Dear Van, Kit, Elliott and Lizzie:

(As I promised last week, the following resumes my Christmas letter to the four of you. I hope you find it useful In forming your own thoughts about this special holiday).

I’ve dwelled on family. Another joyful part of Christmas is friendship. When you are invited to parties, go and have fun. Relationships with friends give life a special dimension. As family connections sometimes prove troublesome for known and unknown reasons, relationships between friends often are less complicated and provide a cushion when family ties fray temporarily.

The Christmas spirit draws friends, neighbors, schoolmates and others who may not have a family unit with which to gather. It calls for sharing your home and good cheer with others. Being alone amid the joy and merriment of a widely celebrated holiday is difficult.

As you grow older, you too will experience how quickly Christmas comes and goes after so much preparation and excitement. Retain the memories.
Know that life’s good and bad moments pass at the same speed. Savor the moment. Relish the joy.

And, yes, feel and share the love.

Nana and Paps will be part of your memories after they no longer are around. Feel buoyed by the love they showed you, even at the rare times they said no.

When growing up, your mothers, Kate and Bess, loved the goodness of Christmas now shared with you, their children. They brought Nana and Paps so much joy in their absolute enjoyment of this festive holiday. I still recall, Elliott and Lizzie, when your mother performed the role of Mary in a live nativity on the grounds of St. Mark’s United Methodist Church in Easton.

Nana and I beamed with pride at daughter Bess’ performance. You will do the same when your children perform in a play.

Merry Christmas, grandsons and granddaughters. Your real gifts are not the ones under the tree wrapped neatly and colorfully, ordered so easily these days on the Internet. Instead, the sense of family and heartfelt love are the unseen gifts—and they last a lifetime.

Amazon doesn’t sell the essence of family, the value of friendship.

This time of merriment and fellowship marks no other holiday. It’s a time to thank God for all of our blessings. It’s a time of hope for a peaceful future.
For me, you make Christmas so very special.

The glow of Christmas is brighter because of you. The sounds and colors of this festive occasion touch my soul, as do you.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

How could a simple, consensus purchase of a recliner prompt so much discontent from my wife and result in an expensive redo of our family room?

I wasn’t altogether surprised. Recliners have a special place in my wife’s furnishing dislikes.

But this time should have been different. She blessed the purchase.

Except we both were not aware that a comfortable leather chair sitting in the broad expanse of the parking lot of Talbottown Shopping Center on a hot mid-August day during Bountiful’s annual Once in a Blue Moon sale was actually a recliner. Sound ridiculous? Of course.

Trust then verify—we didn’t do that. It looked scalable to the space where it would reside.

When the chair was delivered and placed in a spot in our family room, my wife noticed two things: a recliner was in our midst, and its size dominated the room. Complaints and constant moving around of furniture began in earnest.

It was as if every time my wife looked at our new acquisition—which I loved, and in which I began to nap daily—she felt compelled to express her discomfort.

Meanwhile, the new chair and I bonded immediately. I quickly realized that my wife would never use the recliner. I would be the sole occupant. I could live with that.

To complement/soften the aesthetic effect of the recliner, my dutiful wife commissioned the re-upholstery of cushions and an ottoman. After this work was completed, the protests seemed to diminish, if not vanish.

Peace now reigned in the family room.

Now there is a back story to the brouhaha over the recliner. When we were first married, living in an apartment in which I had lived as a bachelor, I owned a recliner. It was not as fashionable (or expensive) as the current one. To me, it was wonderful, my own seat of power and relaxation. Its ugliness, as seen by others, was not apparent to me.

After a few months of marriage, my beloved recliner vanished. It happened so quickly, I didn’t immediately realize that what was my abode had new co-ownership.

My sense of control was illusory. My decision-making was shared. My input into domestic furnishing and decorating had dissipated. There was a new sheriff in town.

I never imagined that I would own a large, cushy recliner ever again. Instead, I would be left with memories of a solitary existence in an apartment that featured a recliner. I would not yearn for what seemed out of question.

Life takes strange turns. Once again, a recliner adds comfort to my life. My naps are more frequent. My contentment has grown. The electrical controls are easy.

And, yes, my wife is satisfied. I think.

At least for the moment.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

Family, plentiful food, football, chatter, dogs, good but cool weather, soothing ocean and lack of crowds—what’s not to like about Thanksgiving week in Rehoboth, DE?

We have established a tradition, one that is maybe five-years-old. Traditions have to start somewhere.

The big, old house, wonderfully located, separated by a road from the beach and Atlantic Ocean, has become a home, populated by memories of anniversaries and holiday celebrations.

Thanksgiving Ocean dipper ignores cold weather

This is not the first, nor the last time I will feel compelled by the muse of reflection to write about an experience devoid of tension or obligation (not completely).

One caveat: untrained and mostly inept, I am the designated turkey-bird carver. I had a mishap this year. I cut myself. I said nothing as I carved and tried to stanch the blood. I was surrounded by bosses who would have sidelined me had they known about my minor wound.

No blood landed on the unsuspecting turkey. I completed my task, pleased with my secrecy. The meal was delicious. The turkey slices were chunkier than preferred due to my momentary lack of hand mobility. The grandchildren were well-behaved; their father permitted them to exit quickly, only to return for dessert.

My bloody mishap was discovered when it came time to clean up. My wife became alarmed at the sight of my finger and summarily dismissed me from the kitchen. My daughter efficiently assumed the nursing duties, demanding I accept her ministrations. As usual, she ignored my stubbornness.

Rehoboth, DE beach draws visitors in cooler weather

As I write this, I am staring at two Labrador Retrievers, resting in their beds after exerting little effort during their pampered stay at the beach. One, unfortunately, is mostly disabled, able to walk with difficulty. The other (ours) is mellow. She endures, rather than seeks exercise. Some have remarked about her weight. I empathize with her—and sometimes give her human food.

Harmony or lack thereof marks most families. It’s unavoidable at times; humans just clash. Though a full participant in conversation, I also observe the dynamic created by very different personalities. The underlying element is strength, softened by compassion and generosity of spirit.

Adaptation is imperative, though not always easy; in some ways, the grandchildren provide a leavening effect. Meeting their needs and keeping peace require constant attention from parents, grandparents and an aunt.

The house is ideal for family togetherness and even quiet separateness. It seems to summon memories and conversation about my deceased in-laws and raucous times fueled by libation and food. While I don’t believe in ghosts, I do believe in the calming intervention of spirit.

Laughter minimizes the pain of loss.

Politics was not a frequent subject. Perhaps it’s because we mostly share the same opinions and sentiments. I realize this is not true of many families; avoidance of sensitive subjects becomes a priority, if not a necessity.

Similar political viewpoints are beneficial to family harmony, I suppose. Peace and tranquility prevail.

Our last day was Black Friday. The commercial onslaught leading to Christmas begins its sales-driven frenzy. I applaud capitalism. On the day after Thanksgiving, however, I’m content to remain bound to my temporary quarters.

For me, it’s Resistance Friday. I refuse to engage in the shopping mayhem—despite the reduced prices.

I witnessed one sight on Black Friday that struck me as crazy and gutsy: a man arrived on the beach, removed all but his bathing suit, jumped into the cold ocean, immediately climbed out and put back on his clothes. He seemed nonplussed.

I took pictures of this ocean dipper. I thought family members wouldn’t believe me without evidence. For a moment, at least, he declared his independence from Rehoboth’s endless outlet malls.

Christmas awaits us in three weeks. I wonder if the intrepid ocean dipper will celebrate by testing his mettle again in the cold Atlantic Ocean.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

On a cold Wednesday afternoon, my wife and I saw a matinee movie that was anything but joyful. The story line described a despicable time in American history. 

The cold air that greeted us on our way to the car failed to jolt us from cinematic pathos.

“Harriet,” the movie about the renowned Harriet Tubman, raised as a slave in Dorchester County, transfixed us. Incredible bravery, mind-numbing fear, unspeakable cruelty and unshakeable faith in God were the North Stars that guided a woman responsible for rescuing 73 slaves from slavery on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.

She continued to risk her life, as she made several trips to the Eastern Shore to free family, friends and many others. As her notoriety increased, so did frantic attempts by angry slaveowners to capture her and her followers. She was not dissuaded from a dangerous quest.

The story is well-known. Her use of the Underground Railroad—actually a route of escape through woods and via rivers, aided by compassionate co-conspirators during the tortuous journey—was uncanny.

Direction of the movie was tight and focused. While violence was prevalent, always lurking in the lives of slaves, the movie employed it sparingly, but effectively.

The Tubman character was dominant, as expected. Her performance was riveting. 

So was God, who guided her, often to the exclusion of potential violence when a voice instructed Tubman to take another route to freedom.

And the character of the young plantation owner, fighting to preserve slavery and economic success, could not resist the evil demons that underscored enslavement. At times, he seemed overwhelmed by the pressure to retain an economic and social model that only generated resentment and a yearning for freedom.

Another key player in this Tubman biopic was the plantation, a place that at first glance seemed peaceful. It was anything but.

The slaves wanted to be free. That was total heresy to the Broadus family. The plantation raised crops and oppression in equal measure.

I expected, of course, to be impressed by Tubman and repulsed by the slave conditions. Tubman was relentlessly determined; she would accept nothing but freedom for herself, family and others seeking to shake the physical and mental shackles of involuntary servitude.

Treatment of the slaves was degrading, often inhuman and unconscionable. The movie portrayed a cruel and decadent culture. In some ways, the slaveowners were enslaved by a way of life that blinded them to the iniquity of slavery.

While “Harriet” had some Hollywood touches, it seemed historically accurate to the long-told story of an unlikely but effective freedom fighter.

Some movies should not be missed. This is one.

(As Thanksgiving approaches in two days, we can feel grateful that the institution of slavery no longer infects our American society.  Unfortunately, prejudice is still alive and well among White Nationalists in our country. It’s shameful. Harriet Tubman serves as a vital reminder that resistance to bias fraught with violence requires a Tubman-like passion.)

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

It may be a family member. It may be a friend. It may be a co-worker. It may be a neighbor.

It may be a memory.

Like most national holidays, Veterans Day—the 11th of November—passes by quickly. Town, cities and veterans’ organizations will pay homage. American flags will seem more prevalent. Patriotism will be on display.

Though some may discourage saying “thank you” to a veteran for fear of acknowledging a special class of people, sincere gratitude is always appreciated. It’s a form of wholesome human interaction. It means something to the speaker, a way of connecting to an experience with which you may be unfamiliar.

Veterans deserve recognition. They served our nation, often under adverse conditions. They endured cold, wet and hot weather—and sometimes hostile enemy fire—far from home. They left loved ones and friends for deployments to parts of the world formerly unknown to them.

Many of my friends served in combat zones. Unless prompted, they typically are reluctant to discuss their experiences. Some witnessed the death of wartime comrades. Some wonder why they survived, and others didn’t return home to live to old age.

Some bemoan war.

To follow my own instincts, I plan to call a veteran or two. While I may not express thanks, I will acknowledge their service. I will ask questions. I will probe their feelings and memories, carefully, of course. I will acknowledge their sacrifice of familiar comfort.

I’ve known veterans my entire life. I always sensed an undeniable pride, a profound sense of accomplishment. Though they always talked about their children, weddings and births, they rarely failed to mention their military service. It simply didn’t matter how much they had achieved in life in terms of material success or accumulation of power; they usually found reason to talk about their life as a member of the uniformed services.

Their pride was always close to the surface.

I’ve always been interested, in my avid reading of obituaries, to note how almost unfailingly they mention a person’s military service, whether the deceased was a waterman, shop owner or corporate executive. Service to country matters to veterans and their families.

As it should.

We Americans might wish we didn’t have veterans. That peace and tranquility permeated our fractious world. The goal is noble. Unfortunately, history has proved it’s unattainable. Best intentions run opposite to the human condition.

War is inevitable.

War is grueling and gruesome.

War hardens your soul. It may be harder to cry and show emotion.

Thank God our country has been blessed with men and women willing to serve and families willing to be supportive.

So, today, take a few moments to speak with a veteran. Respect and honor their service. They are peacemakers.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.