Christmas 2005 and 2006, San Francisco, California

By Jayne Entwistle

I was living on the corner of Haight and Ashbury in San Francisco. A busy corner, tons of tourists, bustling days filled with shopping, and cantankerous nights filled with loud pub goers.

I always found that I could be anonymous in the Haight. It took two years of living there before shop owners recognized my face or I would notice the same scraggly haired kid riding his skateboard to Golden Gate Park. Nonetheless, I loved where I lived, even though it was a long way from my original home in England.

It was Christmastime of 2006, and Haight Street was extraordinarily packed. It seemed impossible to walk down the street just to get a slice of pizza. I was feeling melancholy as I passed the throngs of grinning strangers loaded down with shopping bags; this was the first Christmas I would ever spend away from my family.

I remember panicking about Christmas Eve. Who will open that one special gift with me? How can I ever wake up Christmas morning without a hug and a traditional bacon sandwich? Why am I no going home again? Oh yes: too far, can’t afford it, too much going on.

It was a few days before Christmas, and my melancholy was deepening, when I received a phone call from a stranger. “Hi Jaynie. You don’t know me, but I have something of yours. Boy am I glad I found you!”

What could she possibly have of mine, and how did she get my number? I immediately called her back. Her name was Susan, and she lived in my neighborhood.

“Your grammie from England, bless her heart, has sent you a Christmas package, and she seems to have the wrong address. I opened the card to see if I could get a clue as to where I might find you, and I was so touched by your grammie and her love for you that I just knew I had to get you this package,” Susan said. “I tried the phone book and everything else I could think of, and finally had to give up. By that time, I was feeling so drawn to your grammie that I wrote her a card, telling her how hard I had tried to find her granddaughter. Finally, I went to a local mailing store and handed the clerk the package. I was making small talk about the situation when he lit up and said, Entwistle…who could forget a name like that. I know how to find her!”

Susan and I agreed to meet, and she handed over my grammie’s package, along with a big hug. “I just had to find you. It seemed so important, and I know this sounds strange, but having this contact with your grammie has rekindled my passion for England. Your grammie is a very special woman!”

I went inside and sat on my bed. I snuggled the small brown package and began to cry. I was amazed that in a city as big as San Francisco, someone would take the time to find me. It seemed a story fitting for a small town, but not one for a big, bustling city. My melancholy lifted as I placed the well-traveled parcel under my tiny tree.

On Christmas Day, I talked with my grammie, and we had a good laugh about the mix-up. “Ahh bless” she said, “what a nice lady, and I’ll be sure to change your wee address!”

While I missed my family tremendously, I had a lovely holiday spent with friends, and I felt particularly touched by the kindness of a stranger.

The following year, it became impossible for me to go home again. I had a new job and a performance with my improv troupe on New Year’s Eve. But this time, I felt more at ease about being alone for the holidays, and then: “Jaynie, Merry Christmas…it’s Susan. I know we haven’t spoken for a year, but it seems that your grammie is at it again, bless her heart. I’ll be right down with your package. I feel like part of the family now!”

Since last Christmas, I have moved to Los Angeles and am not sure that I want to test the kind-heartedness of this City of Angels.

As I was thinking back on the kindness of Susan, I remembered that as a child living in Vancouver, British Columbia, I once received a very battered and incredibly late parcel from my grammie. The parcel was in a plastic bag, as the package itself was filthy and charred. A note from the Royal Mail informed me that the plane my parcel had been on had crashed and that they regretted the delay in service!

Originally from England, Jayne Entwistle is an actress and improviser currently living in Los Angeles.

Posted by Elizabeth Armstrong Moore on Thursday, August 23rd, 2007 | Email This Post

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