted, thoughtful, talented, intelligent, and forgiving people? Grab a chair and sit down. Let me introduce you to the people from Everett, Massachusetts. Make friends with these people and you've got yourself some serious friends for life.

Open your heart to these people and they'll shower you with affection beyond your wildest dreams. Hold out your hand to these people and they'll fill it above and beyond your expectations. Be honest with these people and they'll shine a light right down into the center of your soul that will warm your heart and strengthen your character.

Let me tell you something else about these people that you really ought to know. They were born and raised in the shadows of American history. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. They're character is reinforced with the same fighting spirit that toppled the British Empire. Remember that. If you turn your back on these people you better expect more than a good run for your money. They won't just fight you. They'll band together and knock you down. You can't just fight one of us. You gotta fight us all.

That's us in a nutshell. "We're from Everett!"

The Christmas Wreath Confession

I couldn't ask for a more perfect world right now. I've got the house all to myself. Everyone's gone out shopping. And I'm sitting here on the couch wrapping Christmas gifts listening to all the traditional Christmas classics playing softly in the background.

The sky looks really cold and dreary outside through that big picture window. There's even frost on the windowpanes. It sparkles and shimmers from the reflection of all those colorful lights on the Christmas tree behind me. Looking across the room at that window reminds me of something that belongs on the front of a Christmas card.

Even the way the curtain casts a soft shadow along the outer edges of the window frame adds a touch of nostalgic classic Christmas to the overall design. When we first moved into this place, there was something special about that window that I couldn't quite put my finger on. It took me a while, but I finally figured out what it was.

Outside that window is a maple tree. You really can't see too much of that tree because it's off to the right a little bit. What you can see is a portion of the branch that sticks out in front of the window. Oddly enough, that branch and those leaves are shaped like the outline of Eastern Europe, complete with that little nub on top for Denmark, and a little peninsula down below that looks like Italy.

What is so odd about all that is the last time I saw that exact shape on a branch of a maple tree was when I was a little kid living down on Arlington Street. That's exactly what the maple tree looked like outside my living room window in Everett.

So now that I've told you that, I'm sitting here staring off into space with this funny little smile across my lips and that far way look in my eyes. Wait until you hear this one. I suppose the statute of limitations has run out on this Christmas crime wave by now.

I can see this image so clearly in my mind's eye you'd swear it only happened yesterday. I wish I could remember exactly how old I was when this happened. My best guess is that I was about seven or eight years old. That would put us somewhere in the vicinity of about 1960.

Our apartment down there on Arlington Street was the smallest place I've ever lived in my life. To accommodate three boys in such a tiny bedroom, we had a set of bunk beds along the back wall of our bedroom. Since I was the youngest of the bunch, I got the top bunk. Billy had his own single bed on the other side of the room. There was barely enough room to walk in between his bed and our bunks. That's how small that bedroom actually was.

Billy's bed blocked the doorway that opened out onto our front porch on the second floor. You had to grab a hold of his footboard and drag his bed away from the wall so you could open the door to go out onto the porch. I never bothered with that because there was a window right there along side of that door as well. All I ever did was open the window and crawl out.

Sitting up on Billy's bed was a lot like sitting on one of those cushioned settees that people have inside their bay windows. It was an excellent place to sit and watch the snow fall.

On this one particularly cold and dark winter afternoon, only a few days before Christmas, I was sitting on top of Billy's bed drawing on my doodle pad. Earlier that day I had asked my Dad if we could buy a Christmas wreath to hang out on our front porch. He said he'd love to, but we just couldn't afford one. So I made up my mind to draw one to hang in that window.

Billy came barging into the room bundled up in his winter coat and mittens and asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm drawing a Christmas wreath to hang in the window."

"You really want one that bad?"

"Yeah, don't you?"

"I couldn't care less, but if you want one that bad, get dressed. I know where we can get one."

"No fooling?"

"Yeah, no fooling. You gotta promise me that you won't tell anybody where we got it."

"No problem. Is it a big one?"

"Yeah, it's huge. Get dressed. I'll meet you downstairs."

I got dressed in seconds flat. I don't even remember my feet touching the floor when I raced down those front hallway steps to catch up to my brother waiting outside. He was standing out there with Mikey Smith and Donny McMillan.

"You ready?"

"Yeah, I'm ready."

"Come on, let's do it."

Like I said, it was a really dark and cold afternoon. Looked like it was going to snow, but it didn't. It was not quite evening yet, but almost. There wasn't a soul around. I followed them all the way down to Glendale Park. And then I followed them across that wide opened tundra of snow all the way up to the utility building at the back of the park.

Back then, the utility building was quite an elaborate structure. On top, it had a bandstand with a gazebo like hip roof. Along the front edge of that utility building roof was a handrail. You got up on top of this thing by a stairway in the back.

Anyway, along that front rail they hung four huge Christmas wreaths. My brother's logic was that if we rearranged the remaining three wreaths, they wouldn't even notice the fourth one missing. So, that's exactly what we did.

These guys were fearless. They'd attempt anything, I swear. I was a nervous wreck.

"Won't they lock us up if they catch us?"

"For stealing a Christmas wreath?" My brother laughed. "Not hardly."

"What about Santa Claus? Won't he get mad?"

"Look, do want this thing or not?"

"Well, yeah, but..."

"Well let's get busy then. Let me worry about Santa Claus. I'll tell him it was all my idea. He's not gonna blame you. You're just a little kid. He'll take it all out on Donny and Mikey," he laughed.

Standing up on top of that gazebo that night was one of the coldest nights of my life. You could see all the way over to Glendale Square from there. There were no apartment buildings outside the back gate yet. And there were no banks along Ferry Street. All there was behind that stone wall was an opened field all the way over to Grants. And man, did that wind howl. I had to keep my lips closed to keep my teeth from freezing.

It was so cold that night that I couldn't even bend my fingers from inside my woolen mittens. I give those guys a lot of credit. At the time, it seemed like they were taking forever to disconnect those wreaths and move them around. Thinking back on it now, it didn't take them any more than about ten minutes to pull the whole thing off.

Billy turned around holding that giant wreath in both hands and said, "Here ya go. You've got the biggest Christmas wreath on Arlington Street now."

My lord, that thing was beautiful. And big? It was bigger than me. I couldn't even lift it.

"We'll carry it along Woodlawn Street and up Union so everyone won't see us coming out of the park with it," Billy said.

I know that makes sense by today's standards, but back then there was no swimming pool or enclosed skating rink to block anybody's view from seeing us walk halfway down Woodlawn Street carrying a wreath the size of a street sign.

"I've got a problem," I said.

"What now?" Billy looked back at me as if to say, "Don't screw this up now, we're halfway there."

"I've gotta pee my brains out."

"Yeah, me too," said Mikey.

"Yeah, so do I," Donny said.

"So, what's the big deal? Go pee off the side of the building," Billy laughed.

"What if somebody sees me?"

"Man, you just stole a giant Christmas wreath and nobody saw you. There's nobody around anywhere. Go pee so we can get this thing home before the cops ride by."

"I don't want anyone to see me peeing outside."

"Oh for crying out loud, you're just a little kid. You think anybody's gonna see you from all the way over on Ferry Street? Believe me, if they could, you'd be in the movies. Now come on, let's get a move on."

Aside from just stealing a Christmas wreath, here it is only three days before Christmas, and I'm standing in the middle of this frozen tundra peeing off the roof of the Glendale Park utility building. I'm telling you, if I've ever run the risk of waking up to a stocking full of coal on a Christmas morning, this would be the one.

Once we set off across the park lugging this humongous Christmas wreath, I wasn't the least bit nervous any more. My whole outlook had changed. Not even that freezing cold wind bothered me now. It took the four of us to lug this thing all the way home. And not even once did anyone stop and question us along the way.

Just to give a good idea of how big this wreath actually was, it would not fit in through our front door. We had to tie it onto the end of a length of clothesline rope to heave it up onto my front porch on the second floor. We were going to hang it off the front of the porch for everyone to see, but it hung down to low. The best we could do was to lean it up against the wall out on the porch.

When my mother asked where we got this thing, Billy told her that they were giving them away down at the Stop & Shop parking lot because nobody was buying them. If I ever learned anything from that boy it was how to come up with an alibi in a pinch. He was the master.

That was the biggest Christmas wreath I've ever owned in my life. And yes, I must admit, I was little worried about what Santa Claus was going to think when he saw this thing out on the porch. As it turned out, he didn't seem to mind one bit. What a sigh of relief I breathed on Christmas morning that year.

Billy loved Christmas every bit as much as I did. This guy would literally empty his bank account every year buying Christmas gifts. As rough and as tough as he was on the outside, he had a heart of gold. He never lived to see the birth of his first grandchild. We often tell his grandchildren that had he lived, he would have spoiled them all rotten.

It makes so much sense to me now as to why he and my Dad became such good friends. They were so much alike. I get my spirit of Christmas from the two of them.

My dad was a famous one for playing with your head as the excitement of Christmas drew near. I'd say, "Hey Dad, know what I want for Christmas?" And he'd say, "I've already got your Christmas gift."

"Really? What did you get me?"

"What I've got for you is yellow and green, has three legs and two wheels. It's got two handles, but you can only hold onto it with one hand. And it has a light on the front of it that buzzes when you turn it on."

Needless to say, the last thing he would ever do was to honestly describe what he really did get you. I'll say this for him, though. We may not have been the poorest family growing up in Everett, but we were certainly in the playoffs. Come Christmas morning, you'd swear my father was a Rockerfeller. I honestly do not know how that man pulled it off sometimes.

Funny thing is, my mom and dad did all their shopping for us kids on Christmas Eve. All us kids sat home watching all the holiday classics on TV while my Mom and Dad were out buying Christmas. My Mom would come into the house and shout, "Everybody into the kitchen and no peeking." Then they'd shut themselves into their bedroom to assemble toys and wrap presents until the wee hours of the morning.

Come Christmas morning, there wasn't a spot in the living room to sit down. The gifts were piled up from one end of the room to the other. You couldn't even see the Christmas tree.

Now that I look back on it, it wasn't the gifts that made Christmas special at all. It was more that we were all together as a happy family. I'm seeing it all in my mind's eye right now. I can picture everybody ripping open their gifts with eyes as big as meatballs shouting, "Hey, look what I got!"

My mother had a double reflex Argus camera back then. You had to look down onto a screen to frame and focus your shot. As soon as you so much as tore a single inch away from one of your gifts she'd say, "Smile so I can take your picture." And later that afternoon, every kid on Arlington Street was outside showing off their favorite gift that they got for Christmas.

My most memorable gift? Well actually, it wasn't one of mine, it was my brother Billy's. When I was in the third grade, he got a Silvertone F-hole acoustic guitar for Christmas. He never did learn how to play it. Well guess who did? Like I gotta tell you - right? Did you ever once imagine that you'd have music by Paul Huffman in your collection? You lucky devil you.

Hey, look at the time. Did I go off onto another tangent or what? I've got to get these gifts wrapped before everyone gets home. As much as I honestly love reliving these treasured holiday Everett memories with you, it's time I wrapped it up to spend some quality time with my family. If you're thirsty for another nostalgic Christmas adventure when we were kids growing up in Everett, check out my archived post dated 03/12/2006.

Merry Christmas Everybody! And have a HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Christmas Shopping in Everett

Okay, I know what everybody's thinking right about now. "It's almost Christmas and I've spent a lot of money I don't have on things that other people don't need." That is so true, is it not? But let me ask you this. "How often do you get the chance to throw caution to the wind and spend all of your hard earned cash on foolish things for no other purpose than to tell someone special that you love them?"

Now really, I've heard all of the arguments and know all of the logic behind all those complaints. I'm not arguing that point or trying to convince you otherwise for that matter. All I'm saying is that Christmas gives me the opportunity to act giddy and foolish. Not that I've ever had a hard time acting foolishly, mind you. Trust me, when it comes to impulsive shopping, you're talking to a pro.

In so many ways, Christmas shopping has really evolved through the ages. And as the old saying goes, "The more things change; the more they stay the same." We're still throwing our money away on things nobody needs, but isn't it fun?

Have you seen malls lately? What am I talking about? You people live in the big city. Of course you've seen the malls. You get a really good view from that parking lot you drive around in for an hour and a half looking for a parking spot, now don't you? We don't have that problem out here. Our malls aren't even worth getting out of the car for. You'd double over in a fit of laughter if you ever saw what we've got for malls.

So now you're probably wondering where we do all our Christmas shopping -- right? Out here, the only place to do any productive shopping is on line. From where I'm sitting right now, we shop in Boston, New York, and San Francisco without even putting our shoes and socks on.

There's no lines, no waiting, and you don't have to dash down the isle to grab the last one before somebody else gets it. Once we started shopping on line, we never looked back. Well, let me clarify that. We look back, but with a sigh of relief.

Shopping through the Sears catalogue department back in the late seventies was a nightmare I'll never forget. We called in this huge order right after Thanksgiving. They told us they had everything in stock and that our order would arrive at the Sears in Saugus in about ten days. It didn't arrive until about three days before Christmas.

When we showed up at the pickup department we were greeted with total chaos. A crowd of angry customers stood shouting at the clerks who had no idea whatsoever as to what was going on at all. Everybody's order was either lost or incomplete. They told us all to go behind the counter and search the shelves ourselves to find our own orders.

I did find mine. Half of the stuff I ordered was missing from my box. So, I took the liberty, as did everyone else, to go through other people's orders to find the stuff that was missing from my order. After rummaging through a dozen different boxes, I did eventually find all of the items on my original order. That was the first and last time I ever shopped through the Sears Catalogue.

Let that be no reflection on the Sears of today. Shopping on line is another animal altogether. There's no mass confusion like there was in the old days and your order comes shipped right to your door within days. This new media has certainly improved the "shop from home" concept way beyond its distant ancestor of the past.

Nightmare stories about Christmas shopping are a dime a dozen. Christmas shopping became less and less appealing as I grew older. But there was once a time when Christmas shopping was just as much fun as opening your gifts on Christmas morning.

Of course, I'm referring back to a time when you could buy a bottle of perfume for your mother at Gorins for fifty cents, or a wallet for your father at Grants for a dollar. A paperboy's salary meant something back then. And there were enough stores just in Everett alone that I could find something for everybody on my list.

So what do you say we hop on the old Everett Time Machine and take a trip back to the early 1960's when I was about twelve years old? I'll take you on a Christmas shopping spree with me. This is a rare opportunity because I hardly ever took anybody along when I went Christmas shopping. It's not that I didn't like the company. I just didn't want to get distracted from trying to figure out what to get for everybody.

My favorite day to go Christmas shopping was Saturday. After finishing my morning paper route, I still had a few hours before the stores opened. Remember, we're talking the early 1960's. Nobody stayed open 24/7 back then.

While waiting for the stores to open up at around nine-thirty, I'd sit at the kitchen table and go over my list three or four times. What I like to do first is take a trip down to Grants in Glendale Square. If I can pick up a few things there it takes a lot of the pressure off so I can really enjoy my shopping spree down the Square.

You'd think I have a dozen people or more to buy for by the way I carry on. There's only five people on my list. It's funny how the amount of people on your Christmas list grows proportionately with your age. So come on, let's head on down to Glendale Square.

We could catch the bus down on Ferry, but since it turns off at Elm anyway, we may as well walk. Standing in front of Whitehill Pharmacy on the corner of Nichols and Ferry waiting for the bus in the freezing cold is not my idea of a good time. We'll reach Grants long before that bus shows up anyway. Come on, this will be fun.

Let's take a few seconds out here on the front porch to pull up our socks, tuck our pant legs down into our boots, and tug those woolen mittens tightly up into our sleeves. Right across the street is the Storm Shield building. Forty years from now that will become Joyce's Hair Salon.

That's where we get all those boxes we play with. We hop up onto the roof through the backyards on Villa Ave to jump down into that courtyard. That's also the roof we stand on to whip all those sneakers you see dangling from the telephone wires.

Every time I walk along Ferry Street I try to imagine what it would be like if they ever took down all these trolley wires. It feels like being trapped under some sort of electric spider web. Over here on the corner of Villa Ave and Ferry is the work office for Frank Chute, the plumber. Decades from now, this will become an auto repair shop up. That shop will last until the turn of the millenium. Over there across the way is Spencer's Sunoco gas station. He'd let you cuff your car repairs so long as you paid him something every week.

Back in the early 1960's, people frequented the local establishments regularly for their daily needs. That's why places like Anna's variety on the corner of Cherry and Ferry lasted so long. Another reason was because you established a neighborly relationship with the store's owner. It was nothing to run down to the corner grocer or pharmacy for a few odds and ends and then say, "Put it on my tab." Raise your hand if any of you have that kind of relationship with any of the stores you frequent today. Anybody? I didn't think so.

I'll be honest with ya, though. I never heard of anybody doing that at Ski's Ice Cream parlor on the corner of Chestnut and Ferry. They served delicious ice cream, but man, they were miserable people. You felt about as welcomed as a toothache whenever you sat down in there to enjoy your ice cream. Half way into your cone they'd start rushing you out the door. They did a slam bang business just the same.

After we cross over the bottom of Reed Ave, we'll come to another string of stores. Only once do I remember this first one opening for business. Some old lady opened a candy store there once. I remember that because she hired a bunch of us little kids to help her paint the inside of her store. She gave us each about three dollars for a day's work. Not a bad day's wage in those days (hey, does anybody see a verb in that fragment?).

After that was Pat, the cobbler. All of the girls used to tell me that Pat gave them the creeps. He did a great job repairing your shoes though. That meant a lot to poor people like us. I never would have had a new pair of shoes for school sometimes if it weren't for that guy. My mother used to send us down there to drop off and pick up our shoes every year before the first day of school. She finally went down there herself once. After that she switched to the cobblers up on Norwood Street. She would never tell us why.

After the cobbler, was a bar. I think there still is. Now that's a big surprise in Everett - right? Another street corner, another bar, makes sense. Hey, we were thirsty. At the end of that string of stores was Mandolese's Bakery. Once you get passed Mandolese's, there really isn't all that much to talk about except how that cold east wind blows across Glendale Park and freezes your butt off in winter.

Stop & Shop, Ligget's Rexall Drug, and Grants are a welcoming sight after a long winter trek along Ferry Street. You'll feel like you've just survived a wind tunnel. It makes you kind of wish you waited for the bus after all.

How much do you remember about Ligget's? They sold so many different things in there that it was hard to imagine that place as a drug store sometimes. One of my funniest memories of that place was the day we saw the proprietor setting up a backyard swing set display. The price on the big display tag said, "$29.99." Above that he wrote "$39.99" and then crossed it out so you'd think you were getting it at a discounted price.

Did anyone ever read all those ads they had plastered all over those front windows? Man, that looked more like a community bulletin board than it did a storefront window. There was so much stuff crammed into that little place you'd have to sift through mounds of unrelated merchandise to find what you're looking for. You could pickup a few odds and ends for a really low price sometimes. My mother would never consider getting her prescriptions filled there. She was much too polite to say why.

The whole reason for coming down to Glendale Square in the first place was to take a look around to see what Grants had to offer. When you're a little kid, standing in the middle of Grants felt like the middle of a grand cathedral. When you come to realize how small that store actual was it staggers the imagination.

Grants never had much that would interest a boy. They were more along the lines of linens, budget clothing, and ladies toiletries. "Ladies toiletries" is a term I've always felt uncomfortable with. I don't know if that's because I'm a boy, or if it's because the word "toiletries" conjures up the image of a roll of toilet paper and a tube of Preparation H. I know it shouldn't, but it does. I'm sorry.

Don't even think about looking for a gift for your brother in Grants. You're Dad, maybe, but no way for your brother. They did have things like key chains, wallets, men's handkerchiefs and belts, but not the kind you'd buy for your brother. The whole reason for coming down here first was to see if I could find something for my my mother and sister.

My Dad always taught me that, "If you can appease the women in your life you'll pave the way for a smooth escape from the harbor when the storm brews." I know that sounds politically incorrect these days, but you'd be hard pressed to find a guy out there who doesn't agree.

It's not easy shopping for a girl. You'd think the opposite. They don't ask for much, but what they do ask for has so many options and particulars it'll send you into a tizzy. Let me explain that.

Let's say you want to pick out an after-shave for your Dad. Do you know what scent he likes? Sure you do. He likes the regular. Who doesn't?

Now, let's go on over to the so called "ladies toiletries" shall we? Let's pick out some perfume for your mom. See any regular? Laugh if you want to, but I actually asked the sales lady if they had any "regular" perfume.

She was very helpful. She asked if this gift was for a mature woman or a younger lady. Now that's tact for ya right there. If she had been a guy she would have asked, "Is this for your old lady or your main squeeze?"

The sales lady opened each of the bottles so I could take a whiff of the many different aromas she had to offer. After I got the scent of that first one stuck up my nose they all smelled the same. No matter which one I picked out my mother would always swear it smelled as sweet as a bouquet of roses. I remember all those thankful hugs and kisses when she opened it, but I don't ever remember her actually putting any of it on.

Jewelry is another thing you've got to be careful with. It looks all nice and shiny on those display cards, but they tarnish almost overnight when you get them home. I bought my sister a pair of earrings from Grants one year that she absolutely adored. That was until they turned her ear lobes green. After a few bad experiences with cheap perfume and jewelry, I made up my mind to stick with nick knacks and trinkets for the girls on my list.

One thing I did learn to appreciate about buying Christmas gifts was to try to be a little creative with my gift ideas. You can only do that if you take your time and try to envision how the person you're buying for will relate to the gift in question. Let me give you an example.

My sister used to love to sit and doodle these funny little faces that had great big eyes. Some had smiles, and some had frowns. She drew them all over her schoolbook covers. So when I spied that cute little doodle pad in Grants that looked like a girl's diary, it had my sister's name written all over it. It even came with a sparkly looking pen. You couldn't ask for a more girly looking thing if you tried.

And look at the price tag. It's only a dollar. Yeah, I could get off dirt cheap, but that's not my intention. I've got three bucks set aside for each person on my list and I'm determined to stick to my game plan.

Let me tell ya something about my big sister. She's been like a little mother to me ever since she could prop me up in the stroller and roll me down the street. If I had three million dollars I'd spend it all on her. She's getting that three dollars worth come hell or high water.

Hey, look at this. Here's some really fancy ladies handkerchiefs with decorative letters embroidered into the lower corner. They've got a pretty flowery border all along the outer edge and everything. They cost two bucks for a pack of three. That sounds a little expensive I know, but hey, my girls are worth it. I'll get a pack with a "G" on it for my mom (Her name is Grace) and a pack with a "J" on it for my big sister, Julie.

That just about wraps it up for Grants. Oh, hey, wait a minute. Look at this. It's hard to know what to get for my Dad. His favorite pastimes are fishing, reading, and lying on the couch watching sports. That really limits your options, but just take a look at this. It's a small reading light that clips onto the top of your book. I don't know how many times I've heard my mother say, "Oh Bill, will you put down that book and turn off the light so I can get some sleep?" This is perfect. Okay, this year, my Dad gets the book light.

Did you find everything you wanted? Okay then, let's head on up to Everett Square. Let's do some serious Christmas shopping now.

Woah, wait a minute. I forgot how cold it is outside. You can walk all the way up the hill on Broadway in this brutal wind if you want to, but I'm crossing over to the other side of Glendale Square and hopping on the bus.

You talk about timing? There's the bus now. Come on, we'll dash across Broadway, waive our arms and shout, "Wait up!" He'll wait if he sees us. They always did back then.

Hey look, there's Mrs. Day from Ferry Street. I'm gonna sit down next to her. You can grab the seat right behind us. Mrs. Day lived in one of Henry Gray's apartments. Her building was at the opposite end of that huge parking lot I used to call my backyard.

She always sat at her kitchen window to watch us play hot beans and stickball. Her daughter, Betty, used to baby-sit me. We're somehow related, but I don't know how. Everybody from Newfoundland is related in one way or another. There's just no escaping it.

Take a look around the bus. What do you see? What you're looking at is a busload of Christmas shoppers heading on down towards Everett Square for a day of serious Christmas shopping. That may sound funny to those of you who have never experienced the golden days of shopping in Everett Square, but there was once a time ... aw heck, we're on our way there now anyway. I'll show ya what I mean.

Let's get off one stop before Kresge's. There's always a big crowd in front of Kresge's. There's just as many people waiting to get on the bus at that stop as there are trying to get off. Rather than stand in line inching my way off the bus, I'd just as soon get off here peacefully and walk the last thirty or forty paces to Kresge's. It's no big deal.

Stand here on the sidewalk with me for a minute. You want to see some magic? Look up. Look at the streetlights and all the wires that crisscross over head. Coming out from the poles are giant wreaths with candles all lit up in the center of them. There's garland wrapped around the poles from the top of the streetlight almost all the way down to the sidewalk. And there's garland twisted around every wire that crosses up above Broadway.

Do you hear that? The church bells are chiming out "Away in a Manger." And just look at how the snow fell on top of that giant Christmas tree in front of the Parlin Library. I'm telling ya, it looks like something out of a Currier and Ives winter landscape.

You know me. I could stand here and drink in the magic of the holiday season forever, but I've got things to do. I'm not even stopping for a bite to eat today. I'm getting my shopping done. Let's go see what we can find in Kresge's. I've yet to ever come out of that store empty handed.

Hey look, this is a riot. What a perfect gift for my big brother, Billy. He'll love this. It's a switch blade comb. That's the perfect gift for the ultimate leather jacketed greaser on your shopping list. Let's see what else they've got. I love picking through all the odds and ends at Kresge's.

Take a look at this. It looks like a gun, but when you pull the trigger a flame pops up so you can light your cigarette. It's a novelty, for sure, but it would never go over big with my brother, Billy. He likes to look cool for the chicks when he snaps open his cigarette lighter in that James Dean fashion of his.

You're not going to believe what I just found. My mother's gonna love this. I did not expect to find this in Kresge's. It's one of the cutest little sets of eggcups I've ever seen in my life. Did I ever tell you that my mother collects eggcups? She'll love these.

The only person I haven't bought anything for now is my brother, Carl. He's easy. He loves history, building models, and drum & bugle corps music. He plays the bass drum in Statesmen. Last year, I bought him a record of drum & bugle corps music at the record shop. He wore the grooves off that thing listening to it.

He's already got a dozen models of airplanes all over the house, but that's the only record of drum & bugle corps music he's ever had. It drives me up a wall, but he loves it. As they say, "One man's medicine is another man's poison." So that's it. Let's go up and talk to Freddy at the Everett record shop on Norwood Street. After that, I'm going back home for a night of wrapping gifts.

Don't you just love Christmas? I sure do, especially because there's nothing quite like soaking up the Christmas holiday spirit in you home town. There's nothing quite like Christmas in Everett!

I've Got A Secret

I've got a secret that I've been harboring for years. There are things about the city of Everett that I really enjoyed doing by myself. Don't ask me why. More than likely, the reason stems from whenever I asked anyone else if they'd like to come along, they just looked at me and laughed.

The two most notable things I liked to do by myself were to attend the high school plays, and the Christmas tree lighting ceremony in Everett Square. I can remember this one time when I ran into a friend of mine from high school on Broadway in front of the Parlin. "Where you going?" he asked.

"Down to the tree lighting in Everett Square," I told him.

"You're kidding - right?"

See what I mean? Okay, I know, it's no big deal like in Times Square, but hey, it's Everett. This is my hometown. These are my people. And you only go this way once. I think.

So today, I'm going to tell you about one of the Christmas tree lighting ceremonies I attended in Everett Square back when I was in high school. It was a memorable experience for me in many ways. Let me tell you why.

On this particular day, I did not purposely plan to attend the Christmas tree lighting ceremony. It just happened. The real reason I went down to Everett Square that night was to go to the record shop on Norwood Street.

The spirit of Christmas was fading out at my house. Since my older brother and sister had gone off and gotten married, there just wasn't all that much going on at home any more. We no longer sat around at the kitchen table thumbing through the Sears catalogue saying, "I'm asking Santa for one of those and one of those."

Decorating the Christmas tree that year was about as much fun as a toothache. My mother questioned why we even bother at all, and my Dad showed no interest whatsoever. My other brother looked at me like I had two heads when I suggested we all get together to decorate the tree in the old fashioned family tradition. Nobody cared anymore.

I just thought that if I went out and brought home some cheerful holiday music, that maybe I could spark up that Christmas spirit back into our lives. It couldn't be just any kind of music. It had to be something cheerful. I made up my mind to pick up a copy of Burl Ives' Christmas album. Let's face it. You'd be hard pressed to get any more cheerful than that.

So that's how I wound up in Everett Square that night. When I saw all the commotion going on in front of the library, I figured I may as well mingle in with the crowd since nothing else was going on in my life to brighten up the holidays. At least these people were enjoying the spirit of Christmas.

Christmas shoppers came out of Gorins, and diners came out of the Waldorf to join in on all the fun. As the minutes passed, the crowd grew larger. We stood there watching the city workers routing wires and testing connectors.

Well actually, only one of the them was doing any work. All the others just stood around and watched. Nah, I'm kidding ya. These guys were really putting their backs into it, let me tell ya. They were stepping over wires, barking orders back and forth to each other, passing things up to the guys on ladders, and stuff like that. We were actually having a good time for ourselves watching them work.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" Somebody rapped me on the arm. It was my friend, Tommy, from Dern Street.

"Hey Tommy, what's up?"

"I was doing a little Christmas shopping at Noyes. It doesn't look like they're gonna get this show on the road any time soon. Are these guys a riot or what?" He laughed.

"You know, I give these guys a lot of credit," I said. "It's freezing out and they're stringing wires from here to Timbuktu with everybody standing around gawking over their shoulders. Man, you talk about pressure."

"Yeah, well let me know how they make out. I've got things to do. You're not actually gonna stand here waiting to see this thing light up, are ya?"

"Nah, I've got shopping to do, too. I just stopped for a minute to watch the city workers try to figure it all out."

"Yeah, me too. I gotta go. I'll catch ya later."

"Take it easy, Tom."

So there it is. Paul Huffman is a phony. He didn't have the guts to tell his friend the truth. Instead, he played it cool. So, what is the truth anyway?

The truth is, this way too cool hippie from the back hills of Glendale Park has the heart of a little boy when it comes to Christmas. And I'm telling ya right now, I know that is never gonna change no matter how old I get.

Watching Tommy cross the street gave me a knot in my stomach. It really bothered me now that I didn't just come right out and say, "I'm here because I love Christmas." What is the big deal anyway? When am I ever going to grow up and stop worrying about what everybody else thinks? Me, of all people, the one everybody calls the "rebel." Man, I'm just as vain as everybody else.

That's what was running through my mind when I suddenly noticed this old timer standing right beside me. I knew this guy from somewhere. I just couldn't quite get that piece to fit back into the puzzle. He was just standing there with this big innocent smile on his face watching the city workers trying to get that tree lit up.

After a while, he turned to me and said, "So, what do you think, Paul? You think they'll get this all figured out by Christmas?" He laughed.

"Gee, I hope so," I smiled back. I have no idea how this guy knew my name.

"How's your mother and father doing?" He asked.

"Oh, they're fine." Damn, this guy knows my whole family. I'm going to have to play it really cool so he doesn't know that I can't remember him. I don't want this guy to think I'm a knucklehead.

"Are you still drawing?" Now I know I'm in trouble. This guy's gotta be more than just a casual acquaintance.

He rest his hand on my shoulder, smiled at me and said, "You don't remember me. Do you?"

Okay, the game's over. "Gee, no, I'm sorry. I don't remember you."

"I'm not surprised," he said. "We haven't seen each other in ages. You weren't any more than up to my knees the last time I saw ya."

At that very moment, the Christmas tree lights came on. The crowd cheered. A handful of onlookers broke into a sidewalk rendition of "Jingle Bells." About a minute and a half later, the Christmas tree lights went back off again. Everyone shouted, "Awww!"

"Hold your horses. We'll get em back on," One of the workers shouted out to the crowd.

"So, are you gonna tell me who you are?"

Now, this is funny. When I turned to say that, that guy wasn't standing beside me any more. There was a girl standing there who I vaguely recognized from school. And she looked at me like I had two heads.

It was a really awkward situation. I didn't want this girl to think that I was on the make or anything. "I'm sorry. I was talking to an older gentleman who was standing right here a minute ago. I swear," I tried to explain.

"Oh sure you were," she laughed.

"No, really. You weren't here. Somebody else was."

"I'm right here, Paul." He tapped me on the shoulder. He was standing right behind me.

"You're gonna get me trouble," I laughed. "So, who are you?"

"I'm Tom. I lived next door to you down on Arlington Street. I'm the fireman who pulled you out from under your back porch when you lit your house on fire."

"You lit your house on fire?" That girl was looking at me now with that expression people make when they think you're crazy in a harmless sort of way. Trust me. I know that look only too well. People have been looking at me like that since I first crawled over the crib rail.

"He sure did," Tom laughed. "He was playing with matches down under his back porch and lit the whole back of the house on fire."

"Oh good God," she laughed.

"That ain't the worse part," he laughed. "He was afraid he was going to get a spanking from his mom so he ran up into the burning house and hid under his bed. We had to chase up after him and pull him back out of the burning house."

"Did he burn the whole house down?"

"No, the house was fine, but they had to rebuild the back porches on all three floors of the building." The two of them stood there sharing a good belly laugh over my stupidity.

"So, he's been like this all his life?" She asked.

"What do you mean all my life? You don't even know me."

"Oh God, Paul, everybody knows you."

Why does everybody keep saying that? Am I so bizarre that I stick out like a sore thumb? How come if everybody knows me so well that I always feel like I'm all alone in the universe? Explain that one to me.

You want to hear a good one? You know what makes Carol King burst out laughing all of a sudden every once in a while? She keeps thinking about the time we were driving down the street and I didn't want to be recognized by anyone so I put on a pair of sunglasses.

"You're not serious," she screamed in a fit of laughter.

"What do you mean?" I asked in all innocence.

"You mean to tell me that you honestly believe that the people you've known all your life are not going to recognize you because you're wearing sunglasses?"

To be embarrassingly honest, I did think that until she put it that way. Even to this day she tells me, "I am totally amazed that you made it into the college honor society. The truth is, you're so smart you're stupid." We're talking about the girl who decided to spend the rest of her life with me. Now you tell me who the smart one is.

So now, here I am trying to enjoy the Christmas tree lighting ceremony in Everett Square and I've got two people (that I hardly know at all) standing on either side of me laughing about what an idiot I am. And you wonder why I've got a complex?

"I'm going to go have a look to see if I can figure out what they're doing wrong," Tom said.

That's when that girl turned to me and said, "So why are you here?"

"Why does everybody ask that?" I answered. "Why else would I be here? I'm here to see them light up the Christmas tree. I love Christmas and I don't care who knows." I guess I finally convinced myself that the truth will set me free.

"Yeah, me too," she admitted. "I love Christmas, but everybody looks at you like you're a nut when you admit it."

"Isn't that a shame? What's gotten into everybody? What's so wrong with liking Christmas?"

"Gee, I don't know," she said. "I guess people just think that after a certain age it's immature to get excited about Christmas. I can't help it, though. No matter what's going on in my life, Christmas makes me ignore all the bad things and helps me focus on all the good."

"Yeah, that's how I feel."

All of a sudden, the Christmas tree lit up and everyone cheered.

"Isn't that beautiful?" She said with this great big child like smile on her face.

"That is beautiful. Now, I'm off to the record store to get some Christmas music to help bring the spirit of Christmas back into my family's life."

"Oh, I'll go with you. Maybe I'll pick something out, too."

So that's what we did. We took a walk up to the record store on Norwood Street. Along the way, we each reminisced about a happy moment in our childhood about Christmas.

I told her about the time I got this little rocket launcher one Christmas that I was crazy about. After the launcher slowly raised straight up into the air, it shot a harmless little plastic rocket across the living room. After playing with it for no more than about five minutes, my sister accidentally stepped on it.

My Dad did fix it, but to get it to work properly I had to hold onto this piece of string that he tied onto the launch pad. It just lost all of its magic for me after that. I was so disappointed. Don't get me wrong. I did not blame my sister. It was my own fault for having left it out in the middle of the living room floor in the first place.

She then told me about a doll she once got for Christmas that sent shivers up her spine. She said the doll's eyes flipped wide open at the oddest times. "It kind of freaked me out so I never played with it," she said.

At the record store, we picked out odd record albums and laughed at them. We had a really good time for ourselves. And yes, I did buy that Burl Ives Christmas album.

We walked up Broadway together and down around the corner onto Ferry Street that night laughing about funny things that happened at school. We went our separate ways at the corner of Elm and Ferry. She was on her way up to the projects, and I was on my way back to Foster Street. We had moved out of that three-family on Arlington Street by then.

"I really had fun tonight," She said. "Thanks for giving me some Christmas spirit."

"Hey, and thank you," I answered. "It's great to know somebody else in the world still cares about Christmas."

Just after crossing Elm Street, I heard her call out to me. I looked back to see her standing near the entrance to Glendale Park. She waived and yelled, "I forgot to wish you a Merry Christmas."

"Oh, me too. Merry Christmas," I shouted back.

When I got back home, my Dad was lying on the couch watching TV, and my mother was in the kitchen listening to Jerry Williams on the radio. "Hey, I've got something I want everybody to hear," I said.

"Be quiet, will ya? I'm trying to hear the TV," my Dad snapped.

"The heck with TV," I said. "Wait until you hear this."

I popped open the stereo and started playing my new Christmas record. My Dad sat up on the couch with this great big smile on his face. "Where did you get that?"

"I just bought it."

Even my mother shut off the radio and came in from the kitchen. You should have seen the smiles on their faces when I started singing along with, "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas." They looked at eack other and laughed, "That boy of ours is definitely not playing with a full deck."

It worked.

They pulled out the old picture albums and started thumbing through all of our old Christmas pictures. We sat around the Christmas tree and reminisced about the good old days when we were little kids. They laughed about all those Christmas Eves they had to stay up all through the night reading directions and trying to figure out what hooked up to what.

"It never failed. As soon as we finally got to bed, you kids woke up," my mother laughed.

The true spirit of Christmas came back into our lives that night. And Burl Ives did it. It sounds silly, I know, but there is something magic about that song, "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas," that just makes people happy. I love that song.

Oh, and that girl I told you about. That was the only time in our lives that we ever paid any attention to each other. We greeted each other in the hallway at Everett High whenever our paths crossed, but we never really spoke to each other ever again. It's just one of those crazy things, I guess.

I wish the story ended there, but sadly enough, it doesn't.

You see, this Christmas is a very special Christmas for many reasons. I've got a lot to be thankful for this year. Since I started writing this "We're from Everett" journal, I've come in contact with hundreds of people, from all over the world, who grew up in Everett. My number of friends from Everett over the past year has multiplied a hundred times over.

One of these new friends is a girl who graduated from Everett High school in 1971 with me. I did not know this girl personally when we were in high school. I knew who she was, and I did know her name. I knew she was very popular. Everyone liked her. And now I know why.

Her name is Joanne. She's the girl who has taken on the burdensome responsibility of organizing our class reunions every five years. That alone tells you much about what kind of person she is right there. But wait until you hear this. When she found out that I didn't have my yearbook, she sent me hers so I could scan it into my computer and digitize it. Do you believe that?

How many people would send something so precious as their yearbook off in the mail to somebody they hardly knew? That is exactly what I love about Everett people. If you challenge them, they'll fight you tooth and nail. If you open your heart to them, they'll embrace you with a warmth that will absolutely comfort your soul. There is nobody else on the planet like the people from Everett.

While I was scanning the pages of her yearbook, I came across the picture of that girl who watched the Christmas tree lighting ceremony with me in Everett Square that night. Scribbled next to her picture were the words, "Passed Away."

My special Christmas friend had journeyed beyond the far horizon and I never knew it until just now. How ironic that I should find this out at about the exact time of year that we attended that tree lighting ceremony together. God does move in mysterious ways. I do believe that. The good news is, every day is Christmas in Heaven.

Who knows? Maybe that special Christmas angel was reminding me to keep the faith. And maybe, just maybe, she was the angel who intervened when that car slammed into me just a few weeks ago. You never know.

That girl gave me a very special Christmas gift that year. She gave me a memory that I shall cherish dearly for the rest of my life. It hurts to know she's gone, but that's the selfish part of me showing through. I have no idea what really lies beyond the far horizon. I do believe it is above and beyond all of the things we know in this dimension. And I do believe it is just another phase of the many that we pass through.

We are all traveling along this unpredictable road together. Try closing yourself off from everybody else and watch how unhappy you'll be. Reach out to each other and watch how much easier the journey becomes.

Another reason I've got to really appreciate Christmas this year is because my nephew and his blushing bride just gave birth to a beautiful baby boy named, "Dylan." I'm a greatuncle again. I love that. If my family gets any bigger I'm gonna have to keep track of everybody on a huge database. The larger my family gets, the stronger my heart grows.

The spirit of Christmas is in my soul. I'm so happy I want to shout from the roof tops that, "I love Christmas!"

And you know what else? I honestly do believe that it is far better to give than it is to receive. That's just the kind of guy I am :)

Merry Christmas, everybody. And thank you for being my friends.

Strange Magic

Once VCR's came into our lives, we could watch our favorite movies over and over again whenever we wanted to. We no longer had to wait for a whole year to go by just to see the "Wizard of Oz" again. I embraced this new technology with opened arms. It really came in handy when I started having kids of my own, let me tell ya. Even my mother admitted, "I sure wish I had one of those contraptions when you were little."

On the other hand, I came to realize that waiting for those special features to come around again the following year was just as much a part of the excitement as the feature itself. I remember how excited I used to get just knowing that the annual showing of the "Wizard of Oz" was only a few days away.

And even though I watched that movie every year, it always held a special magic that touched my heart. I was constantly discovering something new about it every time I watched it. More than likely, that was because so much happens in a year when you're little that you forget most of what you watch on TV.

When you're a little kid, a year takes a lifetime to go by. Once you're in your fifties, birthdays seem to come around about once a week. I remember being a little kid thinking, "Oh boy, it's almost my birthday!" Now I think, "Oh no, not another one already."

The "Wizard of Oz" was one of the movies I watched over and over again when I first got a VCR. All of the magic and wonder went out of that movie after seeing it three times in a row on the same day. The exciting anticipation is what this new technology stripped from the more monumental compositions of media entertainment. It sounds trivial on the surface, I know, but once you get bored with something so artistically creative as the "Wizard of Oz," you know there's something seriously wrong in paradise.

As this new technology continues to evolve and dominate our leisure time, another truth emerges about all this that I believe we've all come to realize. And that is that virtual reality, with all of its wonder, will never equal the excitement of actual reality.

Today's animatronic technologies fuel the excitement at entertainment centers like Disney World in magical ways. Digital technology allows the creative artist to accomplish far more complex results in much less time and labor. As a result, the observer enjoys an over abundance of exciting experiences -- almost to the point of excitement overload.

Even in comparison to all this fantastic multimedia technology, we were not without mystical wonders ourselves when we were growing up. When something really creative took our breath away back then, we just looked at each other and asked, "How in the world did they do that?" Nobody ever asks that any more. Nower days, the answer is always a simple one word explanation -- "computers."

Kids amaze me today. They embrace this new technology with such curiosity that they are constantly pulling it apart to see what makes it tick. My twelve year old daughter is notorious for viewing the source code on other people's web pages so she can rewrite their Javscript to achieve amazing results on her own web site. In our day, that would compare to pulling apart several old radios and putting them back together again to design a brand new entertainment center.

So, as they say, "The more things change; the more they stay the same." Because when I was twelve years old, I used to pick through people's trash barrels for old broken tape recorders. I even got one out of Hilda's trash barrel over on High Street once. After years of fidgeting with these things, I learned how to take the parts out of one to rebuild the other. There was once a time when I had so many tape recorders laying around the house that my mother made me give them away to my friends.

Understanding what makes something tick sometimes takes the magic out of it. You experience the full impact of the magic when you don't look beyond the surface and just enjoy the end result. You experience the magic in the creative works of Salvador Dali, M. C. Escher, and René Margrite not by analyzing the mediums they used, but by observing the compositions themselves.

And those are all of the reasons why I experienced an extraordinarily strange magic on the day my mother took me into Boston during the holiday season when I was only seven years-old. What I'm about to show you now offers no explanation or critique. It's just the pure encounter as I experienced it.

This happened in the late afternoon on Saturday, December 12th, in 1959. There was something a bit unusual going on in my house that day that I just couldn't quite put my finger on. It's almost as if everybody else knew something that I didn't. I could tell by that sly smirk everybody gets on their face when they're purposely talking over the head of that one person in the crowd who is not "in-the-know." Obviously, I was the one who was not "in-the-know."

When we sat down to supper that afternoon, I had less french fries on my plate than everybody else. Now I knew there was something funny going on. Of course I questioned it. My mother's explanation was, "You and I are going out after supper and I don't want you all filled up for the trip."

"Where are we going?"

"We've got a some special Christmas shopping to do," She said.

"What about everybody else? How come they don't have to go shopping?" You know my mind set -- right? I'm a little boy. The thought of going shopping with my mother was about as exciting as having to drink a glassful of "Milk of Magnesia." I hated going shopping.

Whenever I go shopping with my mother, she spends hours at a time looking at table cloths, dresses, and underwear. Then she actually has the nerve to ask me what I think before she decides not to buy anything anyway. If she does buy something, she'll only return it a few days later in exchange for something else. It's a vicious cycle and I really didn't want any part of it.

My brothers and sister were no help at all. You'd think they'd come through for me and help me out of this seemingly hopeless situation, but no, they turned on me like a bunch of Benedict Arnolds. They even backed up the enemy on this one.

"Oh Paul, you're gonna have a lot of fun going shopping with Ma. Go ahead and have a good time. You won't regret it," they all said.

Yeah, right! If it's going to be all that much fun then why are they so anxious to see me go? Any other time something was going to be that much fun they wouldn't hesitate to push me aside to jump at the front of the line. They're not fooling me one bit. I know this bunch. They've got something up their sleeves and they're getting me out of the way so they can enjoy it themselves.

Needless to say, after gobbling down my meager share of fries, they had me washed, dressed, and out the door in the blink of an eye. The next thing I knew, I was standing at the bus stop on the corner of Arlington and Ferry with my mother. It was just beginning to get dark out, and man, was it ever cold.

We huddled in the doorway of the American Storm Shield building to keep out of the biting wind. What was left of the snow on the ground was dirty. It hadn't snowed for more than a week now and the old snow was really packing hard. Things were beginning to take on that dismal dreary look you get in what we call, "The dead of winter."

By the time the 110 Wonderland to Everett Station bus showed up I was ready to run out and kiss the bumper. Don't worry, I know better. All New Englanders know not to kiss anything aluminum in December unless you want to become permanently attached to it. I really wouldn't mind getting stuck to Carol King like that, but I'll take a rain check on the 110, thank you.

When those double doors swung open, my mother grabbed a hold of my hand and guided me up those black rubber steps. They were all lumpy and dirty from the half melted ice everybody else stamped off their boots. That's the first time I noticed that the lights in the bus stay on when it's dark out.

There were so many people on the bus that some had to stand up in the middle of the isle holding onto those loopy things that hung from the ceiling. Two guys in their work clothes courteously hopped up out of their seats to let me and my mother sit down. What a couple of nice guys, huh?

Nobody said a word. People just sat there staring off into space. Everybody looked tired. Some of the people held onto bundles from their recent shopping trip. And one old lady had one of those shopping baskets on wheels filled with groceries.

Because it was so dark outside, I really couldn't see out the window. All I could see was the reflection of the other side of the bus. I could see myself, but not all that good. That's mainly because when I turned my head, my hood didn't move so I could only see half of my face through the only eye that wasn't covered by my hood.

To occupy my idle mind, I sat there adding and subtracting from the total number of passengers on the bus as people got on and off at every stop. I was trying to figure out how long it was going to take to empty out the bus. That's how drastically your mind wanders sometimes when you know the only thing you've got to look forward to is being bored out of your skull looking at clothes in a store for the next two hours.

We nearly froze to death standing on the outbound platform at Everett Station waiting for the train. It was so cold that I swear I went into a state of suspended animation. I did not fully regain consciousness until we pulled into Downtown Crossing.

Who designed these subway stations anyway? Didn't they teach design esthetics in college back in those days? If what this underground subway station had to show me was any indication as to what lie ahead outside, I was in for one long dreary night, let me tell ya.

That ungodly noise from the trains screaching through the tunnels sounds like something out of a horror movie. The yellow tiles on those dirty walls really looks ugly under those dingy florescent lights. Those subway tunnel lights flicker and buzz like the equipment they used to bring Frankenstien to life. It all reminded me of dilapidated bathroom in an abandoned building somewhere. And because of all the creepy looking characters lurking in the shadows, I felt somewhat relieved when we finally made our way up that flight of stairs leading out into the dark of night.

So, what was waiting for us at the top of those stairs? The only way I can think of to describe it to you is by telling you exactly what I saw in my own words.

Somewhere between Everett Station and downtown Boston, it started to snow. It was coming down might steadily if I do say so myself. It had already blanketed the sidewalks with a light fluffy coating that swished away like a feathery dust as you walked. Looking up into the sky you could see the snowflakes drifting ever so unpredictably down towards those elaborate Christmas wreaths that hung over the tops of the street lights.

The streetlights in Boston did not reach way up into the heavens by themselves like the ones in Everett Square. On the contrary, even though they looked much taller, they were dwarfed by the illuminated skyscrapers that blotted out the sky. It was like looking up into some kind of brilliant tunnel.

My eyes slid down along the face of that huge skyscraper until I saw this giant clock sticking out of it that said, "Filene's" on it. Just below that stood these tall plate glass windows that reached almost all the way down to the sidewalks. They shimmered with an iridescent brightness that lit up an aura around all those people across the street who crowded together to stand and stare into the window.

A team of horses wearing sleigh bells and tassels pulled a carriage full of people right down through the middle of the street. Christmas music chimed through the night air and echoed off the buildings. It seemed to be coming from everywhere. I could hear people talking and laughing out loud. Everyone seemed to be filled with that that same kind of warmth that is usually shared between life-long friends.

There was a strange magic in the air. I could hear it. I could see it. And I could feel it. It kind of made me wonder as to what on earth could possibly make all these people so happy all at once? I was soon to learn that the answer was the collaboration of many things working together to focus on one overall theme.

Hearing the sleigh bells jingle in rhythm to the horses hoofs as they trotted along the pavement in the snow was indeed a part of this grand conspiracy to inflict mass hysteria into everyone's heart. So was the gentle falling snow on the wreaths that hung over the streetlights. And if all that added up to a palette and a canvas, then surely, that Christmas music in the background was unquestionably the artist's hand holding onto the paintbrush.

"So where was the masterpiece," you ask?

My mother took hold of my hand. We walked across the street towards the other sidewalk where those giant windows stood. So many people stood hypnotized by the light emitting from those windows that they crowded the sidewalks all the way out into the middle of the streets.

We had to wiggle and worm our way through the crowd to get up close to the windows. For some unknown reason, it was really important to my mother that I gaze into the light coming from that window. After seeing the hypnotic effect it held over everybody else, I was a little reluctant to get involved at all.

I was afraid that the adults had finally invented a way to alter the brain chemistry in children to get them to behave like mindless robots. Why else would she struggle so earnestly to get me to look into this strange light? Now I know why my big brothers and sister were so willing to send me off on this crazy excursion. They were all part of this grand conspiracy to hypnotize me into submission by getting me to look into that light.

And then it happened. The crowd somehow mysteriously stepped aside and I caught my first glimpse into the light. It more than held me spellbound. It captured the essence of my imagination and thrilled me beyond my wildest dreams.

What I saw inside that first window alone was more than enough to send a warm glow deep down into my heart. It was like stepping into a dream. Right there, before me, was another whole world just waiting to fuel all the fascination my curiosity could conjure up.

Life like dolls, as big as me, knelt before a flickering fire in a cozy fireplace. With facial expressions just like real people make, they moved with such fluent motion that it was hard to imagine that they really weren't real sometimes. Elaborate Christmas stockings hung from the mantle that stretched all the way down to the floor. They bulged with gifts wrapped in paper that shimmered and sparkled from the glow of the fire.

The Christmas tree in the corner of this make believe living room looked as big and wide as the one in front of the Parlin Library. It had more blinking lights and small toys hung on its branches than anything I've ever seen before in my life. It all looked so inviting that I wouldn't care if we just stood right there and stared into that window for the rest of the night.

"Have you seen enough?" My mother asked.

"Are you kidding?" I never wanted to step away from that spot on the sidewalk for the remainder of my natural life.

"Let's go see what's in the next window," she said with that all knowing motherly smile of hers. She knew she had just captivated my heart. I'm telling ya, that woman knows me like a book.

"You mean to tell me there's more than one window like this in the world?"

My dear friends, let me tell you something. I don't now how many windows there actually were, but every one of them was filled with so much magic that each one left me in a state of exhaustion from all the excitement. I saw snowmen dancing, angels ice skating, and chipmunks running up and down the sides of snow covered trees gathering nuts for winter.

Every scene possessed a perfect balance of color that echoed the essence of a Christmas in winter. The evergreens were deep and dark at the base of their splines and minty cool at the edge of their tips. That imitation snow had just the right touch of that powder blue tint that we all know and love in those Currier & Ives winter landscapes. And even the clouds in those make believe skies looked so real you'd swear they were just about to pass you by.

In one window, I saw a little girl knelt down beside her bed saying her prayers while Santa Claus peeked in through her window. I saw snow storms raging, and laundry blowing in the wind on the clothesline inside one of these elaborate displays. I saw things come to life that I never thought possible. Looking at these displays was like watching Norman Rockwell breath life into one of his paintings. I've never been so deeply moved by an experience in all my life.

I know it sounds crazy, but walking along the sidewalk that night, holding onto my mother's hand, and gazing at all these beautiful works of animated art in the windows thrilled me to such heights that I honestly didn't care if that was all I got for Christmas that year. I kid you not.

Oh, and that was only the beginning. My mother also took me into Jordan Marsh. We rode up the escalators. And when we got to the top, I saw these big twinkling letters that said, "Santa's Enchanted Village." I'm telling ya, we stepped into another world altogether.

Everything I saw in the windows outside became magnified a thousand times over. Animated elves stood on an assembly line making toys for Santa to deliver to all the girls and boys. We even peeked inside the barn where they housed all those magical reindeer that pulled Santa's sleigh. You may not believe this but, I saw Rudolf's nose light up. "Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye." Now you know I'm telling the trurh.

All of this was somewhat like the magic of the Yellow Brick Road that leads up to a grand finale. At the heart of the matter stood an elaborate throne on which the one and only Santa Claus sat in waiting. With one last reassuring look into my mother's eyes, she let go of my hand. I walked in awe towards the big man himself. You should have seen the expression on his face. When he reached out towards me with those big white gloves of his, I never felt a warmth in my heart like this ever before.

He knew my name. Do you believe that? Santa Claus knew my name. I knew this was the real deal when he asked, "So tell me, Paul, do you still draw every day?" He asked that before I even had the chance to open my mouth.

"Have you been a good boy?"

Why does he always have to ask that? Every time he does I get this really uneasy knot in my stomach. When you live with the kind of photographic memory that I do it really becomes a curse when confronted with your own guilty conscious. So I looked down at my shoes in shame and said, "Yes, I've been a good boy."

I'm half expecting him to come back with, "I saw you throw your broccoli under the kitchen stove three weeks ago." Thank God, he didn't. He was probably watching somebody else that night. Maybe that was the night he was spying on my big brother, Billy. I certainly hope so. I'd look like an angel in comparison.

"What would you like for Christmas?" Now we're getting down to the real nitty gritty.

The rest of that fascinating evening is little more than a sketchy blur in my memory. Let's face it, after talking to the real Santa Claus, there's not much else in one lifetime that even comes close in terms of endearment. Talking to the real Santa Claus just about wraps it up for me. I was walking on air after that.

It wasn't until we stepped into the door back home that I realized I had a bag of Malted Milk Balls in my hand. I have no idea how they got there. I don't even remember if my mother, or I, spoke so much as a single word all the way home. I had just experienced such a dream come true that I honestly felt like I needed to lie down and go to sleep to wake up.

Few things in life touch our hearts like the excitement of discovering that the real Santa Claus knows our name. It gives us a sense of security just knowing that there really is good and justice in the world. We sometimes lose that sentiment when we grow up because we mistakenly feel like there's no magic left in the world.

You think it's all an illusion, don't you? It's not. There is magic in the world. I know there is. I feel it every time someone gets in touch with me and tells me how much they enjoy reliving these memories from our childhood growing up in Everett. Every time you reach out to someone who needs a shoulder to lean on, it does just as much good for you as it does for them. It's when we isolate ourselves from each other that the magic goes out of our lives. There is good in the world. Every time you do something good, there is good in the world. You put it there.

Would you like to experience some real magic in your life? It's easy. All you gotta do is turn to each other. Talk to each other. Listen to each other. Help each other out. And most importantly, love one another. You'll see magic. Believe me, you'll see a strange magic that will light up your lives beyond your wildest dreams.

Make this a memorable Christmas holiday season. Make this the season we all reach out and get in touch with each other. Let every generation, from every neighborhood, join hands and proudly shout, "We're from Everett!"

By the way, this is my 100th post!

The Ultimate Daydreamer

Did your teachers ever accuse you of being a good for nothing daydreamer? Mine sure did. I drifted off into a daydream at the drop of a hat. I still do.

Nothing invokes tripping the dream lights fantastic quite like the monotone sound of the teachers voice droning on about something utterly mundane against the backdrop of somebody's muffled footsteps echoing through the corridor outside the classroom. You can almost hear it. Can't you?

On the right hand side of the Parlin Junior High, the backyard fence to the houses on High Street was only a few feet away from our classroom windows. Just inside that fence was a Japanese Thread leaf Maple Tree. It was, by far, one of the prettiest trees in the city of Everett. Now there's a good indication of how often my mind wandered out the window during school.

In Autumn, the leafs on that tree turned a fiery red. It really stood out amongst the Sugar and Norway Maples which turned a more yellowish green. Not only that, but the shape of the leaves on the thread leaf maples are far more decorative. Another thing that really caught my attention about that tree is how strong willed it was.

Throughout my eighth and ninth grade years at the Parlin, I watched that tree pass through the seasons. There were times that I got up to sharpen my pencil for no other reason than to get a gander at that tree. If that sounds a bit over the edge to you, allow me to give you my reasons.

That tree had one branch that stood out by itself. It was almost as if that tree was stretching its arm to reach for something. The way that branch bobbed in the wind rattling its leaves looked like it was playing the piano. My guitar instrumental entitled, "No School Snow Days" really captures in my mind's eye the rhythm of those thread leaf maple leaves blowing in the wind.

When the harsh winter fell, those leaves did not. Well, most did, yes, but not the ones on the end of that branch. For two years in a row, that tree defied Old Man Winter with a vengeance. It became somewhat of an inspiration to me watching that tree hold on for dear life in the face of overwhelming odds.

There was this one particular school day during the ninth grade, when I was suffering with a severe case of the melancholy blues, that that tree really came through for me. I cannot think of one reason as to why I had the blues that day, but I had them. I had them bad. And the dull monotone atmosphere of that boring classroom certainly wasn't helping any either.

It was really cold and dark that day. There was frost on the windows. Through the frost I could barely see the jagged image of that lonely branch. It didn't move an inch. The world looked so desolate and still.

The frost on the window pane began to part. I could now see that branch. It looked lifeless. It was almost as if it had surrender to the enemy and laid down to die. And then all of a sudden, it twitched its leaves almost finger like. I could swear it had just waived to me. It hadn't surrendered after all.

And if that wasn't enough to enlighten my dreary heart, it started to snow. Those leaves perked up, opened the palm of their hands, and stretched out their fingers to catch the falling snowflakes. As those fiery red leaves began to fill up with snow, they looked almost identical to a Christmas poinsettia. The whole world outside came to life.

With each passing drift, the snowflakes grew larger and larger. They tumbled ever so gingerly at first, but before very long, it all transformed into one of those powdery blizzards we all know in love in New England.

Did I say that I had the blues? I didn't now. That blizzard raged outside. It beat against the window with such fervor that it sounded like someone rattling aluminum foil. Learning was going on all around me, but I was a million miles away. I was off in another dimension.

Have you ever experienced the Christmas season in Everett? Did I hear you ask, "What's so special about that?" Let me show it to you through my eyes. Take a walk with me. I'll show you things that will touch your heart in ways you've never imagined. Maybe you have seen it all before. All I ask is that you let me show it to you in a new light. Let me show it to you the way that Japanese Thread Leaf Maple showed it to me.

The first sound to greet me when I stepped out of that door on the right hand side of the Parlin was the ringing of that iced over cord banging up against the flag pole. It was hard to focus on anything at first because the snow felt like sand beating against my face. Only a few seconds after stepping out into the open my eye brows and lashes were packed with a shallow crust of ice.

There was a chill in the air that stung the tips of my ears. You couldn't face into the wind no matter how hard you tried. Go ahead and hurry home out of the storm if that's what tickles your fancy. I really don't blame you a bit. There's nothing quite like curling up on a cozy warm couch with a mug of hot cocoa when there's a Nor Easter raging outside.

For those of you dreamers out there who thirst for a cup of enlightenment, come along and brave the raging storm with me. I'll show you pictures of a city you've long forgotten. To me, it feels like wandering around inside of a snow globe when the Christmas season comes to Everett. Let me show it you.

It's crazy, I know, but look at all the other kids pulling their collars up over their ears in a futile attempt to shelter themselves from the raging storm. Look at the way they hobble from side to side because they're holding onto their lapels as they run for cover.

Look at their faces. There's a smile of irony emblazoned over those dreary masks. They're trying to hide it, but they can't. Isn't that a riot? And even though the weather couldn't get any more miserable, it's touching their hearts with a warmth they don't even understand. You know what that tells me? It tells me that there's two sides to every snow storm.

On the front of this coin are those who fantasize laying out on the beach in the Bahamas when Old Man Winter roars. They curse the puddles. They snarl at the biting winds. And they get agitated with each other for no other reason than because there's other people on the planet. People prefer solitude when the snow flies. Don't ask me why.

On the flip side of this coin are people like me. You know what I prefer? Turn out that sun. Bring on those clouds. And let it snow. Go ahead Old Man Winter. Do your worst. The louder you roar, the more you'll feed that melancholy aura that fuels my creative instincts.

Look at this place. There's magic in the air everywhere you look. Take a look at those trees in front of the Parlin. Will you look at that? What was once a grove of lifeless gray branches has majestically transformed into what now looks like a shimmering glass forest. If you listen carefully, the iced over twigs at the end of those branches bobbing up and down in the wind will knock together and ring like a wind chime.

Step out onto Broadway with me. Wait until you see what Everett looks like now. This place looks like some kind of modern day interpretation of a Currier and Ives landscape. Just look at the parking meters along the sidewalk. You've got to dig with your fingernail to get to that coin slot now. The good part is, there's really no need to bother. The meter maid couldn't read those meters now if her life depended on it.

Want to see something else I like? Check out everybody's wind shield wipers rocking back and forth in tandem. Man, you could keep time by the rhythm alone. Listen to them. They ring out a harmony all to their own. You could sing to that if you wanted to.

Okay, so who is really crazy enough to stand in the middle of Broadway singing to the rhythm of the wiper blades anyway? I'd do that in a heartbeat. You think that's crazy? Let me tell ya something. I've seen our singing bus driver, Lenny, put more smiles on miserable people's faces than any other person in the history of Everett.

Another light went out in our hearts when Lenny passed away. Hopefully, you've experienced a ride on Lenny's bus at least once in your lifetime. Those of you who did can back me up on this.

Lenny had a magic about him that made everyone smile. That guy could brightened the darkest day with a luminance that just melted your worries away. Lenny was one of those gifts that God bestows upon us from time to time to help us find the light at the end of the tunnel when we just can't seem to find it ourselves. There's a star up there in the night sky that belongs to Lenny. I know there is. You could never convince me otherwise.

For as long as I live, I will never forget that snowy winter's day when Lenny broke into a hearty rendition of "Let it Snow." He glanced back at everyone and said, "Go ahead and join in if you want to. Just follow the bouncing ball." He filled our lives with such a joyful noise that day that everyone said good-bye to each other as they got off at their stops. I ask you now. Who else has ever stirred up so much heart felt compassion amongst complete strangers as that?

Hey, look what's going on across the street. The city workers are out with the cherry picker putting up the Christmas garland on the street lights in a raging snow storm. Only in New England - right?

You gotta love these guys. Are they a riot or what? Everybody always jokes about how one guy is always doing the work while three other guys stand around watching him. I know that's what it looks like on the surface, but unless you've labored outside, you will not fully appreciate what's really going on here.

These guys work hard. You think I'm kidding? Try breaking a piece of sidewalk with a jackhammer and then shoveling by hand down through five feet of hard pan to fix a broken water line. Then tell me that they don't earn their week's pay. Your tune will change. Trust me on that.

And no, I never did work for the city of Everett. I did apply once when I was sixteen years old for a part time summer job. Guess when I got the letter to show up for work? Ten years later when I was twenty-six years old, married with two children, and living up in North Reading. Now that's bureaucracy for ya.

I've got an idea. What do you say we take a walk down to Everett Square and see what else is going on? I know it sounds crazy, but when that first December snows falls down on top of Everett, it puts a glow in my heart that I simply cannot deny.

Look at the people in the windows of Vargis Diner. You can see by the way they sit there sipping their coffee and staring off into space that they are really enjoying getting in out of the storm. Heck, we could walk right across the street through the middle of all the traffic on Broadway to join them if we wanted to.

There's no need to book it across the street. Look how slow the traffic is inching along now. That's another thing I love about snow storms. The hectic pace of our every day lives slows down to a near stand still. We need that every once in a while.

Have you ever noticed what happens to the cross on the front of the Glad Tidings Tabernacle in a snow storm? It packs with snow until it virtually disappears. Against that white background it looks like it was molded right into the wall. That was once the Royalto Theatre, or so I'm told. That was way before my time. Years from now, that will eventually become the offices for an insurance agency.

Just across Webster Street is the Everett City Hall. I remember when they first built that how all the grownups thought that it was the ugliest building in Everett. They all learned to live with it anyway. Everyone said the same thing about the new Boston City Hall when that opened, too. We just got spoiled by all the beautiful architecture that graced the Everett landscape from a hundred years ago. That's all.

It's really not so much as an eyesore as it is bland. Just on the other side of Broadway is the Immaculate Conception Church. Now that's appealing. That church has stately gothic architecture written all over it. It adds a nice touch to the Everett skyline if you ask me.

On the other side of the city hall on the corner of Church and Broadway is the Old Everett Savings Bank. Remember that huge vault door that was always opened behind those brass bars? The whole interior of that vault shimmered like a golden tunnel.

It felt like you were standing in the middle of a grand cathedral because the ceilings were so high in there. Every little sound ricocheted off the walls and reverberated like an echo chamber. And those patriotic wall murals added a special touch that reeked with commerce. Or was that just the way it hit me?

Right after that is the First Congregational Church. It's a more modest church in comparison to the Immaculate Conception, but it does have an interesting facade. It blends the religious nostalgia of a steeple with a Cupola style belfry in an interesting sort of way. I like that.

Just after that is Carroll's and the B&S Outlet. They're just starting to decorate their windows with a Christmas theme now. Have you ever stood and watched the shop proprietors decorate their windows? They'll fidget with it for hours at a time. It's interesting to see how it eventually turns out. If you stand there long enough, they'll actually come out and ask you what you think.

On the other side of Broadway from here is McKinnon's Market. Have you ever seen such a small grocer do so much business in your life? That's gotta tell ya something. They always edged their windows with garland and blinking lights this time of year.

Have you ever noticed how the size of the grocery bundles that people carry out of McKinnon's grows proportionately with how hard it's snowing? People act like they're going to be snowed in for months at a time. You'd think they'd know better growing up in New England. Even after the blizzard of 78 we were out and about only a few days later. That's one good thing about Everett. Everything's in walking distance no matter what neighborhood you live in.

Hey, do you see what I see? There's the policemen's observation booth right in front of Kresge's on the corner of Norwood and Broadway. I haven't seen that in ages. How well do you remember that? The top half where the windows were was white. The whole bottom half was green. And it had a little hip style cottage roof on top. Do you remember that?

Even the people at Kresge's are decorating their windows for the Holiday Season. Oh, wait a minute. Do you hear that? Don't you just love it when those church bells chime? I'm telling ya, Christmas is breaking out all over the city of Everett.

Look at the smile on everybody's face. You know what that's all about? We're looking at the front end of the Christmas season in Everett here. A winter wonderland is about to unfold before your very eyes.

With every little touch the feeling sinks deeper into my soul. It's the simple things like that manger they always set up at the front of Wehner Memorial Park at the fork on Broadway just across the street from Pope John in North Everett.

Come here. You gotta see this. Look over there in front of the Parlin Library. They're decorating the Christmas tree already. You can bet your bottom dollar I'll be there when they hold that tree lighting ceremony. I wouldn't miss that for the world.

Do you mean to tell me that you forgot what that Christmas tree in front of the Parlin Library looked like back when Gorin's was still there? Are you serious? Well, the only way to cure that is to actually show you a picture of it then.

How's that? Plant that image in your mind's eye and don't ever lose sight of it again.

Just as much as that Japanese thread leaf Maple tree