<div> Our relationship was, how shall I say it, wheels within wheels – complex. I first met Sally Sue as a nursing colleague. During the first year of working together, we became friends and within a couple years, she was as good as family. Suffice it to say, the flight of friends to family is a cultural thing we hold dear in the Deep South. Sally Sue was a kindhearted, compassionate nurse. Her ability to connect with others and truly “see” them registered ten on every empathy scale. I marveled at her understanding and comprehension of the human condition, especially those areas in which trauma and dysfunction had set up residence within the soul. It was in this arena that she made such an impact on the lives of those to whom she gave aid and encouragement. I watched. I marveled. I learned. <nbtemplate data-id="AdPlaceholder" data-content="JTdCJTdE"></nbtemplate> I experienced Christmas in Sally Sue’s home several times over the years. Each year was filled with a gold mine of unforeseen surprises. It is the memories of those special times I would like to leave with you, along with a very valuable lesson I learned. Sally Sue collected anything that hinted of Christmas past. On weekends she rummaged through trunk sales, sale trunks, community bazaars and bizarre communities in search of that rare tinsel treasure overlooked by an earlier, less fortunate hobbyist. She loved everything labeled “vintage.” Aunt Clydy once observed, “I do believe that child hangs her hat on Memory Lane.” And that she did. Sally Sue’s shadow was very familiar with every recess of “The Junk Drawer” and “Good Riddance,” her two favorite resale and upcycle shops. The “I brake for trash!” bumper sticker plastered across her rear window birthed many a chuckle from fellow motorists but created quite a stink one Friday night while parked at a trailer park out on Highway 80 east of Bossier City, Louisiana. But that’s another story best told around the Fourth of July. <nbtemplate data-id="AdPlaceholder" data-content="JTdCJTdE"></nbtemplate> Sally Sue’s penchant for yesteryear’s Christmas collectables was understood and appreciated by everyone who knew her. Her spare bedroom was floor to ceiling with boxes of, well, you name it, she had it. In fact, Aunt Cypsy, Clydy’s sister, remarked one Christmas eve, “You’ll never find that child in a pinch to produce a knee-slapping white elephant gift.” Getting ready for Christmas took a bumper size bite out of Sally Sue’s time. She began displaying her treasure trove of one-in-a-million finds while the aroma of Thanksgiving dinner still lingered in the air, turning her home into a magical Christmas land of wonderwork. Her bedroom was home to sundry straw, stick, velvet, clay, paper, plastic, and porcelain St. Nicks of every size, shape, and semblance. There were trumpeting and heralding angels, suspended like a celestial chorus in mid air. There were faded and fatigued toys of yesteryear neatly tucked under and meticulously displayed around a gangly gold glittered aluminum Christmas tree balanced atop an old, forgotten oak desk. <nbtemplate data-id="AdPlaceholder" data-content="JTdCJTdE"></nbtemplate> In the center of her Christmas Wonderland rested a distressed nativity scene. Each chipped plaster figure had been gently placed against a backdrop of straw and twigs. Joseph, the Virgin Mary, two and a portion of a third wise men, shepherds, a lamb, a donkey, an empty Camel cigarette box, and a black gorilla (first placed in a similar nativity scene during childhood some forty plus years earlier) stood in reverence around the infant Jesus. Sally Sue’s celebration of Christmas was not confined to the four walls of her bedroom. Her childlike excitement permeated each room of her home, slipping into every crack and crevice. Folk art reindeer, country snowmen, and quilted angel babies peeked from behind lamps, under armoires, and over countertops. The Star of Bethlehem, a cardinal wreath, and gingerbread men lined the mantel amidst a spray of glittered holly. Stockings were hung above the fireplace and throughout the house. Sally Sue swore up and down she found new “wonders” that she had never seen before scattered throughout the house each morning, crediting them to elves mysteriously working during the night. <nbtemplate data-id="AdPlaceholder" data-content="JTdCJTdE"></nbtemplate> During one of our conversations, amidst the glow of the tinseled tree and over cups of hot mulled cider, Sally Sue told me about an act that she had incorporated into her Christmas traditions many years ago. The mission was to be salt of the earth and do something worthwhile for someone, but there was one no-no. You could never tell another human being about the deed, even the recipient of the act of kindness. Never ever. The deed could be the fulfillment of a financial need, a gift, or gifts for an individual or family. It could be a donation to any of a million worthy causes. The deed might change but the one rule that never changed was that you could never breathe a word of it to anyone. I never knew what deeds had been done by Sally Sue because she never broke the rule. We’ve practiced this tradition of giving with no recognition to the giver over the years. This act of anonymity is not easy. One becomes very aware of just how the act of giving points back to the giver and how good it feels for others to know of our kind deeds. I’m not saying that all philanthropy or good deeds done need to be delivered anonymously, but I am suggesting that everyone from time to time give something with no recognition to self or expectation from another. <nbtemplate data-id="AdPlaceholder" data-content="JTdCJTdE"></nbtemplate> Sally Sue has been gone for quite a few years. It is during the Christmas season that I have the fondest memories of her. In honor of Sally Sue, kind reader, it is my wish to pass to you this wheels-within-wheels blessing of anonymous giving. Wishing you a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! </div>

Mountain View, CA

Our relationship was, how shall I say it, wheels within wheels – complex. I first met Sally Sue as a nursing colleague. During the first year of working together, we became friends and within a couple years, she was as good as family. Suffice it to say, the flight of friends to family is a cultural thing we hold dear in the Deep South.
Sally Sue was a kindhearted, compassionate nurse. Her ability to connect with others and truly “see” them registered ten on every empathy scale. I marveled at her understanding and comprehension of the human condition, especially those areas...