Picture Perfect

With our plumbing problem finally resolved last night I was able to get the house in order before going to bed. We arose around 3am to webcam with our children and grandchildren as they opened their gifts in London. It was as wonderful as it could be, short of being there in person, to be able to watch and hear the excitement of our little granddaughter as she squealed with delight over her gifts, to see our grandson sitting like a little angel in his bouncy seat, to know that my daughters were enjoying each other's company, and to see our son-in-law stealing kisses from his wife. It occurred to me that a bit of our traditions were still alive, but with a twist. Our oldest daughter giving us the wakeup call, just as she did when she was young, anxious to begin the celebration. Sipping coffee and Baileys as candlelight flickered bright then dim around us, bathing us in memories of Christmases past. The Christmas stockings now hanging not only on our mantel but on theirs as well, filled with tiny treasures and treats. The silly red and white Christmas hat perched atop my husband's head for no other reason except to make his granddaughter smile. For about ninety minutes we were able to transport ourselves into their living room, gather around their tree, and join in the wonder of the morning. Then we said our goodbyes and Merry Christmases, extinguished the candles, and went back to bed.

When I arose again around 7:30am I went quietly down the hall, leaving my husband to sleep in as late as he wanted. There seemed to be no reason to wake him since the best of the day was done. We had our own gifts to open but there was not much excitement attached to that prospect since we really already knew what we had gotten for each other, or rather what we had gotten for ourselves from the other. There was only one big box for me and a smaller box for him that was actually a surprise. I contemplated lighting the candles again and decided against it. I popped open a soda, put on some Christmas music and settled into the rocking chair with the book I have been reading. Somehow the rest of the day didn't seem as if it would be much different than any other weekend day. Eventually my husband got up and joined me in the living room. I started the coffeepot for the second time and plopped down on the sofa, half-heartedly asking if we should go ahead and do the gifts. So I passed out the gifts and we laughed as we pretended to be surprised, oohing and ahhing in fake admiration. Finally I handed his one true surprise gift to him and waited my turn. I envisioned a set of cookware inside my box or perhaps some glassware. I could not have been more wrong. My husband, who at times is so involved in his computer and video games, football and tv that I sometimes feel invisible, gave to me a gift most precious. Inside that box was a very nice digital camera, with assorted wide-angle and zoom lenses, tripods, carrying case, spare batteries, eveything I need to get started with the photography I have been dreaming of for quite some time. Above all, inside that box was the knowledge that he really had been listening and was giving me a gift of the heart. I was moved to tears. Maybe now he will get his recliner.

Plumb Pudding

It's Christmas Eve day and I have the next two days off work. I should be in the kitchen cleaning and baking but fate has struck another nasty blow. Our kitchen sink is clogged, evidently with something akin to concrete. My husband, the handyman that he is, has attempted to unclog the drain, to no avail. What he did accomplish is to etch interesting patterns on the dirty silverware that was lying nearby on the counter as he plunged through the sulfuric acid-laced water. So what will be on my Christmas list for next year? No, not a new husband, takes too much time to train a new one, but perhaps a new set of silverware will be in order. I hauled all the dirty dishes to the bathroom and washed them in a very large mixing bowl set into the bathtub. The drainboard, piled high with dishes, is perched precariously across the stainless steel tub caddy. I just hope no tiny food particles made their way into the jets of the tub or we may be bathing in a stew the next time we use the whirlpool. I am adjusting our traditional Christmas dinner menu to allow for the absence of a usable sink. I suppose we will be dining with disposable plasticware and paper plates. And maybe we will just drink the wine straight out of the bottles! Even better, I may just use Christmas gift wrap as a table cover then when we finish our meal I can just lift the whole mess into a bundle and pitch it in the garbage. Voila! And done! Now that's the Christmas spirit! Hope yours is a happy one. Cheers!

Opposite Attraction

Friends come into our lives in such random, unexpected ways. For me, at the age of five, I never thought I would become best friends with the neighbor who lived across the street. When we first met I knew we could not possibly have anything in common. She wore a crisp pinafore over her pale blue dress and white ruffled anklets with her shiny black patent leather shoes, a bow in her hair, brushed back into a long, bouncy pony tail. I, on the other hand, in the backyard playing in the sandbox, wore nothing but shorts and T-shirt, bare feet covered with mud, freckled face smudged with dirt, hair cut short to keep it out of my face. As this neighbor's older sister introduced her to me I was already dismissing her in my young mind, thinking to myself that this prissy girl could not know how to have real fun, not seeming to be the type to get her hands dirty, to climb skyward into trees, to swing a bat, or catch fireflies. She was the youngest of three girls in her family, I was the fifth of six children, and just a year and two years younger than my two brothers. I was a tomboy by default. I remember thinking that I would like to push her down to see if she would cry. The meeting was brief and I went back to my play. The next time we met she came dressed to play, still a bit prissy, but not so intimidatingly girly. To my surprise we actually had fun together. Our friendship grew over time and we became inseperable, playing every day after school and on weekends. At my house, brimming with kids, there was excitement and chaos, rough and tumble play, messiness and noise. At her house there was privacy and a quiet atmosphere that I came to love as we played with dolls and games, a doting second mother who always seemed to have fresh cookies in the oven, and best of all, no brothers teasing and taunting. We each brought to our friendship what the other lacked. With our brown hair, blue eyes, and left-handedness, we sometimes dressed alike and thought it was funny when people mistook us for twins. She had a tandem bicycle that we rode together all over town, although she would always lift her feet from the pedals when a dog would come chasing and barking, leaving me to pedal furiously to get away without falling over. I had home-built go-carts and motorized bicycles to challenge her bravery as we flew around the oval track that my brothers and their friends had created in a field. During the summertime we spent our days together taking horseback riding lessons, gymnastics, and other activities through the Girls Club. We pretended to be spies while sneaking into neighbors' garages and yards, snooping on the mean old man around the corner, sure that he had something to hide. With a lunch bag in hand, we would crawl into the fire escape tube at the Junior High, climb to the top and eat our lunch, then go sailing down the tube on waxed paper, flying out the bottom like spitballs through a straw. At the theater she would sneak to the balcony if I went to the lobby for candy, then chuckle as she watched me trying to find her in the darkness. We made each other laugh hysterically to the point that we could not make eye contact without erupting into fits of giggles. My brother taught us to drive in his Volkswagon, on country roads on Sunday mornings when we were supposed to be at church. We spent countless hours at the local parks, swimming and watching baseball games. Boys and parties eventually replaced spy games and adventure but we remained close, sharing secrets, hopes, and dreams. Then came husbands and children and our lives took us in different directions. We still got together frequently, with children in tow, and our friendship remained strong. Throughout the years we have shared our lives with each other - the heartaches and grief, the love and the joys, the challenges of raising families, the successes, the disappointments. We have gone through busy periods of our lives when we didn't see each other often but then we were able to slip easily back into that comfortable closeness without missing a beat. She is and always will be my best friend.

Out Go the Lights

I knew there was a short in one of those strands of lights. Right in the middle of the tree. I just hope the rest of them stay lit, at least until the 25th. Hope your Christmas is merry and bright!

The Blame Game

When I hear all the debates going on about the bailout of the automotive industry I can't help but wonder if we are sometimes missing a piece of the puzzle as to why our American manufacturers are struggling. We may be able to point our fingers at the executives making huge salaries and even bigger bonuses for letting a company be run into the ground. We may also point to the unions that have tied the hands of American industry, giving our foreign competitors an unfair advantage. The same goes for the EPA for mandating costly environmental restraints that also give our foreign competitors the edge. We may be able to point to the general managers, plant managers, supervisors, and foremen for their failure to operate their facilities efficiently and effectively. But let me state that each and every worker on those lines should look within themselves and ask if they contributed to the mess that their companies are in. What did they do to help or hinder the productivity and profitability of the company that is paying their wages and benefits? Do they come to work each day and give a respectable day's work for the pay they receive? Do they look at the big picture and realize that a company's success begins with them, that they are the front line and if they fail to do their jobs it creates a domino effect that will eventually bring the company to its knees?

In the late seventies my husband and I worked for a manufacturer, on their production line, and saw firsthand what the working class can do to a company. There were over 800 employees working three shifts seven days a week producing mostly plastic soda bottles. I would venture to guess that at least half of these employees spent a good portion of their day conspiring to avoid working. They assumed the jobs would always be there and it didn't matter. They would only work at the slowest pace necessary to meet minimum production goals. In their minds, if they were able to produce more and did so regularly, that would become the new standard and then they couldn't slack off when they wanted to. I saw people come to work high on drugs or under the influence of alcohol. These were the people who operated machinery capable of killing their coworkers. Others thought it was perfectly acceptable to steal from the company that put food on their tables and clothes on their backs. Tools, supplies, plastic resin, anything they thought they could use outside the plant would somehow slip away, past the security gate and into their cars. Didn't matter, the "company" had deep pockets, right? I saw them trash the break rooms that were provided for them, it was someone else's problem to clean it up. I saw them cheat on the maintenance reports, documenting work that was never done on the machinery. So what if the equipment failed and the lines were shut down. They thought it was great to get an extra break, it didn't matter if the company missed a production deadline. Why should they worry about it? Why? Let me tell you why. That company I worked for was losing money and losing contracts for failure to deliver on time. They had to lay off most of their employees and cut benefits to those who remained. The union couldn't really save those people then because it was either take that or shut the doors permanently. With a 9% unemployment rate in the small town there were no other jobs to go to. Who was crying then? The company is still in business today, but with a workforce of only about 100 people.

I see this same attitude everywhere I go. Employees on their cell phones, on company computers for personal use, stealing what is not theirs to take, bitching and moaning that they are overworked and underpaid and they just aren't going to exert themselves any more than necessary. This self-serving attitude is putting our economy in the toilet. So don't just point the finger of blame at someone else, look in the mirror and see if the blame also lies within.

Silver Spoon

Today was one of those days when I wished I could just crawl back into bed and sleep away the day, hoping for a better tomorrow. From the moment I walked in the door at work until I walked back out it was hell. Crappy patients, crappy policies, crappy attitudes. I have such a low tolerance level for stupidity these days. Just once I want to be able to look a patient in the eye and tell him/her exactly what I think. The same goes for my employees, who seem to think that they can come to work and spend the day on the computer or their cell phones with no consequence. Don't even get me started about the service excellence team who thinks that we should be able to smile our way through the day while doing the juggling act of getting everything done in a timely manner. God forbid if someone complains that they weren't treated like a princess or they had to wait , gasp, forty-five minutes to see a doctor. "OMG! I know Mr. Bigwig so-and-so and you must kiss my f...ing ass or I will go whining like a bratty teenager and then you will be sorry and I don't care that that patient you took ahead of me was having a heart attack. I am more important. See my silver spoon stuck up my ass?" As I forced myself to be pleasant I was fighting the urge to just get up and walk out and not look back. I worked in the ghetto for seventeen years and I dealt with so much crap in that job but in retrospect I have found that I would much rather be working down there in the trenches. Where the patients at least appreciated the fact that the doctors and staff were willing to provide care to them no matter how long they had to wait to be seen, in a neighborhood where the druggies and alcoholics, the criminals and the insane were wandering the streets. I am not and have never been a kiss-ass kind of person. That is not to say that I don't understand the importance of good customer service. It's just that sometimes the customer is not always right. I now work in an affluent area of the city and it is far worse than the ghetto. By stroking egos and bribing our way out of customer dissatisfaction with freebies and gift cards, false apologies and compliments, we have created an environment where we are sure to fail in our efforts to please everyone. What these people really need is to be told to shut up, sit down, wait their turn like everyone else, and to quit acting like spoiled brats. Money sure doesn't buy them manners. At least when I left the office this evening I was able to reconcile some of the bad behavior of these patients today because hanging low in the dark night sky was a giant yellow full moon. The crazies were out in full force! They were just better dressed than the crazies in the ghetto.

To Tree or Not to Tree

This is the time of year that drives my husband absolutely looney with my indecision. The season tends to render me helpless to my emotions. I often wish I could skip the whole thing and pretend it just doesn't matter. But of course it does so I am better at flip-flops than a politician. I am not going to put up the tree this year, oh, but maybe I will just put up a tabletop tree. No, no tree at all. I can't deal with the hassle of dragging out all the boxes and putting on those irritatingly difficult lights. Oh, but I love the glow of the lights in the quiet hours of the night when everyone else is sleeping. No, I can't do it. It's settled. I am going shopping instead. Wait, you say there was a weather alert about the slick roads? Maybe I better just stay home. If I am home I may as well drag out the tree. No, maybe I'll have some cheesecake and think about it for a while. Ahh, that helped. Okay now what do I do? I have some of the other decorations out and that should suffice, shouldn't it? But what if I wait until Christmas and then decide I should've put up the tree after all? Oh shit, I may as well see if the lights are working. Now which box are the lights in? Oh crap, I forgot, I got lazy last year and just threw all the lights in a tangled mess into a gym bag. It's okay, I am a rational adult. It won't kill me to stand here and untangle these without throwing a fit. Careful not to tear the bulbs out of the sockets there Sparky! Whew, I need to rest after all that. Maybe a drink will help. Honey, where is the rum for the eggnog? No more rum? Whiskey it is then. Okay, I'm ready now. Plug this strand in to make sure it works. Wow, it works, kinda. Maybe twenty bulbs in the strand need to be replaced. I'll bet the bulbs from the thick outdoor strands will fit. Here goes. Yeah, they almost fit perfectly. Okay, I have twelve strands of lights plugged in and they all work. But didn't one of those strands have a short? Seems like I lost light to half the tree last year. Leave them plugged in to warm up before I use any of them. I have to shape the tree branches anyway. Look, the instructions in the box show how to attach the lights so it will be pre-lit for next year. Let me sit down and read this. Honey, will you fix me another drink? Okay, now for these lights. It says to zigzag and wrap, then pull straight back...what the hell? How am I supposed to do that with this big wad of lights? Oh, forget it. I will get a prelit tree next year. Let me just get these damn lights wrapped around the tree so I can get this done before midnight. I hate Christmas! Why didn't I just go shopping? Shut up, you don't have a right to comment because you are not helping me. If you think it is so funny you get up and do it. That's what I thought. You better find some Christmas music to get me in a better mood, quickly. Okay, I'll settle for that Carol King concert on PBS. Thanks. That's better, it's moving along now. I'm almost finished with the lights. Now where are the hangers for the ornaments? You can't find them? I know I bought some last year? Are you sure you looked in all the boxes? Okay, go get me some paper clips. I am going to get this done tonight! Can you turn off those lamps so I can see how this looks. Is it evenly lit? Are the ornaments spaced out right? Do you see any bare spots? No, I am not obsessed. Just shut up and have a Merry Christmas.

Donation Location

Before you do your online holiday shopping consider this: if you go to Goodshop.com you can shop online and the site will make a donation (sometimes as much as 30% of your purchases) to the charity of your choice. It doesn't cost you anything more. It is a painless way to do something good. The donations come out of the profits generated by the site from the advertisers.

Now they have expanded the concept to include a penny every time you use their search engine, Goodsearch.com. You choose the charity. I think everyone should get on board. It's a win-win and so easy.

In the same vein, I wanted to mention the secret charity exchange idea that I came up with last year. When your family gathers for the holidays this year, why not draw names for a gift exchange? Here is how it works: each person entering the exchange writes down his/her name, his/her choice of a charitable organization, and a weblink or phone number for that charity. Then everyone draws a name. Over the next year you will do something for the charity of the person whose name you drew. It can be as simple as a monetary donation or participating in an event. You can do as much as your time/wallet allows. You can be creative in your fundraising efforts, especially if the charity chosen is not in the area you live. When your family gathers for the holidays next year you will each reveal whose name you drew, what the charity was and what you did to help. You can also tell what you learned about the charity and the work they do. You might want to develop a few key questions for everyone to ask of the charities they are working for, such as what is the main focus of the charity, what percent of the donations go directly to services or research, etc. The result of this exchange is that you have a year to do something to honor the person whose name you chose, you learn something about the charity you worked for, and perhaps you will gain some insight into what is important to the person you chose, all while keeping the true spirit of the season.

Happy Holidays!

Memory Box

While on the subject of Christmas I wanted to list just a few memorable moments from past years:

The first Christmas for each of my children, when I wanted so much for them to rip into the packages but they would inevitably just tear off a small piece of wrapping paper and instantly put it into their mouths. That was enough for them because that's what babies do - eat!

The Christmas when my oldest nephew was just a toddler. He opened a large box that had a rather small gift tucked inside. The gift dropped out of the box unnoticed by him. He held up both his little arms and proclaimed "It's nothing!"

The Christmas gathering when all the cousins did a homespun version of the birth of Jesus. Because we had so many more girls than boys in the family, my eight-year-old niece had to be Joseph, while my six-year-old daughter got to be Mary. Unbeknownst to the adults, my niece's psyche was scarred for having to be a boy. She finally got over it...we think.

The year my oldest daughter snuck into her gifts by carefully slicing the tape, unwrapping, peeking, then rewrapping, taping precisely over the original tape. I would never have noticed if she hadn't needed something green to wear in a school music production. I knew I had wrapped up a green sweater for her. When I realized how she had cleverly peeked I opened all her gifts and replaced them with bath towels. Then I retaped just as she had and waited. On Christmas morning she opened a pile of bath towels, just what every young teenager needs. She knew she had been found out and the joke was on her. We did finally give her the original gifts that day, but only after all the other gifts had been opened.

The first Christmas after my youngest daughter died was a very difficult season. But she had had so much fun helping me to write The Family Inquirer over the long summer months when she was confined by illness. It was a family tattletale newspaper with funny articles based on the stupid stunts that all my siblings, parents, and grandmother had done throughout the year. I thank them for being able to laugh at themselves and for giving her some great laughs in her final months. I dedicated the publication to her memory and her love of a good joke.

The year my husband's family all came for Christmas at our farm home. I made up clues to guide my father-in-law on a treasure hunt through our big house to find his gift - the canoe he had been talking about for years but hadn't gotten around to buying for himself. He cried.

The little handmade Christmas tree made of clay by my middle child when she was in first grade was a favorite decoration of mine. I remember her little face lit up with excitement as she watched me unwrap it. She was so proud of it. I set it out for many years until it finally crumbled after getting damp.

After stringing the lights on our tree, my daughters would hang the ornaments. There were some handmade ornaments with their pictures in them. Each would try to hide her own picture at the back of the tree. Every few days it would reappear at the very front as they secretly shuffled each other's around.

Getting up very early while it was still dark outside to light the tree and all the candles, then waking my husband and daughters. We would have coffee and hot chocolate while opening the gifts in the soft glow with Christmas carols playing on the stereo. The best gift my husband gave me was his understanding that giving to our children meant more to me than anything he could buy for me.

The year my mother was pulling out gifts from under her tree, stood up and tripped, falling and injuring her wrist. She continued on with the celebration, ignoring the pain. She went to see a doctor the next day. She actually had a fracture.

My mother loved Christmas and decorating her house was an all day affair. My little sister and I helped her with this every year. I would drive up on a Saturday morning and we would begin the process of decking the halls so to speak. It was a wonderful day spent together, laughing and talking. We usually worked well into the night and then we would sit and enjoy the glow of all the lights. In mid-January we would spend another weekend together taking the decorations down and packing them away . It never felt like work. It was fun to be together for the purpose of making my mother happy. I am very glad for all the memories those weekends provided.

Rising at 3:00am to have Christmas via webcam with our daughters, our son-in-law, and our grandchildren. Getting to be a part of their annual tradition in spite of the distance is priceless.

Feel free to share some of yours in the comments.

Tradition Transitions - Part III

Over the past three years it has become much harder for everyone to coordinate their schedules to get together for our traditional weekend before Christmas party. All of our children are spread out from the east coast to the west, from the north to the south. My younger daughter lives in London with her husband and two children. My oldest daughter lives in Chicago. I have nieces and nephews in California, South Carolina, Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas. Many of them are married and have children of their own now and it has become difficult for them to schedule visits for both sides of their families and establish their own traditions for their children. It is very expensive to fly during the holidays and weather is also a factor. Because of this, we have contemplated dropping our big gathering to allow everyone to concentrate on their own families and reduce the stress of the season. We are going to try to start a new tradition of gathering in the summertime instead. It is sad to let go of this part of our lives but change is necessary. Over the holidays I hope to get together with a couple of my sisters and start planning for a big summer reunion. In the meantime, I am hoping all of them will get webcams for Christmas so we can all stay in touch in a very visual way. Happy Thanksgiving and Merry Christmas to all!

Tradition Transition - Part II

For many years our Christmas tradition remained pretty much the same. The magic of Santa faded but was replaced by our joy in being together as a family. We still congregated at my parents' and my grandmother's home to celebrate on Christmas Eve. We began going to Midnight Mass together so we could sleep in on Christmas morning. As we grew up and moved away to begin our adult lives the focus shifted naturally to our own young children as they lived out the same traditions. We enjoyed watching all the cousins gather for their special night of magic and fun in our parents' and grandmother's homes. The adults simply enjoyed being together and catching up with each other while eating our way through the traditional foods we had come to love and expect at the holiday season. It was a very crowded and very noisy affair but we loved it because we loved each other. Those who could spent the night at my parents' house, letting our children play together until they could no longer stay awake. We were glad for the chance to let them bond and make that connection that we hoped would keep them close throughout their lives, to have some of the same memories of youth.

When my oldest sister and her family moved back from Louisiana to Louisville, KY we altered our traditions. It had been getting harder and harder for everyone to juggle their schedules to gather on Christmas Eve. So she offered to have our large family gatherings the weekend before Christmas in her large home. There was plenty of room for the kids to play and a place to sleep, if we so chose, for everyone. We would begin arriving in the late afternoon for what evolved into a wonderful, if somewhat wacky, event. Everyone brought food and drink and a gift for the little ones. With tables laden with snacks and a well-stocked bar the party began as soon as each family arrived. There was room to mingle and catch up with each other and we all pitched in with the last-minute preparations. Once everyone was there we would proceed to the basement to open gifts. With sometimes as many as fifteen little ones and fifteen to twenty adults it was organized chaos. My mother kept it all moving with my grandmother's help. We were along for the wonderful ride. Just as in my youth, packages were passed out a few at a time so we could all see the gifts being opened. Little fingers tore into the paper to reveal the surprises inside. There were squeals of delight as each gift was held aloft in admiration. After the last gift was opened we would settle the kids with plates of food around the tables set up in the basement. When they finished eating they were free to play to their hearts' content. My sister's wonderful housekeeper would keep them all corralled in the basement while the adults retreated upstairs to the dining room for a fabulous sit-down dinner. That is when the real party began for us.
Our tradition had moved away from buying gifts for each adult because there were just too many of us. But that did not mean you got nothing. There was always a small gift for each of us from my grandmother, my parents, and a close family friend who always celebrated with us. We, in turn, had gifts for each of them. But we did not exchange gifts with each sibling and their spouses. For a while we exchanged a man and woman's gift from each family. Then I think it changed to just one universal gift for each couple. Eventually, a rather unusual tradition developed. It started out the year that my older brother became seriously ill with Crohn's disease and was hospitalized unexpectedly. He was in need of a bathrobe so my oldest sister brought in the one she had bought and hidden as a Christmas gift for her husband. When my brother-in-law stopped by the hospital to visit my brother and saw him in the robe he let it slip that he had a robe just like that. So my sister knew he had peeked at his gifts hidden in her closet. At our Christmas gathering my mother gave my brother-in-law a gag gift - a wrapped box with a toggle switch on the side to turn on the light attached inside and a peepsight like the ones found on hotel doors built into the top of the package. He could turn on the light and look inside the package without unwrapping it to sneak a peak at the gift inside. Of course, the gift was a bundle of switches. And so it began, our wild Christmas gag gift tradition. Whatever stupid thing you did throughout the year was liable to be used against you in the form of some crazy gift. Of course, once the gift was opened the receiver would have to tell the story behind it. We would roar with laughter at the clever gifts and the meanings behind them. It was all in good fun, never meant to be hurtful, and we were able to laugh at ourselves. No adult member of the family was exempt from this tradition. As the little ones grew up they began to look forward to the year they would be joining the adults upstairs for what seemed to them a glorious, raucous good time.

After dinner and gag gifts were over, everyone, including the kids, were free to mingle wherever they chose, playing poker, Scrabble, Pictionary, air hockey, pinball, watching movies, or just sitting and talking. We could sit up all night enjoying each other's company. Eventually the men and the kids would tire out in the wee hours of the morning. But the women would persevere. We would sit up all night laughing and chatting, playing Scrabble (or what we dubbed as Babble as we became slap-happy). For many years, the men would awake the next morning to find us still sitting around that Scrabble board. One look would set us off into fits of laughter. If a sibling was unable to make it home for the big event he/she could count on at least one phone call from all of us throughout the night. Somehow I doubt that he/she found those calls as humorous as we did. You know the saying, "You just had to be there!" But we didn't want anyone to be left out of the fun.

As our children grew into adults and began to consider marriage, the big test for the prospective spouse was to make it through family Christmas. If they stuck around after meeting all of us and being subjected to our crazy antics we determined them to be keepers. And for the most part, this has held true. Families that can laugh together and not take themselves too seriously tend to stay together and help each other through all the tough times that are inevitable. Knowing that no matter the distance, the struggles, or the angry words that naturally occur in every family, we never hold a grudge and always welcome with open arms every single member of our family. And that is the spirit of our Christmas.

Tradition Transition-Part I

Although we still have Thanksgiving to celebrate, my thoughts have already turned to Christmas. Because we are sending my oldest daughter across the pond to visit my younger daughter in London for the Christmas holidays we will be celebrating Christmas with her early when she is home for Thanksgiving. We will be killing two birds (turkeys) with one stone so to speak. So I need to clean and decorate the house, wrap the gifts, and plan the menus for her five day visit. I began to think about the Christmas traditions I grew up with and how that has translated to my children's traditions.

When I was a young child my mother would load us all into the car shortly after Thanksgiving so we could go pick out a Christmas tree. It was always exciting because it meant the beginning of this very magical holiday season. Bundled up in fuzzy hats and gloves, coats buttoned up tight to keep out the winter chill, we would traipse around the tree lot scouring out the best tree. Once the tree was selected we would hurry home to get it into the stand and then we would warm ourselves with hot chocolate. My mother would then wrap the tree with lights and tinsel, beginning the tree's transformation from ordinary to wondrous. Once this preliminary work was done she would turn us loose to finish decorating the tree, applying silvery icicles, shiny glass balls, and assorted handmade ornaments while she set out other decorations throughout the house. With Chrismas carols playing in the background it was a happy event, the kickoff for good things to come. Afterward, in the glow of the tree lights, my siblings and I would huddle over the Sears or JCPenney toy catalog, making our wish lists for Santa. We would go to bed dreaming of the toys we hoped to receive.

Over the course of the season we would rush into the living room every morning to see what packages Santa had left under the tree. Santa visited nearly every night at our house, dropping off a gift or two each time. With six children it would have been too much for him to handle all the gifts in one night. We would shake and feel those packages trying our best to guess what was inside. The excitement would build over the weeks as the pile of gifts began to spread beneath the tree.

Down the street at my Grandparents' house a transformation was also in progress. My grandmother had a smaller tree in her living room and a tiny Christmas village on display in front of the large windows. There was a white picket fence surrounding the village, tiny ice skaters on mirrored ponds, open-mouthed carolers singing in the snow, and the nativity displayed in the tiny church. Below the table upon which the village sat, assorted gifts wrapped in tissue paper and tied with ribbon were appearing day by day for us and our cousins.

Finally the big day would arrive - Christmas Eve. Our house and my grandmother's house were abuzz with activity. Scents of ham and sweet potatoes, pies and cookies filled the air as the feast was prepared. Last minute shopping and cleaning were finished and tables set. With all of us scrubbed clean and dressed we were finally ready for the evening to begin. As soon as it was dark enough we would load up into the car for a drive around town to see all the Christmas lights. Through neighborhoods we would travel, oohing and ahhing over the festive displays. Then we would arrive back home and walk down the block to our grandparents' house. We would gather for dinner along with my aunt, uncle and our three cousins. After dinner we would anxiously await the moment when we moved into the living room to open gifts. With everyone seated my grandmother would pass out the gifts one or two at a time so we could all see what everyone got and share in the excitement. After all the gifts were opened the kids would play while the adults cleaned up a bit and gathered up their belongings, preparing to move up the street to our own home. During this time my mother was suspiciously absent, on an errand for Santa I believe. Finally we would pull on our coats and run excitedly up the block.

We were greeted by our parents, my mother with the movie camera in hand as we burst through the front door. There we would find that Santa had been there and had left the "big" gifts, some wrapped and others draped with sheets. We could hardly stand the waiting for everyone to get settled so we could begin the unwrapping. Then we would rip open the packages one by one to reveal the treasures we had been dreaming of - a bicycle, a telescope, a play stove or a doll. It was a most incredible night of magic that only happens in those few years of childhood where anything is possible and dreams do come true.

We were allowed to stay up as long as we wanted, all night if we were able, to play with our newest possessions. We slept wherever we lay our head when we could no longer keep our eyes open. On Christmas morning we were awakened in time to get ready to go to church for Christmas mass, where we battled the urge to nod off. Then we would return home for a lunch of leftovers and a much needed nap. We would arise refreshed and re-energized for another day of play. That is how we spent our family Christmas.

Cyber Clutter

I was very disappointed in myself for not being able to pull off a yard sale today. My recent illness still had too much of a grip on me yesterday to allow me to go out to the storage unit and sort through box after dusty box of my past. In my office/spare bedroom I am surrounded by a roomful of items previously tagged and waiting for the sale. My clutterphobia is trying to claw its way to the surface and I keep trying to kick its neurotic ass back into submission but I am afraid I won't be able to control it for much longer. And God help my husband if that happens. I tend to get very testy and threaten to just throw everything away, then he gets very nervous and starts to stash his prized belongings, fearing I won't understand his need to have every electronic gadget known to man. And he would be right. With two computers, a desk phone, a cordless phone, a cell phone, a fax machine, and a whole array of gadgets that go with all that his home office is the poster child for Best Buy. Why exactly does one need not one, not two, but five speakers hooked up to his desktop computer? Because he can't hear the surround sound tv and stereo ready to entertain just down the hall from his office? Or the iPod sitting on the filing cabinet next to the desktop? Or the portable radio on top of the desk for listening to Bob and Tom in the mornings? Or the satellite radio catching the commercial-free music waves near the office window? Yesterday I had to crawl under his desk and trace the wires from all the speakers to the back of the computer so he could figure out why two of them weren't working. I know he suspected me as the cause simply because I was in the room and I surely must have done something because he didn't change anything and it was working the day before. (But that's another story!) Anyway, while under there I didn't solve the speaker problem but I did trace two random power plugs and an answering machine cord that were missing the components they once belonged to. They had become victims of the electronic kudzu growing under, around, and behind his desks. The mass of wires threatens to capture and choke any unwitting visitor and pull them into the tangled mess of cyber horror, never to be seen again. I feel responsible to at least attempt to hack it back occasionally lest it come creeping out into the hallway to overtake the rest of the house. I know I can't kill it but I can contain it. Goodnight Hal!

Pure Joy

Yesterday my husband and I had the most enjoyable webcam visit with our 2 1/2 year old granddaughter. As we watched and listened she read us the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. The animation in her face and voice was so precious. And when the story was finished she stood up and took a bow. Absolutely adorable. Thank you Amelia for spreading your joy across the ocean. You made our day.

Clutter Buster

Feeling much better today, and having slept away most of the past two days, I climbed out of bed at 4:30am. I am scheduled off for a three day weekend because I had planned to have a yard sale on Saturday. My goal is to eliminate enough of the extraneous clutter we have collected over the years so that I can stop paying for at least one of the two storage units that we lease. At $1200 per year for the two units, one would think we would have done this sooner. It is an emotional thing. There is a lot of junk in the storage units, but there are also a lot of memories. And it is very hard to let some of those things go. There is also quite an assortment of things that are kept out of guilt. Things passed on that we have no use for but feel quilty about getting rid of. Oh, and did I mention my husband is a pack rat? You know his kind, "We can't get rid of this, we might have a use for it in 50 years". I need to get him out of town for the day or he will be taking things off the tables and hiding them in the shed. But I will persevere for the time has come for a cleansing of the soul of sorts. One of my "thing to do before I die" wish list items previously posted was to clear all the clutter from my life and this is a big step in that direction. Not that I plan on dying soon, just that it may take me many years to accomplish. Whatever I can't sell I will either donate, post on Craig's list, or see if another family member is interested in storing. So wish me luck. I hate having yard sales, especially when people want to haggle with you over something priced at $1. C'mon people, either you want it or you don't. I would rather give the stuff to a charity than deal with the cheap misers. I held a yard sale with my in-laws several years ago and I swore I would never do it again. After the sale was over and all the leftovers had been loaded back into the house I actually had people return and knock on my door, wanting to know if I had sold a particular item. If they had to go home and mull over whether they could pay the $3 for the items in question perhaps they didn't need to be out yard-saling. Cha-ching!

Food for Thought

For the past 36 hours misery has held me hostage, confining me to bed or sofa. I awoke yesterday with a headache pounding like a jackhammer, sinuses clogged like concrete, and a need to hang my head over the toilet or a bucket to heave. With kleenexes in hand I tried to get comfortable in any position, sitting, lying, half-lying but the pounding would not leave me, nor would the ensuing chills and sweats, and the nausea and vomiting that went with it. Nary a sip of water would stay down. Last night I was desperate to be able to keep down some Advil so I tried a single cracker, hoping to put something in my stomach before the medicine. Turned out not to be a good idea, so I struggled through the night in pain, ready to poke out my eyes for relief. This morning I crawled out of bed at 5:00am so I could see if anything would stay down before I had to head to work, but my body was rejecting any form of nutrition. I hated to miss our staff meeting today but there was no way in hell I could have done the 45 minute drive to work and then spend a 12 hour day in hell. I could think of nothing else but finding a way to relieve my head. I was actually too sick to get to a doctor on my own so I mostly drifted in and out of sleep between the waves of nausea. Finally, around 2:30 today I was able to keep down some liquids, venturing a few sips at a time. Then a few bites of instant mashed potatoes. Then medicine. More rest. More sips. More potatoes. Finally I could be upright without feeling like my stomach was churning. I still have a headache but it is more of a dull thud now.

So now I am craving cinnamon toast. For most people, the thought of putting sugary, buttery bread in their bellies after being sick may not seem the wisest thing to do. But for me, cinnamon toast has always been one of those comfort foods from my childhood. I will wait a while to make sure I can stomach it but before the night is over I am sure I will have a slice. As a child, whenever I missed school due to illness or my frequent asthma attacks, my mother would fix cinnamon toast when I was well enough to eat again. I would sit in bed with the plate of toast along with the puzzles and word scrambles that she made up to entertain me quietly. She would check on me frequently, touching the back of her hand to my forhead, brushing my hair from my eyes, and listening to my breathing for signs of improvement. I know my asthma attacks frightened her at times, but she always made me feel safe and calm. While she is no longer of this world, I feel her spirit nearby. I take comfort in these past rituals of my childhood.

These thoughts made me stop to think of the other comfort foods in my life. Of course, there is Big Red, which I have previously written about. Mashed potatoes with their starchy goodness seem to help me combat nausea. I have used them to help cure motion-sickness and morning sickness, hangovers and nausea from headaches. It doesn't always work, but for the most part this is the first food I try to keep down when anything ails me. Toasted buttered cheerios are a favorite snack from my childhood as are red licorice sticks. I have a candle on a table in my living room that evokes cravings for giant cherry sweettarts from back in my Girl Scout days when I was drawn into the corner grocery as I walked to the meetings and would sometimes spend my dues on this sugary treat. Other favorites are macaroni and cheese, meatloaf, and baked corn pudding. Of course, coffee has become a favorite, especially when enhanced with a splash of Bailey's Irish Cream. What are your comfort foods and what memories do they evoke?

Elect to Act

I arose at 4:30am today so I could read a little bit more about the presidential candidates views. I left the house at 6:15am to cast my vote. Surprisingly, I only had a 20 minute wait in line. As I stood in line watching the other voters I felt a camraderie with all of them, no matter the party line they were following. As Americans, we all strive for similar things: good secure jobs, good education for our children, a sense of safety from the threats of terrorism, decent affordable healthcare that won't bankrupt us or deplete our life savings, the right to practice our religious beliefs or non-belief, the freedom to have a binding relationship with the person we love, the right to speak out without fear, a sense of pride that America is still a great nation of people who are willing to reach out to others to improve lives around the globe. We may think that we cannot do much as individuals but we all have the power within us to change the world, one small step at a time, one person at a time. So after the election is over, perhaps we could all seek out a way, be it small or large, to reach out our hands to those who need a lift up. Help a neighbor, volunteer, pray, donate, tutor, mentor, house, feed, clothe, comfort or inspire. Have a wonderful day and get out there to vote.

Still With the Living

No, I didn't fall off the face of the earth. I have been extremely busy these past two months. I just got back from London where I had a wonderful 10 day visit with my daughter and her family. There is absolutely nothing better in the world than holding your children and grandchildren in your arms. My new grandson is so sweet. I am afraid I may have spoiled him already because I held him so much. And my granddaughter is so much like her mother was at that age... so gregarious and full of energy, yet sweet and caring. Climbing into the taxi to head back to the airport was so, so difficult. I am sending my other daughter over for a visit at Christmastime. Our gift to both of them. Hopefully, we will be seeing all of them stateside in late spring or early summer. Until then, webcam and phone calls will keep us going.

I have a lot of work to do over the next week or two and then hopefully I will be back to writing a bit. Until then, I will just enjoy reading the other blogs I follow. See you soon.

Salvation

Quiet solitude, like a scalpel, cuts into my heart, letting emotions long tamed spew forth, bringing a bloody burning sadness to the day. Lonely solitude, like a raging sea around a deserted isle, washes away the levy locked around my soul, flooding my mind with swirling thoughts and memories. I cannot drag myself to the surface of this funk, my life preserver is miles away, and I feel myself sinking swiftly in this current of sorrow. If you have never lost a child so dear you can never understand that you cannot ever heal from having your heart ripped up and torn to pieces, that the best you can hope for is to get up each morning and trudge on, seeking normalcy in routine, no matter how insignificant or frustrating it may be. And when that normalcy is disrupted, you hang by a thread from the very edge of hope, wondering if you have the strength to save yourself once again, to pull yourself to safety, or if you could just let it all go and float down to the depths of the very hell from which you have been running, to surrender to the dreams that haunt your nights. I want to scream out to the world that I am not okay, I will never be okay, but instead, every day I get up and join the masquerade, hiding raw emotion behind a mask of indifference. And instead of screaming, I write. It is my salvation. Early in the morning before the sun is up or late at night when the house is quiet I seek solace in writing, unseen and unspoken words pouring out onto the pages, escaping like sweat from my pores, bringing cooling relief from the seering pain of motherhood unfinished. And slowly my mood shifts and the words lift me and give me strength to face the world again, to get on with it all, to be a part of the living.

"River of Tears"

by Eric Clapton. I say no more.

Little Piece of Heaven

What is it about one's own bed that is so sweet, so restful after a long day, that is a place like no other? Is it the softness of the sheets and the smell of the pillow as your weary body sinks into the mattress? Or the sigh of comfort the moment the sheet and blankets settle around you, encasing you in a sense of security? Is it the familiarity of the space around you casting out the uncertainties of the day? Is it the proximity of a partner lying nearby, bringing peace to your slumber? Is it that the bed is the safe haven you go to when you are sad, angry, or scared? Where you shed your emotions without the world watching? The place you cry, laugh, love, and dream?

After a weekend filled with friends, music, food, drinks and fun I was still so glad to get home, to fall into my own bed for a rejuvenating sleep. My husband and I have always said that no matter what life tosses our way we would be okay as long as we had each other and our bed. Our own little 5' x 7' piece of heaven!

I Didn't Start the Fire....

Well actually I did. I started a fire today in our backyard. This was no small fire, it was a bonfire that a party of fifty or more could have huddled around on a brisk late October evening, roasting marshmallows and telling ghost stories. But on a ninety-three degree July day it felt more like standing at the gates of hell, waiting for the devil himself to rise from the depths and choose his next resident. With bright orange flames licking dangerously close to the outstretched branches of the still-standing oak trees it was something to behold, and fear. The garden hose that was snaked around the perimeter of the enormous wood/brush pile suddenly seemed like a futile attempt at safety. As my husband, aka Fire Marshall Jim, sprayed down the grass and the nearby branches to prevent scorching from the heat, I began to feel a knot form in the pit of my stomach. Only one side of the enormous brush pile was actually in flames and I could only imagine what was about to ensue when we had the whole pile engulfed. I envisioned our one acre lot with its fifty or so trees blazing like a forest fire as the flames leaped from tree to tree. With the neighbor standing at the ready to call for reinforcement I grabbed the hose from my husband and began to soak down the center of the pile to keep the flames from spreading quite so quickly. The heat was tremendous and I had to crouch as low as I could to keep my face from melting off my skull. Jim and I took turns trying to tame the roaring beast, beating it back with a constant hail of water. It hissed and smoked, retreated and rushed, until it was manageable. Then we eased up on the water and watched the flames dance toward heaven, crackling and whooshing, within the confines of the pit we had created. I was able to relax a little and stand guard, occasionally spraying errant flames into submission. I fully expected to hear sirens wailing and see the entire volunteer fire department lumbering into our yard. I wondered momentarily if we were breaking the law by burning within the city limits so I ran in and grabbed the hot dogs, buns, plates, and sodas. We set up a table well out of the reach of the scorching heat, speared the wieners, and attempted to thrust them toward the fire. It would be another hour before we could get close enough to roast those dogs but we eventually were able to have our lunch and chat with our neighbors. With the brush pile disappearing before our eyes three things caught my eye: four one-gallon plastic pots were slumped near the edge of the flower bed, ten feet from the fire, melted into each other like a funky garden sculpture; the leaves on one entire side of a small redbud tree that my husband had refused to cut down were shriveled and scorched to an autumn brown, contrasting starkly with the broad green leaves on the other side; and a blackened piece of newspaper that had floated up out of the brush and into the sky had landed at my feet, its only legible word taunting me - Safety!

Happy Place

My job is very frustrating at times but I have found a solution to keep me grounded. At my desk I have hung several pictures of my granddaughter on both sides of my computer screen. When I look at them I can't help but smile. There she is with her wonderful expressions, evoking a lighter mood when I begin to feel tense over the office turmoil. She is my happy place. Not only mine now, but everyone in the office stops at my desk occasionally to regroup and smile. What great therapy she is.

My granddaughter is almost 28 months old and though she is an ocean away she brings both me and my husband much joy. With her blonde head and bright personality, her intense curiosity and gregarious nature, she is so much like her mother when she was that age. She is a little bundle of energy and love, full of a contagious happiness, spreading smiles like sunshine. When we talk to her by phone, which we do at least weekly, she chatters away, telling us all about her life, though some of it we still don't understand. We try to do webcams weekly so we can stay connected and watch her grow and change, and because of webcams she recognizes us and the distance doesn't feel quite so long. But there is nothing like being there in person and I cannot wait to go over in October for a visit after my new grandbaby is born. I want to wrap my family in my arms, to hold them, to make the connection that only being there in person allows. I have blocked off my vacation time and will be booking my flight soon. Until then, keep the pictures coming!

Tagged

I was tagged to do this meme. I have never done one before so here goes:

The rules are simple: one word answers to 40 questions.

Where is your cell phone? Charger
Your significant other? Asleep
Your hair? Unbrushed
Your mother? Love
Your father? Smart
Your favorite time of day? Dawn
Your dream last night? None
Your favourite drink? Red
Your dream goal? Book
The room you’re in? African
Your ex? Forgotten
Your fear? Heights
Where do you want to be in six years? Fit
What are you not? Rich
Your favourite meal? Steak
One of your wish list items? Cruise
The last thing you did? Dishes
Where you grew up? Indiana
What are you wearing? Pajamas
Your TV is? Off
Your pets? Memories
Your computer? Lifeline
Your life? Busy
Your mood? Unsettled
Missing someone? Always
Your car? Comfortable
Something you’re not wearing? Bra
Favorite store? Antiquish
Your summer? Short
Your favourite colour? Yellows
When is the last time you laughed? Today
When is the last time you cried? June
Your health? Good
Your children? Wonderful
Your future? Unkown
Your beliefs? Strong
Young or old? Neither
Your image? Stubborn
Your appearance? Ordinary
Would you live your life over again knowing what you know? Definitely

That's all I have time for today. I'm off to Indy soon.

Heart Strings Attached

To my middle child - you came into our world with a smile, ready to begin your adventure of life. With a list of 3 possible names we were undecided about, your personality instantly chose for us. Amity, friend, you have worn it well throughout the years. You were a happy, curious baby who only liked to be cuddled for moments at a time, then set free to explore and observe, impatiently waiting your turn to do all the things you saw going on around you. You were fun-loving and mischievous, loving and kind all rolled into one tiny package of energy. As much as I wanted to wrap you in my arms and slow your pace of growing up I could not keep you still for long. I always knew you would be my traveler but I also knew you would be okay because you would hold home in your heart. As you grew from baby to toddler to school-girl you just soaked up life. School was not just a place to learn for you, it was your social outlet, and you rarely liked to miss a day. Your boundaries expanded ever more with each passing year. We struggled a bit to rein you in and we had our conflicts, but we loved you fiercly and wanted nothing more than to see you grow up unscathed by all the challenges put before you as you spread your wings in preparation for your flight into adulthood. You have made us very proud for the young woman you have become. Though the distance is long, you are always here, safely tucked in our hearts. We love you more than words could ever tell. Happy Birthday!

Redneck Limo

Last weekend my husband and I headed across the river to do some antique shop browsing in the city. On our way there we were passed up by a gleaming white stretch limo. Not your typical limo, but a stretch limo pickup truck with about a four foot long truck bed. I had to blink twice to make sure that is what I actualy saw. My eyes were not betraying me. It was, in fact, a pickup truck, stretched into first-class oblivion. I wondered why in the world one would need a limo with a truck bed? Perhaps to carry the coolers full of beer on the way to a hog roast? Or a place to stow the lawn chairs for an outdoor concert? Maybe to pick up a few more friends on the way to a Nascar race? A place to stow the fishing gear and beer keg on the way to a lake? A place to haul home a deer after a day of hunting? Maybe for a college tailgate party? Maybe for a wedding party making the obligatory lap through town on the way to the VFW hall for the reception? Or maybe a place for the dogs to ride in style? Or perhaps for a hot tub to soak in as you speed along the freeway? The possibilities were endless. I doubted that this pickup truck limo would have been jacked up on "Pimp My Ride". We didn't hear the booming stereo and there was no glittering gold. Perhaps there is a chop shop for "Redneck Rides"? Whatever the reason, the next time all of our friends get together to head to a bluesfest I think we should rent one of these rides. But it would have to have a sunroof so one particular friend could poke her head through and yell her signature "Whoooo!" after a few margaritas or a bottle of vino.

Spring Rain

It is raining - a soft, steady, cleansing rain. A rain that stirs my soul into longing for a covered porch where I could curl up in a swing with a flannel blanket, a fluffy pillow, a book, and a cup of coffee. Where I could be lulled into a lazy peacefulness by the constant thrumming of water falling like tears from the darkened heavens, washing away the troubles of the day. Where I could drift into a much-needed restful sleep as my world is refreshed all around me by the life-giving liquid bathing the landscape with a glistening coat of green. Where I could awaken to the quietness just as the rain subsides, lingering idly in the moments before the sun nudges me out of my melancholy mood. Where my spirits are lifted by the cheerful chirping of the birds as they frolic in the temporary playground of puddles spilled about the yard. Where I can watch the flowers in the garden slowly turn their soggy heads toward the teasing rays of sun slipping out from between the clouds. Where I am coaxed out of my dreamy trance like a child awakening and stretching after a nap in her mother's protective arms, refreshed and ready to start anew. The day is waiting now and I arise from the porch swing of my dreams to take it on.

Love Rocks

Helping to care for my father-in-law has been an exercise in keeping my own emotions in check. Everything from carefully moving him from bed to wheelchair to toilet to bed, positioning him first on one side then the other to avoid pressure sores, spending an hour to help him slowly eat each meal, discussing his care with my mother-in-law and the Hospice staff, working out the schedules for his care, reviewing the medical bills, all these things bring a flood of memories bubbling to the surface, threatening to rip away the restraints tied around my broken heart. Memories of the struggle my youngest daughter went through during the illness that stole her joyous life at the tender age of seven. Memories of the wretched chemotherapy that caused her to vomit for forty-eight hour stretches while she was tied to the IV lines pumping poison through her veins. Memories of the excruciating headaches she endured when her doctor tried to reduce the steroids she was taking. Memories of the Cushing Syndrome she developed as a result of those steroids and the horrible side effects that ensued. Memories of tending to her round the clock once she could no longer get out of bed, sitting vigilantly by her side hoping against reason for a miracle. Memories that are better not to dwell on lest I fall into the deep well of sadness that threatened to drown my soul for many years after her death.

When I think of my daughter, which I still do every single day, I try to push those horrible memories to the recesses of my mind and concentrate on the gift that she truly was. She was a June baby, the youngest of three wonderful daughters, and a pure joy to my heart. Knowing that she was my last baby I tried to soak up her infancy, savoring all the moments that I could, holding her, rocking her gently, not caring if she became spoiled or not. I was no longer intimidated by the awesome responsibility of parenting so I was able to relax and simply enjoy her. She was my little sunshine, with her blonde hair and chubby cheeks, and she was a happy baby who was doted on by her older sisters and her cousins. Usually content to sit in her baby seat, her playpen, or her swing she would watch all the goings on around her, soaking it up, biding her time until she was old enough to join in the hubbub. Toddlerdom for her was a whir of activity trying to keep up with her sisters, her little fingers busily exploring every object, her curiosity insatiable. Yet she always retreated back into my arms to rock when she grew tired, casting away her worries, and mine. As a preschooler she was a twirling ballerina in pink dresses, a budding artist, a virtual sponge soaking up life and learning, her sisters teaching her how to read, write, play, sing, and act. At the end of her busy day she would climb back into my lap to rock while her sisters played nearby. She started kindergarten as a proud, intelligent little girl with the world at her fingertips. She developed a great sense of humor and enjoyed practical jokes. Somehow she managed to create an oasis of neatness in her room in the midst of the messy chaos around her. My girls were my everything and life was good.

Then life took a dramatic, sudden change when she woke up on a cold February Monday morning, dressed herself for school, then began vomiting. What I thought perhaps was a stomach virus turned out to be a brain tumor. Life as we knew it, and took for granted, was a thing of the past. I stopped working and spent my days and nights at my daughter's side in the hospital. My husband continued working then drove to the hospital almost every evening to visit and brought our other daughters for weekly visits. My younger sister, whom I can't begin to thank enough, came to stay in my home to look after my other girls. After surgery and twenty-three days in the hospital I was able to take my daughter home. Then we began the daily trips to radiation therapy for the next six weeks. Throughout all of this, my little blue-eyed angel never failed to bring a smile to those caring for her. She drew pictures for her doctors and told jokes to the nurses. While she was on a liquid diet in the hospital until her vomiting subsided she planned a donut party to celebrate the day she could have regular food again. She solicited donations from her visitors and the medical staff so she could buy toys for the sick babies in the nursery and something for her sisters. She had a way of touching the hearts of everyone she met. When she curled up in my lap to rock I would be overwhelmed with the fear that I might lose her to this battle. Sensing this, she would snuggle deeper and sing to me "Never gonna let me go, gonna rock me in this chair forever", changing the words to a popular song of the time. I tried to memorize her beautiful little face, her sweet smell, her easy smile, the feel of her tiny arms wrapped around my neck, her happy voice. With eyes closed I would breathe her in, etching her very being, her essence, into my heart and soul for safekeeping. After radiation treatments she had a reprieve from the residual tumor still lurking in her head, too entwined near her brain stem to remove totally. She was able to visit her kindergarten classmates and participate in the Spring musical, stealing the show with her determination and tenderness. We took a family trip to Disney World, I returned to work part-time, and life settled back into a more normal routine for a while. With all three girls back in school that Fall, busily involved in their respective 1st, 3rd, and 5th grade classes, I dared to hope that we would have a good year with no medical catastrophes.

As Halloween neared we began decorating and planning class parties. The girls made orange and black paper chains and looped them around the heavy beams in the open high-ceilinged living room. They carved and painted pumpkins and planned the party games. There was a buzz of excitement in the house and I was happy that my children could just be children again. But that was to be short-lived. Increased dizziness and vomiting sent my young daughter back into the hospital for another surgery in November and in-patient chemotherapy treatments, her last hope, began the day after Thanksgiving. Every three to four weeks, depending on her white counts, my child would spend Friday through Sunday afternoon with chemicals coursing through her body in the hopes that the tumor would be beaten back into remission. She was a little trooper as she retched her way through those weekends. We would rock and read books, play games, and sing silly songs. At home, when her blonde hair began to fall out in chunks, she laughed as she told me to save it for her Dad since he was starting to bald on the top of his head. Sometimes she would wake at night and crawl into our bed, where she would chatter away about the less fortunate children she had met in the hospital.... the 3 year old boy she thought we should adopt because his parents had abused him, the baby with multiple medical problems whose parents had abandoned her and had no visitors in the hospital, the other children going through their own assorted battles to survive. She had a real concern for children who went to bed hungry all over the world. Her heart was bigger than her body and I was humbled by her generosity of spirit. We managed to have a good Christmas with a huge live tree and lots of presents, thanks in part to our wonderful friends and family. School resumed after the winter break and life went on around us. Then in early March her white counts plummeted and chemotherapy had to be suspended. Seering headaches began again and the latest MRI showed an increase in the size of the tumor. We were told she had no more options left and to just try to keep her comfortable, that she would probably not survive another eight to twelve weeks. The steroids were increased to keep the pressure in her head from causing racking pain and she began to swell with Cushings. Our wonderful priest allowed her to make her first Communion in our home with family in attendance. When she sang so tenderly "On Eagles Wings" there was not a dry eye in the house. To this day I cannot hear that song without crying. Afterward, she sold lemon-meringue pie slices for a dollar for her never ending fundraising effort. The week before Easter a family friend dressed as the Easter bunny landed in a helicopter in a bare cornfield next to our house and hopped over to deliver her an Easter basket full of candy, wooden eggs and flowers. It was an afternoon of excitement and joy for all my children, a break from the reality of illness that can fill a house like smoke, seeping into every waking moment. Over the next week my girls painted tiny baskets, eggs and flowers to decorate the house for Easter, creating tiny treasures that I still pull out every year and linger over the memories they evoke.

As the tumor progressed my daughter began to lose her strength and coordination to the point that she could no longer walk. Trying to keep life moving as normally as possible, I carried her from bed to bath to sofa to table to wheelchair, up and down the stairs, and out into the yard so she would be able to participate in family activities. One morning, after suffering through the night with an especially excruciating headache, I put her into the wheelchair and took her into the kitchen to help me bake cookies. With a baking tray across her lap she rolled the peanut butter cookie dough into balls and pressed them with a fork. The morning sun was streaming through the window, lighting her face and lifting her spirits. She began to belt out the tune "Born to Be Wild". I was in awe of this little six-year old who was determined to enjoy her remaining days to the best of her ability, who understood the significance of the smallest things that most of us don't even notice. Eventually she became confined to bed so we set up a bed in the living room where she could spend her days surrounded by family and friends. Her sisters and their friends and cousins entertained her with skits and songs. They read to her, she enjoyed Babysitter's Club and Sweet Valley High, and watched movies with her. They played cards and games and whispered secrets and giggled with her. The priest and the eucharistic ministers brought communion to her every week. She had trouble swallowing so during one home visit she told our priest that Jesus tasted good with chocolate milk. I thought I would have to pick him up off the floor from laughing so hard. We bought an above ground pool in the hopes that she might be able to float around in it while giving our older girls something to do during the summer since I couldn't easily take them anywhere. But she never got to get into that pool because her condition worsened ever steadily. She asked me to take her to church one day so she could touch Jesus. I was startled because I knew she was recalling the bible stories about Jesus healing people with his touch. What do you say to a dying child with that request? I will not dwell on the end of her days because her suffering was too much. It is too painful to recall and is a dangerous place for me to go. She died at home surrounded by her family on a rainy September Sunday afternoon, Grandparents' Day, just as the sun finally peaked out of the clouds and the heavens were adorned with a spectacular double rainbow and the air was suddenly filled with butterflies fluttering near the door. My youngest child may be gone physically but she is, and has always been, here in my heart. She will never be forgotten. This is my tribute to her, written not long after she died almost twenty years ago:

Rock-a-Bye Amber

There you are
A chubby-cheeked baby so gentle and mild
A cuddler, a snuggler, a rock-a-bye child
Safe in my arms you peacefully rest
Your fingers clinched tight, your head on my breast
Sleep tiny angel, you've nothing to fear
Rock-a-bye baby your mother is here.

There you are
A golden-haired toddler, bright eyes of blue
So much to learn, so much to do
Laughing and running, tapping and twirling
Hugging and kissing, pink dresses swirling
Sweet little princess, as night closes in
My rock-a-bye child's in my lap once again.

There you are
A five-year-old school girl, determined and proud
Coloring, counting, reading aloud
Dandelion chains, lemon drop twins
Jokes and riddles, giggles and grins
Singing and skipping, whispers and rhymes
But still you enjoy our rock-a-bye time.

There you are
My proud little girl so suddenly ill
I cannot believe this is God's will
Your life has just changed in the blink of an eye
And over and over I ask myself why
There's no going back to what was before
I just want to hold you and rock you once more.

There you are
A brave little fighter struggling to live
You have so much to lose yet so much to give
With a heart full of love and a voice raised in song
A soul touched by God making right out of wrong
You brighten each day with your laugh and your smile
Curl up in my lap and we'll rock for a while.

There you are
An angel in heaven, a star in the sky
A beautiful flower, a small butterfly
Your struggle has ended but the mem'ries abound
Whenever I miss you I just look around
Deep in my soul your spirit is strong
In my heart I will rock you for you are my song.

Serving Time

It is amazing to me the rights that we take for granted in this country. Women have the right to vote, to dress how they please, to work in whatever field they choose, to attend college, to choose who they date and/or marry, to attend the church of their choice or not attend a church at all, to participate in sports, to have or not have children, to go about their daily lives with little interference from the government. There are still inequities in the workplace, women still are not equal in many churches, crimes against women are still a societal problem, but overall women in America have more freedom than so many women in so many countries. I could not imagine living in a society where women are still considered subserviant to men, where marriages are arranged, sometimes at alarmingly early ages, where women have no right to be educated, where they have no power and no protection in their own homes, where they are considered property as opposed to human beings with the same fundamental rights as men.

After reading A Thousand Splendid Suns and Snowflake and the Secret Fan I was struck by how easy it would be for our rights to slowly slip away if we are not vigilant. With a mostly male Congress laws could easily be enacted that would set women back decades or centuries. Could you imagine living in a country where you are not allowed out of the house without covering from head to toe, without being escorted by a male, where the police consider that what happens in a man's home, even beating and raping his wife/wives and daughters, is his business? Can you imagine being married off against your will at the tender age of fourteen or even younger? Can you imagine watching your daughters grow up in a world where they are not allowed an education, ensuring that they will be trapped in this cycle of subhuman, subserviant obedience? Can you imagine how it would feel for women living in this type of society, waiting, hoping, for someone, anyone, to save them from their own government?

Now that my own children are grown and I have more time to devote to a cause, I am looking for an organization that will allow me to help work for the rights of women around the world. I don't want to be passive about this, I want to make a difference. It has been simmering in me for years. I want to ensure that my granddaughter will be able to grow up and watch her own children live in a free society. So if you have suggestions for organizations that are proven to doing good, honest work to enhance women's lives around the globe I would like your input.

Trying to Go Green

I was able to get my flower pots filled with annuals and my husband planted a few shrubs this weekend. We still have a lot of work to do. As much as I sometimes enjoy having a large yard, almost an acre, I do long for a house with a small yard that wouldn't take up so much of our free time to maintain. After visiting my daughter in London and seeing the size of her long, narrow backyard garden I have decided that would be the perfect size lot for my husband and me. It would be large enough to have a grassy lawn for my grandchildren when they come to visit, a small patio for barbecues, enough room for a hot tub, and gardens along both sides. Two hours a week for each of us to maintain it and the rest of our time would be free to do as we please. In the meantime, I need some gardening tips and suggestions from those of you with green thumbs. My flower beds are looking rather wild and I am not even sure what all the plants are. I have been known to pull out what I thought were weeds only to find out after the fact that I had pulled up all the Black-eyed Susans. Sometimes I feel like plowing the whole bed up and starting over so I would know exactly what was in it and what shouldn't be there. Now that I have lost two trees in the side lot next to the highway I need to replace them with something, but I am struggling with the decision. Maybe I should have a garden party and invite all the green thumbed people I know so I can get their advice. Help!

Hooray for J

It's Saturday late morning and I have to get my rear in gear. Household chores await. So another 6 CD's to make the tasks more pleasant. Today is J day:

John Prine
Jewel
Janis Joplin (double whammy)
Janiva Magness
Johnny Lang
Jimi Hendrix

I hope to get a lot done, including potting the plants on the porches (does that sound like a tongue twister or is it just me?) I will have flowers even if I have to do it in the rain. Speaking of that.......never mind, that's another story!

Have a happy Saturday!

He Ain't Heavy....

As previously posted my father-in-law is now back in his own home. Both my husband and I will be making the drive to Indianapolis every week to help, hubby on Sunday evening through Monday evening, and me on Tuesday mornings through Wednesday evenings. I have rearranged my work schedule to allow this since all his sisters work Monday through Friday and can only help on the weekends or evenings. One sister-in-law has voiced concern that we will wear ourselves out doing this every week. I have tried to convince her that I will be fine because I can live on six hours of sleep per night and I really don't mind driving. (Thanks Mom for passing that trait down.) When I am in my car I have time to think, to listen to music, and to enjoy the scenery. With cell phone at hand I have time to call my family and friends and catch up on their lives. The ninety minute drive usually goes by fairly quickly. Once there, I really don't have much to do except assist with moving my father-in-law from bed to chair to sofa to table, assisting with meals, and sitting with him so my mother-in-law can take a break. So I have time to read and watch television or even catch up on some of my work if I take it with me. I am considering buying a laptop so I can write on my blog or work on my book in the evenings after my in-laws are in bed, since I am a night-owl and have trouble falling asleep without a television in the bedroom.

While there this past Tuesday I helped my father-in-law into the wheelchair and took him out for a walk around his neighborhood. They have lived in this retirement condo community for less than three years. It was a beautiful day. We stopped to say hello to a neighbor working in his garden and my father-in-law knew his name, even though he hadn't seen him for several months. As we walked past the mailboxes lined up all in a row he wanted to pull over so he could get the mail. I was surprised that he remembered which box was theirs. I was curious to see if he would remember his way around so I let him tell me which direction to turn. As we slowly looped around the pond an elderly woman passed us up. I stopped to direct my father-in-law's attention to the ducks milling around the pond but he admonished me to "hurry up and pass that lady". True to form he couldn't be outdone by a woman on foot! So we quickened the pace and sped past her. As we approached one corner we stopped to take in the wonderful scent of lilacs drifting softly through the air. He saluted the American flag flapping in the breeze. Then he directed me back to his home. He may not be aware of all around him but he has many moments that tell us he is still in there somewhere.

When I arrived back home late that evening my husband took me in his arms and said he couldn't thank me enough for helping out. But I cannot imagine any other way. I love my husband and I would do anything for him. That extends to helping him deal with this tremendous burden of caring for aging parents. We must do what needs to be done when it comes to family and friends when they need us most.

Tidy Tidbit

Playlist for the day while I clean house and do laundry:

Bob Dylan
James Taylor
Harry Manx
John Prine
Carol King
David Bromberg

6 CDs should be enough time to get it done, I hope.

Tough Love

My father-in-law is back in his home. And he is glad to be there. After his 80th birthday party last Saturday my mother-in-law took him home instead of back to the Alzheimer's facility he had been in for the past few months. He is so frail that he can no longer walk or stand on his own. He is so thin that you can see every bone in his body. Absolutely no muscle mass left. He has been withering away to nothing in that center. The family has a very tough job ahead of them in order to keep him at home. It is so important for all of us to understand the significance of what is going to be the toughest test of love for the person they call Dad and GrandDad. My mother-in-law is going to need help every single day to manage him at home. Hospice has been called in and medical equipment has been delivered to make maneuvering him easier. But the burden of his daily care will fall on the shoulders of family and friends. We are working on a schedule to spread that burden so no single family member is overwhelmed. I know from experience what lies ahead and it will take patience, courage, strength, and forgiveness to get through this without causing a breakdown in the family ties. Some may feel that they just can't do this emotionally but they will have to muster the strength and do it anyway. Some who live a greater distance away may not come to help as often but will have to help in other ways, organizing the family or calling in other resources. For my pregnant daughter who lives abroad with her two-year old it will be impossible to come home to help but phone calls, emails, video clips, and letters of support will be uplifting for my in-laws. Some have families with young children and busy schedules but children should be taught that they cannot always come first, that they may have to spend one summer of their young lives without playing a particular sport, that they have their whole lives ahead of them to pursue their interests while we have only this short window of time to repay all that has been bestowed upon us by this man of honor and integrity. It is time to dig in our heels and get to the toughest job we will ever encounter. When he is gone I can guarantee that everyone will look back on this experience and be glad that they were able to be a part of it, to shower him with the love and care that he deserves.

Undecided

Today is primary election day and I will be voting before I head off to work. I have been fairly undecided how I will cast my vote, at least for the presidential race. Ideally, my candidate of choice would be a moderate conservative or a conservative liberal.

I would prefer someone who will be tough on illegal immigration issues because we need to secure our borders in this dangerous world. We need to make changes in our immigration laws to allow more people in legally who want to come here to work and make a better life for their families. I do not think that illegals should be given a free pass because that flies in the face of citizens and legal immigrants who abide by the laws of our country.

On the issues of Iraq, I want a candidate who will not rush to bring our troops home and leave that country in worse chaos. Right or wrong, we started this mess and we need to follow through to assure that our servicemen and the Iraqi people have not suffered for naught.

I would like to see our nation's healthcare crisis addressed. I know first hand what is lacking in our system. I see patients every day who are given free healthcare, good healthcare, because they fall into the low income category necessary. The working poor and the middle class are the ones who suffer the most. Our senior citizens who have worked hard, sometimes with two jobs at once, to support their families and educate their children, are faced with having to spend down every dime and sell off all their assets before they are able to get assistance with the enormous cost of caring for their spouses with critical or chronic illness. This plummets them into poverty very quickly. It is the shame of our nation. We need to find a solution that is not income driven, at least when a catastrophic condition exists. More and more seniors will find themselves in this position as time goes on because families are smaller and spread out all over the nation.

I believe we should have as little government interference in our lives as possible. We should not have a Congress who believes that only they are capable of thinking for all. And they should all have to live by the laws that they enact. Maybe they, like in so many other professions, should be held legally liable for the laws they pass if they have a negative impact on the well-being of our nation.

I want a candidate who believes in the freedom of choice: in partners, in reproduction, in religion, in end of life decisions. The pursuit of happiness is not possible if government dictates what can and can't be done with these very personal issues.

I believe a candidate should work hard to unite the people of this nation, one who can motivate our citizens to get involved and work toward solutions that are reasonable, fair, and not a tremendous tax burden on the backs of the working people. Someone who will champion the rights of women, who will work to solve our racial inequities, and fight to keep our manufacturing jobs in this country.

With this said I am off to vote. I will be choosing a candidate that I believe is the lesser of all evils. That is a sad statement. That I would vote for the candidate that I think will do the least harm as opposed to the most good because that is all there is on the ballot is the reality of our times.

Peace!