elixir

I know that if you knew me then, you wouldn't recognize me now at all. And I am not referring to the color of my hair. Back then life was an ocean into which I had barely dipped my toes. I didn't know how far I was able to push myself or how far I could stretch before I snapped. I didn't know that nothing stings more than the betrayal of a friend or how shame isolates one to an island not of their own making, and is often more fatal than a death sentence. I didn't know many things good or bad, but now I do and I would like to think that I am now a better person for my knowledge, but I don't know if that is true.
I know that I am strong- stronger than I would have ever thought possible, but I wonder if strength is enough. I know now that judgments and first impressions are poor indicators of a person's true character. I know that blood is thicker than water and how it feels to be loved fiercely by the ones who gave you life. I know how it feels for hot tears to trail silently down my face as I scream without a sound in futile anguish. I know the angst of duty and the drudgery of practicality.
Scripture says that a friend is one who sticks to you closer than a brother. I thought this was weird growing up and I remember spending a lot of time trying to decide who could love you more than your family. But in my learning I have seen the immense value of the close friend, the "sticky" kind of friend and they are irreplaceable. And in my recent time of trial I find myself saying what did I do to deserve you guys? Why do you even like me? What redeems me to you?
In consideration, it all has a redemptive story that reminds me of Christ as many things do now. But nerves are raw and I'm fumbling so in a nutshell, I think that I will take both the blood and the water. The very essentials that keep me alive...and well.

Climbing to the top...

My new job is with a large tent and event company and yesterday I went out with my boss, the president, to view some job sites to make sure everything was in order and the way it should be. 

We arrived on site to a university in NYC where groups of students set up in our large 100'x300' tent for the planned evening festivities. (a dinner dance for parents and graduating seniors)

As we walked around, we were both shocked to find students armed with gloves, large tubs of Vaseline and ladders greasing down the huge aluminum tent poles. He was a little incensed that his poles were being greased and I was a little curious about the whole process. 

It turns out that as the night wears on, the graduates boosted by booze and excitement at completing their courses, think climbing the tent poles is a good idea, and the Vaseline is there as a pre-deteterant for such foolish ideas. 

I found the whole idea so funny and it made me think a few things: 

1. I'm glad there a people in the world who have the foresight to think about staving off these kinds of things.

2. I wish I could see the greased climb attempt actually happen

3. Sometimes we all need a friend to "grease" our way and watch out for us a little when we aren't in shape to watch out for ourselves. Laters. 

I'm A Fiddle Player Too

I was raised in an ultra-conservative environment. The devil was to be eschewed and feared above all else; avoided at any cost. I remember the first time I heard the song “The Devil Went Down To Georgia”  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FgvfRSzmMoU

We moved to New York State in November of 1979. (I've confirmed this with my mother, who never forgets anything) The song was released in May of ’79, so it was a few months old when I heard it for the first time; in the elementary school library. You may wonder, as do I, why it was being played (quite loudly) in the school library. I do not know, but I remember thinking, with all my 6 year old wisdom, “Wow, this IS THE BEST SONG EVERRRR!”
Johnny, had the backbone not only to challenge the devil, but to defeat him in a fiddle playing contest. Then the story got even juicier with the best, most succinct dis from Johnny a 6 year old could imagine: “I've told you once you son-of-a-bitch, I’m the best there’s ever been”

Hoo-whee- my conservative little heart loved it and I sang it mightily under my breath out in the barn where my mother could never hear me say the naughty word. I personally liked the devil’s solo a bit better, but since he caved first and “knew that he’d been beat,” I was proud for Johnny and the coup he got away with by kicking the devil's booty in a hard-core fiddle contest.

Last week, when I walked into the kitchen to hear my boys having a serious discussion about whether the devil’s solo was actually better than Johnny’s, that moment in the library came back to me crystal clear. Still a relevant discussion after all these years. Laters.

Cue A Re-Do

Daughter has come home yet again from school with head lice. This experience, we have had before; at least twice, and the whole process is frustrating. Boys were lackadaisical about the whole deal and refused to submit to the “just in case treatment.” Son B walked past and said to his sister, “stop getting lice” and that was all.  Cue bleach and cleaning frenzy, pillow washing, and home sanitation. Tiring work.
Meat defrosting in the fridge leaked through the plastic wrapper and bag. I open the fridge door for milk to find bloody drips steadily leaking into the “just- yesterday- filled” vegetable crisper. I don’t know… can you scrub meat goo off of cauliflower, mushrooms and bean sprouts?  I can’t be sure, so into the garbage they go. Clue bleach and cleaning frenzy.
Oh, and a pulled back muscle and spasms. I’d suppose from hurriedly pulling fridge glass and shelves out to clean, while running extremely late to work.  You know, due to the extended  morning comb out of waist length hair for lice. Cue quick latte and leaving with wet hair squished into a messy bun.
Cue dropping expensive- to- replace car key directly into foamy latte while trying to start the ignition. Cue tranquility. Cue it now. Laters.

#1

I love my parents. They have honestly done so much for me, that I can't remember and that I don't deserve.  I hope that I've always said thank you to them for all the good things they've passed on to me, but I'm sure I haven't, so thanks mom and dad!!!
I feel like I've talked about my mom a lot but maybe not so much my daddy-o.
He is a real prince- the salt of the earth and probably the greatest gift he gave me is that he made me believe that I could do anything that I wanted. I never knew that gender barriers or glass ceilings existed until I moved away from home; I still think that is remarkable. We grew up with very defined gender roles, so it was less about gender equality or progressive thinking and more that I felt that he trusted me; and that is empowering.
I have so many stories I could tell about him and he is a pretty funny guy, but ultimately, he is my number one fan.  I would say that this story encapsulates my dad perfectly:
Saturday, I went into NYC with my daughter for "girls day" and we met Sarah Jessica Parker (who is divine and charming-just a real sweetheart) and she graciously took a photo with us. (and I got a new pair of shoes from her new line)
A few hours after I excitedly posted my celeb meet-up online, I got the following message from my mother, "Wow, cool. Daddy says you are much prettier." Laters

Pride Goeth Before A Fall

Me and my man have this deal; I take care of him and he takes care of me. I do things like wash his undies and make sure he has toothpaste and deodorant, and a home cooked meal if I’m feeling really special. We’ve read the “Love Languages” book and his is “touch” so I allow him to touch me non-stop at night when we sleep even though I need my space. (You can read about that here I Bear-ly Slept )
As I am into “acts of service,” he does a lot for me, brings me coffee every morning in bed (even when he’s mad at me) and he is my limo driver on Saturdays when I have errands to run and don’t feel like fighting traffic. Also, on Sunday nights we have this thing called “Jacinta is a vegetable” where I basically extend my Sunday afternoon nap into an all night affair. I loll in bed, surfing the web, reading and play solitaire on my laptop and he brings me dinner in bed… it’s so glorious that I really can’t even tell you how much I enjoy it. The kids pop in every once in a while to say hello, but otherwise, it’s just me and my social media.
Twitter is full of rabbit holes and last night I fell into one linked to YouTube. I watched a ton of fashion blogs and make-up tutorials and this morning, since the kids had a 2-hour snow delay- I had some extra time, so I decided to try out my new skills.
I really focused on my eyes, doing dramatic swoops, and careful water-line eyeliner. I also used more than one eye color and outlined my eye crease! I tried some facial contouring, though I noticed in the sunlight that one side of my face ended up looking more “week old bruised” than “contoured,” but I’m sure I’ll get it better next time. I primed and patted, used concealer and all the foundations I had, mixed together just like the videos. It was really quite exhausting.
I felt pretty proud of my glam until my (60- something male) boss came in and said, (and I quote) “Whoa! Do you usually wear make up?” I explained that yes, I usually do, but that I had a bit more time this morning so I took special care. He replied, “You had more time, so you decided to get tarted up?” Ohmegees tarted up??… perhaps “fresh-faced” is a better look for me? Laters.

Man Overboard

On our recent vacation to Colorado, the hubs thought it would be a good idea to substitute semi-safe rafting for non-safe kayaking. I am a professional non-outdoors woman and an avoider of all things risky like roller coasters, slip & slides, ski slopes, burro/pack mule trips, sleeping outside in tents of any kind, campgrounds, petting zoos and outdoor toilets, so I was less than thrilled, but he said that our family needed some adventure so I acquiesced reluctantly. Who am I to get in the way of adventure?  

We showed up at the appointed time and as I squeezed the smelly protective helmet on my head, he asked me if I was scared. I said no, as I wasn't scared so much as resolved to get it over with. We had a quick crash course in what to do if we fell overboard, a quick reassurance that the rapids were not strong due to the low water levels in the river, and then we put our inflatable kayaks in the river and took off. I spent the first half hour paddling backwards to make sure that I could stay up with our 10 year old daughter, unsure how she would do in the rapids. She was a natural and kept up with the group just fine with a little help from our guide.

The following is a text I sent to my sister in law about how I did in the rapids:

Haha- well I fell in and drank some water and my helmet came over my eyes and my life jacket came up to my chin and I couldn't see a durn thing. I held on to my paddle for dear life and the current took me into a huge rock. Then I bumped the hell out of my leg and knee. I lost my kayak and it went flying, I bounced back to it somehow, but couldn't get back into it. Guides helped me get back in.

I was wearing a wet-suit so in the pics they took; it basically looks like a huge killer whale flying off the side.

Her reply to my near-death experience:

OMG! I am laughing so hard I am crying and J is asking what’s going on cause nothing can be that funny.

I am always happy to provide serious entertainment; all in the name of adventure. Laters.

Doh...

Despite being fairly savvy with computers and social media, I didn't realize that Instagram was a shared social network site; I thought it was strictly a camera app when I started using it a few years ago.

Part of my recovery surgeries for breast cancer have been  procedures called “fat grafting.” Basically, they liposuction small amounts of fat (when I say small, I mean small, I tried and tried for large scale body sculpting, but no dice) from your thighs or abdomen and inject the fat cells into the surgical site, where they grow and fill in the scars and depression areas. After having it done several times in my tummy, I decided to try the thighs to see if the discomfort was less. It was not, and I was sutured, heavily bruised and black and blue all down the back of each leg.

I wanted to see what things looked like up close, so while on a high dose of Percocet and wearing my “special undies,” I awkwardly held the phone behind me and took a couple photos of my back side and legs.   (please don’t stop me here and ask why I didn't just use the full length mirror to see, because that would have been too easy) The photos were perfectly hideous and blurred but I kept them for reference. Reference to what? I don't know, probably reference to get myself to the gym. 

Luckily, I realized a few months later that everyone on the interwebs could see my cellulite, granny panties, and bruises. Thank God I had no followers… Laters.

"Special Undies"

Friday Night

There are reasons why I don’t watch YouTube and they are myriad and well thought out, and thoroughly supported by the following story.

Friday night, being exhausted from my long week of being awesome, I turned in to bed, flannel p.j’s and all around 8:45. I thought it would be a good time to check my twitter feed and clicked on a link, which took me to a YouTube video. I can’t for the life of me remember what the initial video was, but the video underneath was, “See a giraffe give birth.” I thought this was a worthy follow up, so I watched a giraffe give birth. As a side note, giraffes make it look very easy and despite the 100 plus pounds of baby, the mama giraffe quickly birthed and went on about her business.  I think it took about 5 minutes total, to which time-wise was the point where I was screaming ,”You did this to me, I hate you!” and “Find the anesthesiologist!!” to my husband.

The video right under the giraffe birthing was one of an elephant birthing (wow, do they have a lot of amniotic fluid) and they are also very no nonsense and quick. The best part; to rouse the baby elephant, the mother kicks it around until it stands up.  I am interested in trying this technique retroactively on my teenagers- I’ll let you know how it works.

 But you see now how my night was rapidly deteriorating. Below the elephant birth, was the NATURAL childbirth of triplets by a very cheeky, earthy mum in Australia, who is now my hero.  I can’t even describe it except to just tip my hat and say, “wow.” I had one and a half natural births and I cannot recommend an epidural highly enough.

Under the triplet birth, was a page titled “In memory of our little angel” which was a memorial to a stillborn baby. I watched 3 more memorials and then I was sobbing.  The hubs and I lost twins early in our marriage and it still hurts to be reminded about it no matter how it happens.

He had joined me around 9:30 and lay happily watching March Madness on his iPad, and I was determined to not let him know I was crying over YouTube, so I strengthened my quivery voice, with lip trembling, and said ,”Babe, how old would our twins be if they were still alive?”  As I said the word “alive,” my voice broke and I started loudly sobbing and he just looked at me, completely taken aback and totally not sure what to say. He said, “What is wrong??” and I told him that I watched a sad video on YouTube and he said, “What are you watching??” 

I then bawled out, “An elephant giving birth…and a baby memorial” to which he said, “Babe, you have fallen down the rabbit hole, why in the world would you watch that??” He did laugh at me a bit on the elephant part, but he helped me calculate that the twins would be almost 18 and I reminded him that I knew they were girls based on a dream I'd had. I cried a bit more and he got me a tissue and scratched my back and I felt better and sort of relieved that I didn't have almost 18 year old twin girls, as that would be hard work. Laters.

Princess Bettina

Princess Bettina, that’s what we call our 9 year old daughter when she is acting a little naughty but we think it’s cute and so we do nothing. Friday, I was never so glad to see her sweet face and I vowed to cherish her all weekend. I said I would be perfect mommy, but on Saturday when she lost her coat at dance recital, I did yell a bit and told her that she needed to be responsible, and then she said, “Mom but how about my dance, did you see it? Was it good?” And I was crushed and heartbroken and sorry that I didn’t say that to her first.

After, I went to Wal-Mart for a few last minute items. She usually asks if she can ride in the cart like she did as a baby and toddler and I say, “No, please, you are a big girl now.” But on Saturday, I said “Of course!!” And my husband hoisted her lanky frame into the buggy where she sat in the large basket, delighted to have achieved such a victory. K and I pushed her around the store putting whatever she asked for (Juicy Fruit gum and a soda) into the cart without question.  We made googly eyes at each other and said, “Oh look at our daughter, Princess Bettina, isn’t she beautiful? How can we serve you Princess Bettina?” She laughed it up and as we left the store me, the original Safety Scissors ran, pushing the cart as fast as I could, then let go screaming, “hahaha, no hands no hands.” She replied with more grins and the appropriate squeals of faux terror.

Laters.  

SCrAbBLe

Just shared the story with a friend of the first year that the husband came home with me for the holidays, after which, I realized that we probably sound similar to a TLC show like "Honey Boo Boo" or some such. We are big Scrabble players, we all play somewhere along the way when we are together, maybe the night before Thanksgiving  or Christmas Day, sitting around; undoing the top button to let the turkey have a little more room. This was a Christmas Day if I remember correctly and two of my brothers had just gotten into it over the validity of a played word. Dad went for more pie and Mom said, “Take it outside.”

Mom was a big fan of “take it outside.” We fought each other like wild cats and as long as we took it outside, Mom didn’t have much to say either way. I still bear the scars from some of our glorious battles, especially the knee and elbow ones from the time I ran over Jon when he refused to move out of the gravel road until I gave him back his bike. I refused to give him the bike and so we were at an impasse and I had to run him over on principle. Wise? I think not, but at least we were outside. And who can forget the time that I hit David on a sneak attack with a half watermelon, lobbed perfectly from the porch right into his face as he rounded the corner of the house. Perhaps my finest hour in sibling rivalry.

The close proximity to family during the holiday, often brings out the 4 year old in me and I revert to preschool tactics like biting, scratching and eating someone’s cookie while they aren't looking. Once, to my shame, my son caught me in the middle of a slap fight with one of my brothers after a particularly long post-Thanksgiving afternoon.

 In a complete shift in paradigm, K grew up in a household where “stink” was a bad word and you never, ever said poop or anything of the sort. Any you most certainly were not allowed to “take it outside.” So he didn't know what to say or do that Christmas as my brothers rolled around in the yard punching and kicking over the validity of tile placement. He worriedly said, “Should I do something?” I said, “yeah,” and so we had some more pie too. Laters.

Installation

In order to um… “save money” (aka-getting NFL Sunday ticket) the hubs switched our cable and internet. He took the afternoon off to meet the technicians at the appointed time, except they never showed. Finally, about 3 hours late, the internet provider tech showed. He was not excited about the idea of running cable through our upstairs office, but I was firm with him and so he got to work. After some loud, screechy drilling, he was done and I sent him on his way with a piece of cake to thank him for not hassling me too much and to get in his good graces should I ever need him to come back.

In the midst of the drilling , Kev missed the phone call from the cable tech saying that he was severely overbooked and that he wouldn’t make it and we’d need to call to reschedule. As you can imagine, K was very happy with this news and not at all irritated when he called customer service. Haha. 

When he made the call, we were told that we would receive a call in less than 20 minutes to rebook our appointment time. Soon, it was after 9pm and we had not received the “20 minute guaranteed call back” so we gave up for the night and K settled in to watch some baseball while I read a magazine on the couch. About 9:15 the doorbell rang and K opened the door to a very agitated service tech from the cable company. He stated loudly that his boss had told him he had to come by and that he had worked 13 hours straight with no food and the more he talked the louder he got. So of course the hubs invited him inside.

Yes, I said he invited an agitated, hungry, stranger straight into the house. He continued to gesticulate wildly, saying how hungry he was, how his supervisors had overbooked him, how he was from Long Island, far from home, and how he hadn’t had a break all day. Having no other foods in the house as my kids were away and having given my last piece of cake to the internet tech, I had to think quickly as I was afraid we might be murdered or something. I called on my Southern hospitality training from my dear, sweet mama, and offered him a cold glass of iced tea. He drank it down in a few gulps, I refilled it and he calmed down. I filled it again and he was as calm as a lamb. He lingered around for a few more minutes as the hubs and I made commiserating comments about his horrible day and finally we were able to walk him out the door. As the door shut, I gave the hubs “the look” and said “Really, you invited him in?!?” The hubs said, “Babe, he’s tired and lonely.” 

Thinking back on it, I hope that glass of tea made his day a little better than it was. Kindness, I suppose, is never out of style. Laters. 

It All Happened So Fast

My mother and I were at forever at loggerheads in the weeks before my wedding, arguing over trivial details. After one particularly hot fight, as she hand glued hundreds of seed pearls to my wedding dress train she said, “It just doesn't seem long enough. You shouldn’t be old enough to get married.” I probably wasn't but I  harrumphed in my mind thinking that I had lived forever and seen and done all there was, and that just waiting the few weeks until the wedding would seem like an eternity. But I see now exactly what she meant, time truly flies and those baby cheeks turn into bristly razor stubble and the feet I used to kiss are now smelly and I wouldn't touch them with a ten foot pole.

 Last night, when she was supposed to be getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth and that sort of thing, my daughter took my bra from the bathroom counter, fastened it up over her shirt and came out humming a burlesque type tune and doing the shoulder shimmy. K immediately said, “Take it off, that’s not funny!” To which she hummed and shook all the more. Then his face got red and he said more emphatically, “Take it off!” She isn’t scared much of him and I was laughing and Son A was laughing so she hammed it up until her daddy’s face got really worried/mad/scared and then she dashed into the bathroom to take the bra off leaving her father with this parting shot, “I know how to take this off and on!”  It seems that someone isn’t ready to see his baby girl in a bra. Not that I am, I think I just tend to handle that kind of thing a little better.

Speaking of Son A, he, a freshman was invited to the prom by a junior. The prom, oh my word… I immediately said, “No way!” and he laughed at me and his father said, “Of course, you the man!” with a fist pump. Am I the only one who sees a paradox? My son, who is now a full head taller than me, chased by a girl and an older woman at that; I don’t feel comfortable with this. It seems like someone isn't ready to see their son in a tux holding a corsage. Stop it, stop growing up! That's not funny! Laters.

**Cricket, Cricket**

If there is one thing my husband and I are great at- it’s communication. We discuss our kids, jobs, social events, world happenings, thoughts and feelings. We hit all topics and over the years, we’ve worked out some pretty big issues like parenting, staying together, goals and dreams by always honestly communicating. Most Saturdays we can be found, running errands, spending time together and the conversations flow like water, we text, tweet and IM each other throughout the day; discussing the trivial and the important. We have family dinners and talk with the kids about the world, grades, and the upcoming zombie apocalypse. (The boys are convinced it’s gonna happen) And when we’re alone, I never run out of interesting topics like whether I should try laser hair removal and he always listens and adds some convo of his own like how I should jump on the Knicks Jeremy Lin bandwagon.

Then this happens, the awkward Valentine Day lunch, the night away at the bed and breakfast, the weekend dinner out alone and we look at each other like a spinster and a bachelor, desperate for love, who met online and really don’t have anything in common. We have NOTHING to say. It’s like the pressure to be romantic overwhelms us and we are frozen into two crash test dummies. Does this happen to anyone else?

Stilted conversation, long pauses, out of our element and I scramble my brain looking for a topic, any topic to talk about, some common ground but it’s like we are two strangers. Our V-Day lunch was brilliant, discussing how good the food was, I mean it was good, but I think saying it once or twice was enough. We both tried to foster conversation and it went smoother than other times, but it was still rough, and I consider us both excellent conversationalists.

Last night, back at home, we had a delightful evening. (except for the part where he watched basketball, but that’s a story for another time) We danced, had wine, ate cupcakes, shared chocolates with the kids, and it all felt right. I felt like me and he seemed like him and conversation was good.  

Is it the pressure to be romantic and sexy that makes it not? If so, I propose no more “planned” nights or buying into forced romantic holidays, just "off the cuff" weekends away, no pressure dinners, and long walks on the beach… but let’s say we won’t call them dates. Laters.

The Thin Line

Yesterday morning, I came downstairs to have some coffee and on the kitchen counter, I found a syringe and a rubbery tube with a cap. Curious, I unscrewed the cap and inside the tube were small crystals. Naturally, I freaked out. My first thought was, “OH MY GOSH, one of my kids is a drug addict!!” I grilled son B when he came downstairs, but by his blank stare I could tell he had no idea what I was talking about. I let my daughter off the hook because she is only 9, so that left Number 1 son to take the blame. K was not home at the time so I fretted and worried and only just barely stopped myself from going to the school to pick him up and confront him.

When I talked with K, I worriedly told him of my suspicions and he jumped on the band wagon with me, casually asking the cop who patrols his work parking lot what kind of drug it was. The cop fortunately didn’t arrest K for drug paraphernalia and said that he didn’t think it was drug related as the syringe was too large.

On the tube in small letters was the word Oasis which I was sure must be the new recreational party drug amongst teenagers and I googled it numerous ways, looking for any information and came up with zilch. K also did the google routine and came up with nothing as well.

When Son A came home from school, we pounced on him like tigers, asking him about it, demanding that he tell us what it was.

He was puzzled why we were so concerned about his GUITAR DEHUMIDFDIER!!!!

http://www.google.com/products/catalog?client=browser-rockmelt&channel=omnibox&q=oasis+guitar+humidifier&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=shop&cid=14455280251702486017&sa=X&ei=xvEqT8HFNozWiAL04J3CCg&ved=0CKABEPICMAc

Ah, well….better safe than sorry, or perhaps more apropos better to be embarrassed than sorry. Laters. 

Tis The Season...

Today, I let my daughter eat a chocolate truffle for breakfast. Because I am super awesome like that. The caveat was that she had to eat two pear slices to offset the sugar. It makes sense, right? Besides, its Christmas time and we all know that calories don’t count at Christmas.

This month, we’ve been busy, busy, busy. Too busy in fact for me to feel like I was actually enjoying the season, I can’t remember that happening to me before. I feel like I should be standing on a street corner, belting out Faith Hill’s “Where Are You Christmas?” and then the spirit of the season might just come upon me. Or not…

But in truth, the moments of joy I have found have always been when I am doing something for someone else. The recurring theme of my life for the past few months has definitely been inward focused me equals feelings of doubt and discontent, outward focused me equals satisfaction and peace. That makes sense too, right? I know I am always most satisfied when I am a part of something bigger than me, though I confess, I really had to push myself to even care about being nice. Santa must surely have me on the naughty list. But I have learned that you can never put a value on something as small as just speaking a kind word to a friend and asking them how they are. How they really are, and caring about their reply.

We are winding down and I look forward to visiting with family and enjoying life in the slow lane for a few days. Above all, I am grateful to enter this sacred season with my health, my family healthy and presents under our tree. We are most fortunate and blessed. Laters.

Hmm... what she said.

I was thinking about this time of year and how I need to remember the sacredness of the event, and find peace in the frenzy, then Maya Angelou said it one hundred times better than I ever could, so I'll just let her run with it. (thanks Kara)

Amazing Peace: A Christmas Poem

 

snow in bethlehem

By Maya Angelou

Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes
And lightning rattles the eaves of our houses.
Flood waters await us in our avenues.

Snow falls upon snow, falls upon snow to avalanche
Over unprotected villages.
The sky slips low and grey and threatening.

We question ourselves.
What have we done to so affront nature?
We worry God.
Are you there? Are you there really?
Does the covenant you made with us still hold?

Into this climate of fear and apprehension, Christmas enters,
Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope
And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the bright air.
The world is encouraged to come away from rancor,
Come the way of friendship.

It is the Glad Season.
Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps quietly in the corner.
Flood waters recede into memory.
Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us
As we make our way to higher ground.

Hope is born again in the faces of children
It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they walk into their sunsets.
Hope spreads around the earth. Brightening all things,
Even hate which crouches breeding in dark corridors.

In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.
At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.
We listen carefully as it gathers strength.
We hear a sweetness.
The word is Peace.
It is loud now. It is louder.
Louder than the explosion of bombs.

We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence.
It is what we have hungered for.
Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace.
A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies.
Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.

We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas.
We beckon this good season to wait a while with us.
We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and Muslim, say come.
Peace.

Come and fill us and our world with your majesty.
We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and the Confucian,
implore you to stay awhile with us
so we may learn by your shimmering light
how to look beyond complexion and see community.

It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.
On this platform of peace, we can create a language
to translate ourselves to ourselves and to each other.
At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ

Into the great religions of the world.
We jubilate the precious advent of trust.
We shout with glorious tongues the coming of hope.
All the earth’s tribes loosen their voices to celebrate the promise of
Peace.

We, Angels and Mortals, Believers and Nonbelievers,
Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.
Peace.

We look at our world and speak the word aloud.
Peace.

We look at each other, then into ourselves,
And we say without shyness or apology or hesitation:

Peace, My Brother.
Peace, My Sister.
Peace, My Soul

Great Balls Of Fire

I woke up this morning at 5 a.m. screaming from a killer charlie-horse. (another not so lovely side effect of my meds) I alternated between a weird wheezy scream and outright hollering.  Since I was awake and in need of some support, I made sure that K was awake too so that he could enjoy the moment with me. With the screaming, you’d think he’d be awake already, but what can I say, the man is a sound sleeper. I emphatically suggested that he rub my calf and he gave it his best effort, but again, he’s not on his game much that early so it was a little anti-climactic. The pain brought out some colorful phrases and the urge to yell "ay-yi-yi" and "Dios Mio" in a Spanish accent. The cramp lasted somewhere between infinity and eternity and made my calf so sore, I could barely walk on it this morning, not to mention wear my work heels. I schlepped around for most of the day in flip-flops and then gingerly tried on my heels for a walk to the post office. I was still no better and in fact in standing position, the muscles twitch and jerk and threatened to cramp again at any moment. I’m just lucky I guess.  Laters.

What I Saw

Today as I came into the atrium of my office building, the crazy lady who always asks for a dollar and wears flip flops in the snow was standing outside the plate glass doors on the other side with a large tooth comb, fixing her hair just so. She focused on her reflection intently and took time to reach every strand, smoothing the salt and pepper mass into a sort of wind tousled submission. She went over the stubborn places several times, until all the hairs were smoothed to her satisfaction and finished her coif just as I arrived inside. I saw her quickly pocket her comb to shuffle over to the man taking a smoke break to ask for a dollar.

Laters.

Midnight Convo

For the past few days I’ve had either a small head cold or an allergy flare up. The nose is running and the eyes are watering and the sneezes abound. I’ve been taking Sudafed to combat the symptoms and it works pretty good, but as I am a medicine wimp, I only take one at a time and not the recommended two, and still , I get a pretty jittery feeling. Last night, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned and looked at Facebook and did all kinds on mental sheep counting but nothing worked. Finally K said, “Can’t you sleep?” Which really means “Be still, I’m trying to sleep over here.” I said no and then I thought that I would share the fun, racing, jittery thoughts I was having with him.

J-“Babe”

K-“Hmmm…what?”

J-“Do you remember when we were in Dublin at Christ Church Cathedral and we saw the mummified cat and mouse?”

K-“Yes”

J-“Wasn’t that cool?”

K-“zzzz….snort, Yes”

J-“Babe, do you remember the curtains we had at our first apartment?”

K-“zzzzzz”

J-“Babe!”

K-“hmmm….yes… no, not really”

J-“says many other inconsequential things”

K-“snoozes and snores and replies occasionally”

THE GRAND FINALE

J- “Babe, do you like me?”

K-“Babe, I love you.”

J-“Tell me why you love me.”

K-“I love you when you are quiet and let me sleep.”

Laters.