Christmas Cardinal: Direction Connection

My cozy Christmas reading has come to an end, but the book gods saved the best for last.  I don't know how else to begin except to say that if you don't cry at the end of Fannie Flagg's A Redbird Christmas, then you've got a real Tin Man situation.  

Fifty-two-year-old Oswald T. Campbell has gone through life as an orphan -- and an alcoholic -- but is unprepared for the blow that he's dying of emphysema.  His doctor warns him that if he doesn't move from Chicago to someplace sunny, then this Christmas may be his last.  As nearly penniless as he is friendless, Oswald can't afford to relocate to Florida or Arizona.  So his doctor gives him an old brochure for a health resort in Lost River, Alabama.  Once Oswald learns that the price is right, he packs his few possessions and heads south.  

Lost River turns out to be the warmest place Oswald's ever been, both in climate and hospitality.  And so begins this classically poignant Flagg fable of small town strangers full of kindness (as well as calorie-laden, home-cooked meals that save instead of stop hearts).  Oswald makes fast friends in Lost River.  What's more, he's struck by the town's quiet beauty, discovering a love of nature that calms him even as it sparks his soul.  Soon he begins to feel better; his cough subsides, and he's no longer tempted to drink.  Yet despite its healing power, Lost River harbors tragedy.  There's Roy, the lovelorn shopkeeper, and his broken-winged pet redbird, Jack.  And Patsy, the disabled six-year-old from an abusive family who trusts animals but not people.  Flagg weaves the threads of this deceptively simple story to reveal that Roy, Jack, and Patsy are lost yet connected and that Oswald has come to Lost River, unbeknownst to him, to find them -- as well as himself.  What transpires will make you believe in magic, at Christmas and always.    

Now, if I'd stumbled upon A Redbird Christmas as recently as even last week, then I would've saved my cardinal bush for this post.  But as luck would have it, I have another set of bird ornaments (this time from Hallmark), and one of them just happens to be a cardinal -- or as they say in Lost River -- a redbird.

I also have this barn ornament (from Kohl's), which doesn't have much to do with anything except that 1) it's folksy and red and 2) I made a barn barrette when I blogged about another Flagg favorite, The Whole Town's Talking.  See?  Everything is connected!

Easter may have dibs on rebirth, but A Redbird Christmas shows that anyone can become whole again and that there's no better time for it than Christmas.  Because the blue bird of happiness may get all the glory (and the Disney credits), but it's the redbird of redemption that makes life worth all the worms.  Okay, bad analogy; birds love worms.  But I don't, so I'm sticking with it.

That said, merry Christmas Eve.  Of all the nights of the year, this one glows with the most anticipation (yes, even more than you, New Year's Eve; no one wants your tired tiaras).  I hope that yours is happy and that at least one thing you wish for takes flight. 

Red Barn Yarn: Sevens to Betsey and Then Some

Dress: Xhilaration, Target
Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Zulily
Bag: Fred Flare
Purse Charm: Carole, JCPenney
Belt: Belt is Cool, Amazon
Sunglasses: Relic, Kohl's

 Fabulous Felt Red Barn Barrette

In general, I'm not big on big brand names.  But I do love a good Betsey bag.  By bargain hunting and being lucky enough to receive many as gifts over the years, I've amassed quite a collection.  Now I have, not seven, but twenty-two (even if one is a lunch bag).  So, I thought it'd be fun to round them all up for a photo shoot.  (My apologies to the shoe montages of yore; I know it's tough, but try not to be jelly.  Unless, of course, you are jellies, in which case, get out here, I've been looking for you!)  

It's hard to say which bag is my favorite, but if pressed, then I'd have to go with the (smaller) rainbow, followed by the roller skate and mushroom.  Curiously, I get the most use out of the pretzel.  The brown makes for a nice neutral.

But we're not spending this entire post in handbag heaven.  Instead, we're floating on over to another kind of great hereafter with Fannie Flagg's The Whole Town's Talking.

The Whole Town's Talking is the last in Flagg's Elmwood Springs series.  Set in a fictional small town in Missouri, the Springs stories are folksy and familiar and center around ordinary people who learn extraordinary things.  Flagg begins her narrative in the late 1800s when dairy farmer Lordor Nordstrom founds the then fledgling Swede Town.  Although Lordor is an innovator, he's shy and self-deprecating, and the new settlement doesn't offer many options in the way of a wife.  So he takes out an ad in the paper and meets the beautiful and gentle Katrina.  The two engage in a short courtship and, after a few sweet rom com-worthy mishaps, become man and wife.  Flagg goes on to chronicle the growth of the Nordstroms' dairy, the metamorphosis from Swede Town into Elmwood Springs, and the lives of the Nordstroms' descendants as well as the descendants of their neighbors.  The most endearing character is Aunt Elner.  A woman who doesn't worry about anything, she spreads hospitality like sunshine -- and keeps a can of pet worms on her coffee table.  (For the record, I'm no Aunt Elner.  I'm more like her neurotic niece Norma.  And not just because I'm skeeved out by worms, but because I worry about everything.)  Flagg shows us how Elmwood Springs reaches its heyday in the 1950s only to surrender to the sprawl of suburbia like so many other towns by 2020.

Yet the one thing that links Elmwood Springs and its inhabitants from generation to generation is its cemetery.  As people pass away, we get to see where they go when they die.  I know, I know.  It sounds morbid.  And it is.  At least a little.  In this way, it sort of reminds me of "Our Town," which is my favorite play.  But, like "Our Town," it's not just bittersweet -- it's thought provoking.  Because no matter what your own ideas about the afterlife, you can't help but compare them to Flagg's version and wonder who's got it right.  Which is a little comforting and a little scary.  When I said as much to the husband, he said, "Oh Tracy, it's just a story, one person's interpretation of things."  Which is true.  But it still sort of puts it all out there, opening a Pandora's box of possibilities -- and questions.

That said, The Whole Town's Talking is also warm and funny, a real crazy quilt of heartland characters.  (And yes, I know that I've used the crazy quilt metaphor before, but like all quilts, I like it, as its fluff keeps me and my prose cozy.)  There are several mentions of barns in it, too, which struck my fancy and led me to make this Fabulous Felt Red Barn Barrette.  I like barns because they remind me of Red Door perfume, which reminds me of my late grandmother, who wore it and called it Barn Door.  Now I wear it too, and I always save the pretty glass bottles.

My grandmother is on my mind more than usual because her birthday is this week.  Here's a picture of her when she was young:

Isn't she beautiful?  I especially love her hat.

Before I leave you, here's a shot of a dew-dappled elephant ear.

Because if the whole town's talking, then there'd better be someone -- or something -- down here listening.