n Saturday before Christmas 2001, Felix Flegelhoffer arrived at his family-run Fair Value Hardware Store in predawn darkness.

As he opened the door, strains of "Deck the Halls" assaulted him. Felix groaned. He had forgotten to turn off the music, so a display model boom box spent the night recycling fifteen carols from a "Daytime TV Stars Ring In the Holidays" CD. Soap opera sirens started "Silent Night" as Felix pulled the plug. "Well have a little 'silent day' around here," he grumbled. Felix wasn't the only one a little edgy that year. Two years earlier, folks were antsy about the coming millennium, but in 2001, the anxiety had more to do with the year past than the one ahead. Too many slow-downs, too few raises, too many layoffs, too few job fairs, too many missed payments, and too few dot-coms left. And since September, way too much CNN. It just didn't feel much like Christmas. Henry and Doris Zimmer tried shopping by mail, which Henry felt a little guilty about since it did nothing for the local economy. He hoped no one would notice, but the delivery trucks in their driveway betrayed them. Doris was less concerned about what people might think, perhaps because she was more focused on getting the house ready for the holidays. Lord knows, when Doris Zimmer organized, things got organized. She handled the office, garden, kitchen, garage and pantry with uniform method. She bought for birthdays, paid

Bill Kennedy

! 2001 W.D. Kennedy 41 Birch Road Malvern PA 19355 610-695-9419 kennedyw@whiteandwilliams.com

bills, and made meals for the sick. In the spring, she marched for dimes, and in the fall she walked for crops. Late that summer, the Zimmers decided to replace a leaky sunroom with a new guest suite. Doris declared, "It'll be perfect for when Zoe and Milt bring the kids back East for their spring break every year." Henry wasn't sure the room was really necessary. For years, he and his daughter had been on opposite sides of the common cloth from which they were cut. They needed every inch of the three thousand miles separating them to avoid verbal battle. They clashed on politics (RepublicanDemocratic), military branch (Navy-Army), religion (Protestant-Catholic), food (red meat-vegetarian), and baseball leagues (National-American). Doris wasn't dissuaded. She sketched plans, got permits, and got the home equity loan. A contractor razed the old sunroom back in late-August, then raised a new room in its place. Once it was framed and roofed, Zoe and Henry did the rest. They went away for Labor Day, but they spent the next weekend installing drywall. Finishing on Monday evening, September 10th. Doris remarked, "When we work on the room, I can't help but think about Zoe and the kids. New home, new state, and so far away." "They'll be alright," Henry assured her. "Milt's Reserve Unit is only in D.C. for a week." Their son-in-law, Capt. Milton Terry was in the Pentagon the next morning when it happened. After a harrowing day, Zoe telephoned her parents. Milt was safe -- and lucky: he had been in the wing that was hit.

"Lord, that was close!" her mother exclaimed. "Too close for comfort," Zoe agreed. Work on the guest suite stalled as the Zimmers joined relief and support groups. Soon, Capt. Terry had left for places unspecified on a job unspoken for a time uncertain. Zoe spoke with her folks more frequently after that. Henry intentionally avoided any of the hot-button issues during calls with his daughter that fall. Actually, despite his estrangement from their only child, family meant a lot to Henry Zimmer. Like his daughter, he was an only child. Perhaps because of that, he had welcomed being grafted into Doris' Yellow Springs family forest. In fact, as Christmas approached that year, Henry was still nursing a sore hip from participating in his in-law's annual Thanksgiving Day touch football game. It's supposed to be a good-natured, halfspeed, laugh-a-lot kind of contest, which is the way three generations of family all swear it used to be, but which it never really was. The game lasts until someone gets touched so hard as to either draw blood or require x-rays. Henry was quarterbacking when his half-step-nephew-twice-removed charged in from the defensive line a good two Mississippi's early and shoved him onto the ground. It took Henry five minutes to get up, and he was sore and cranky for days. He groaned about aging too fast in his retirement, and Doris groused about him being under her feet while she was trying to finish the guest room. "What lit a fire under your backside?" he demanded.

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"Well, if you must know, I want to get the room done so we can invite Zoe and the kids for Christmas." Doris hadn't planned on telling Henry until after the plans were made; their last shared holiday had been a pugnacious disaster. But Henry just mumbled that it did seem a shame for the Terrys to be all alone at Christmas. With company coming, the Zimmers whipped the guest suite into shape in December. Bad hip or not, Doris got Henry to help paint walls, wire lights, move furniture, install window treatments, and lay carpeting. But when they got to decorating, they hit a stumbling block. Henry wanted to put up memorabilia from his attic cache of old road signs, farm tools, movie posters, and musical instruments, and other kitsch he had harvested in garage and barn sales. "The stuff of our heritage!" he proclaimed. Doris blanched. "Heritage, schmeritage! Itll look like one of those chain restaurants out near the bypass." She lobbied for fine objects d'art like store-bought portraits, watercolors, landscapes, and abstracts. "Art?!? On whose budget, Mrs. Rockefeller?" The doorbell interrupted their debate. As Doris went to get it, Henry grumbled about how little she seemed to care about his opinions, while she wondered why a man who had ceded household operations to her for thirty-five years suddenly expected to have equal say now. The UPS man handed Doris a brown paper package as wide as her shoulders and half again as long, but only a few inches thick. The distinctive calligraphic handwriting said it was for Henry, for Christmas. Doris knew that if Henry saw the -3-

package was for him, hed want to open it immediately. Glancing to make sure he wasn't paying attention -- a safe bet, Doris told herself -- she slid the box into the back of the hall closet. The next day, Henry went out to Icarus Airstrip to pick up Zoe and her family. Facilities manager Ava Ashoen announced the arriving flight. Then, still on the loudspeaker, she asked, "Henry, is your Zoe on that flight?" "And my grandkids, too," Henry called across the mostlyempty single-room terminal. "How old are they now?" "Melvin turned seven last month." "And the older one? Melissa, right?" "Close," he corrected. "Melsa is sixteen," Henry shrugged, as if to say 'dont blame me for my daughters choice of names.' The hangar door opened. Melvin ran into his Grampas arms. Henry kissed Zoe and pulled Melsa into a reluctant hug. "Hey, Gramps," was the best he got from his gloomy granddaughter. Melsas black jeans and sweater mirrored her mood in the car. Back home, Henry reached out to her. "What would you like for Christmas dinner?" "Who cares?" Melsa answered glumly. "Christmas is just another day."

"Just another day?!? Why, its a great day! Presents! New clothes! The works!" Melsa glared. "Its just another day. Theyre all just another day." As Melsa stalked away, Zoe put her arm on her fathers shoulder. "Sorry about that, Dad." "Oh, dont worry about it. I had a teenage daughter once, you know." "Its more than that. Shes really been in a funk since September 11th. Before then, I thought she was adjusting to our new home. But afterward, well Melsas got a bad case of survivors guilt about her father. I guess maybe we all do." She sighed, "I just want to have a nice Christmas." Melsa heard them from her perch halfway up the stairs. "You just dont get it, do you, Mother?" she accused. "You think we can just have our little Dickens Christmas?!? Buy presents, sing songs, and maybe the world will be nice again? Well, wake up, Mom! Nothings the same. Christmas is nothing. September 11th: thats the day to remember! One day changed everything!" Melsa stomped up the stairs, each footstep pounding her anger, hurt, and vulnerability. Zoe shook her head. "I just cant seem to say or do anything right these days, Dad." Henry held up an index finger, then hurried to the bottom of the steps. "Youre right, you know," he called to Melsa before she disappeared around the corner upstairs.

His granddaughter stopped. "What?" "I said youre right. About one day changing everything." Melsa slumped onto the top step with a practiced indifference that belied her interest. "One day can change everything," he continued, "and September 11th was one of those days, no doubt about it. Life changed for the people who lost someone, and for people like you, who had a loved one called into service overseas. It changed the whole world." Melsa waited for the other shoe to drop; Henry dropped it. "But September 11th isnt the only day that changed things." "Meaning?" "When I was about your age, the day that changed everything was December 7th -- Pearl Harbor Day. And how about November 22nd, April 4th, or April 14th? "What are those days?" Melsa asked cautiously. "The dates in 1963, 1968, and 1865 that John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and Abraham Lincoln were shot," Henry recited. "But if youre talking days that changed everything, how about July 4th, June 15th, July 20th, May 8th, or August 15th?" "I got July 4th, but what are those others?" "June 15, 1215 was when the Magna Carta was signed. The first step toward modern democracy. July 26, 1969, men landed on the moon, proving that with will and commitment, anything -4-

is possible. May 8th and August 15th, 1945 were the days victory was declared in Europe and Japan, ending World War II and cruel tyrannies. Now those were days that 'changed everything'." From the other room, Zoe listened in amazement. Who was this diplomatic, understanding man, and what had he done with the hair-trigger, judgmental father she grew up with? Henry kept his eyes on Melsa. He figured he had given her enough to think about, but Doris just couldnt let the moment pass. She interjected, "And what about Christmas, the day God descended into human form?" Somehow, the question -- or maybe the questioner -shattered Melsa's contemplation. She snapped, "Yeah? Well, Id like to know where your God was on September 11th!" Just then, little Melvin interrupted, completely oblivious to his sister's angst. He was dragging the brown paper package with the distinctive calligraphic handwriting Doris thought she had hidden so well. "Lookit what I found in the closet! It must be a present!" Doris tried to shepherd Melvin away. "Yes, dear, it is a Christmas present and it should be saved for Christmas day." Henry noticed his wife's haste and knew the package was for him. "Hey! Let me see that. Oh, my," Henry paused as he recognized the address label's penmanship. "This is from Molly Mosteller -- a childhood friend of mine. Her mother was one of Frauzie's best friends."

With a wrinkled expression, Melvin asked, "Whos 'Frauzie?" Zoe cringed. The question demonstrated her failure to properly acquaint her children with their maternal family history. On the list of what not to ask in front of the grandparents, "Whos Frauzie?" ranked right up there with "Was Jesus in the Old or New Testament?" It was a query that spoke too much about what she hadn't taught her kids. "Melvin," Zoe began awkwardly, "you remember me telling you about Frauzie! She was your grandfathers mother!" Henry explained gently, "Frauzie was the nickname of Gertrude Grindelwald. She was born around the same time as my father, back before the turn of the century." "You mean the turn of the last century," Doris teased. Henry ignored her. "She married my fathers brother -- my uncle Durwood -- so Gertrude became my aunt. People called her Mrs. Zimmer, or Mrs. Z for short. And since Zimmer is German, and the word for Mrs. in German is Frau, kids called her 'Frau Z'. When I was a little boy, I had so much trouble pronouncing Aunt Gertrude that I called her that, too. Frau Z Frauzie. Get it?" Melvin looked suspiciously at his grandfather. "So Frauzie was your Aunt, not your Mom." The adults exchanged subtle grins which challenged Henry to explain the convoluted history. He continued. "Well, actually, she was both. My real mother died when I was only about two years old." -5-

"So who took care of you?" "My father. He was in the Navy," Henry announced proudly, suspecting that his daughter hadnt taught her kids about that, either. The Zimmers had all been Navy men. He had never fully warmed up to his daughter having married an Army man. "So your father was a single parent?" "Well, we didnt have that term back then, but, yes, he was. Which was no easy feat, especially during the Depression." Melsa, still sitting on the upper step, called down, "So where does Frauzie come in?" "Well, when I was twelve years old, my uncle died. They had no children, so Frauzie was all by herself." Melvin guessed, "Oh, I get it! Your dad married her and she became your mother." Henry laughed with surprise. "No -- but there was a time when people used to do that kind of thing. No, what happened was that the next year, on December 7, 1941, my father died," Henry said simply. He looked up at Melsa, "So, you see, I know a little about days that changed everything." Melsa hadnt known anything about her great-grandfather. She asked, "He was at Pearl Harbor?" "He was on the Utah. One of thousands who went down that day. I was more fortunate. When Dad was sent to Hawaii that fall, he sent me back east to live with Frauzie." -6-

Melsa realized, "So you were an orphan." "Technically, yes, but Frauzie raised me from then on. Somewhere along the line, she legally adopted me. So thats how Frauzie started as a stranger, became my aunt, and ended up as my mother. And," he added, nodding to the package still in his hands, "Molly Mosteller, the woman who sent me this package? Her mom and Frauzie were best friends." With a wink to Melvin, Henry suggested, "I best open this present right now, so I can figure out what to send back to Molly in time for Christmas." He shuffled the package from side to side. "Not too heavy." "Don't shake it!" Doris warned. "It might be fragile." "There's a letter that goes with it, Grampa," Melvin noticed. Melsa slunk downstairs but remained at a distance. Henry put on his reading glasses. Usually, he wasnt much for reading Christmas letters. Too sanitized, he thought. Theres a whole vocabulary that you just dont find in Christmas letters, words like "fired", "alcoholism", "miscarriage", "arrested", "flunked", "rehab" and "dropped out". Christmas letters are like Hollywood movie promos -- they tell you all the good parts and make every one a star. Molly Mostellers letter was different. She wrote of what a disorienting year it had been. First her ex-husband died -- and it surprised her how sad she felt. Later, her mother passed. Then came all the national events of the fall. "All this makes me cling to the people and memories that strengthen and comfort," her letter read. "And when I thought about comfort, I remembered this portrait that my mother painted so many years ago."

"Come on -- open it, Grampa!" cried Melvin excitedly as Henrys hands moved a little slower. Even before his fingers finished unwrapping the box, his memory told him what hed find. He pulled off the last wrappings and stared at an oil portrait in an old, chipped wooden frame. It showed a stout woman with a slight, firm smile, maybe in her mid-fifties, dressed in a conservative, lavender dress, sitting with her hands folded in her lap. Standing behind her and slightly to the side was a young, blonde haired boy with a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Dad," Zoe guessed, "is that you?" Quietly, Henry answered, "Thats me and Frauzie. I ... I remember this. I remember posing." Melsa slipped over to take a look. "Theres something written on the back," Doris noticed. Henry turned over the portrait. He read the title, "Gertrude and Henry: Two Close For Comfort". Melsa sniffed, "The title is misspelled." Henry took a second look. "No, I dont think so. This was early 1942. I think t-w-o is exactly what Mrs. Mosteller meant." Melvin interpreted, "You mean, like, you and Frauzie, the two of you getting close to comfort each other?" "Exactly," Henry was impressed. "Sharp kids youve got here," he nodded to his daughter. -7-

Melsa looked at Frauzie's stern visage in the portrait. "She doesnt look all that comforting." Henry grinned, "No, she doesn't -- but she was. Its just that love doesnt always smile. Frauzie gave me plenty of hugs and kisses, but she also provided encouragement, faith, discipline, and an education. She shared her home; she shared her life. She was," he thought, trying to encapsulate all the many, complex roles Frauzie played for him, "she was my guardian angel." Then Henry set the portrait aside and faced his granddaughter squarely. Instinctively, Melsa recognized she was about to be treated as an adult, and she sat upright. Henry declared, "Our circumstances are different, young lady, but I have a pretty good idea of what you're going through. You want to know why we were attacked. You wonder why some people lived and others died. You worry about a missing father. You ask why you have to shoulder so much responsibility, then you feel guilty because so many others are so much worse off." Henry paused, then added, "Thats exactly what Frauzie and I went through in 1942. You ask, where is God in all this? Why did He let it happen? Why didnt He stop it?" Her faade broken, tears welled in Melsa's reddening eyes. She whispered hopefully, "So whats the answer?" Henry slumped with loving frustration. "One answer is that there arent answers. Not to the great, imponderable questions. Not in this life, at least. And paralyzing as the questions are, I decided not to let them stop me from living. My father would have been so disappointed in me if I had."

Doris offered, "I dont know that our faith answers questions about why God hasnt eliminated all the bad things or bad people in this world. Some say its because no one would be left. Others say thats what Heaven is -- a permanent safe haven. But you ask where is God?, and I say, Hes here with us." Zoe quietly quoted from the twenty-third Psalm. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." Melvin perked up, "Hey ! 'Thy rod and thy staff ' -- thats two -- two close for comfort. Get it?" Henry smiled at the elementary pun. He suggested, "God walks with us through those valleys of death, at least if we let Him. Thats what Emmanuel means: God with us. Melsa, sometimes I wish Emmanuel meant God answers our questions, but Ill tell you what: when my father was killed, no answers would have been good enough for me. As much as I wanted answers, I needed something else. I needed someone to be with me, to comfort me and meet my most basic needs of love and provision. Frauzie did that," he said, tapping the top of the portrait frame. For a long moment, all five of them were lost in their own thoughts, perhaps their own prayers. Zoe reached a hand to her distant daughter. Melsa took it without looking up. Henry softly stroked Melvin's hair. Doris picked up the portrait, carefully carried it to the new guest room, and, with a smile, held it against the wall. "Maybe theres a place in here for both a little heritage and a little art."

Madonna and Child (Madonna Litta) Leonardo da Vinci 1452-1519 Tempera on canvas (transferred from panel) 42 x 33 cm

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