Joyeux Noel

Here's a couple of shorties from Sid and myself. Come on guys and gals. We await your contributions (poetry, short stories, essays, thoughts) to this blog.

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Joyeux Noel
Jack Lippman

When I was going to elementary school, I recall the stage curtain in the school auditorium having been adorned with the words “JOYEUX NOEL” during the holiday season. Few of us spoke French, and perhaps putting the message in that language was supposed to be an incentive for us to study that language when we went on to high school. In any event, some of us didn’t have the slightest idea what the words meant. And this confusion was augmented by the way the folds and draping of the hanging curtain obscured and distorted some of the letters, in particular, the lower portion of the “E” in “JOYEUX.” Resultantly, to some of our ten and eleven year old eyes, the words on the curtain read “JOY FUX NOEL.”

Now there were a couple of girls in the fifth grade named Joy. Could this be referring to one of them, we wondered. But there wasn’t anybody in the school that we knew of named Noel. Maybe Noel didn’t even go to Peshine Avenue School. Possibly he went to Saint Charles Borromeo School just down the street. But why would the auditorium teachers who were responsible for the curtain even put this message on it? Why would they bother to announce Joy’s habits to the entire assembly?

These were the thoughts that went through my head as the Assistant Principal, or whoever was speaking, droned on about something which failed completely to hold the attention of the fourth and fifth graders who were more concerned with what they were planning to do over the Christmas-New Year school holiday.

Joyeux Noel to all of you.


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Magic Moments
Sid Bolotin


“Good morning, Charlotte,” I said as I placed her breakfast tray on the overbed table beside her bed. “Do you want your breakfast now?”

Charlotte fluttered her eyes open, gazed groggily up at me, and mumbled “Not just now. But would you please take the plastic wrapping off the dishes for me?”

“Of course. How about I cut up the sausage patty and the peaches? Shall I butter your bagel?”

“Sure” she answered softly as she struggled to fully awaken. “Would you open the milk carton and the cold cereal too? I have such trouble with the arthritis in my fingers.”

As I began to prep her food, I announced, “My name is Sid. I’m one of the volunteers here. Do you need me to feed you?”

Fully awake now she smiled and with an impish glint in her eyes quipped, “No. I can still do that by myself. But it is sure a delight to have a tall, good-looking man serving me breakfast in bed. Nobody has ever cut up my food for me like this. What a treat!”

As I elevated the head of the bed to a sitting position, placed a towel across her chest as a bib, and held the carton of orange juice for her to sip, I took note that she was somewhere in her 70’s, quite attractive, and sported a perky, naturally grey bob hairdo. “Must have been a beauty in her youth”, I thought.

Her sharp mind engaged me with continued banter and orders…”Position the TV so that I can reach the controls. Open the new can of diet coke; the old one is flat. I love your eyebrows.”

For the next few minutes the foreboding reality of her situation dissolved, and we were two strangers bantering gently…just being kind to each other. I sensed that she felt the connection between us as I did. It was another instance of magic that can manifest, even in a hospice care center, when thoughts of past and future are trumped by the power of now.

With some sense of reluctance we part company…she to engage her breakfast, me to bring trays to other patients.

When I return later to check on her progress, Charlotte is all smiles and cheerfully chirps, “”I’m so glad you came back. I wanted you to see me with my dentures in place. I’m still vain enough to feel embarrassed that I didn’t have them in when we met earlier. Thank you so much for making me feel like royalty.”

We gaze silently at each other…each knowing that in the coming weeks her slide into the end of the rainbow will deepen, and soon I would be just leaving her tray with no need to unwrap the food.

But for now we had shared moments of magic.